Chapter 14
Buying a tree seemed like a simple enough thing to do. She made her way to the small market that sprang up in the centre of Eymoutiers every Saturday and found the stall she was looking for. A local producer selling freshly cut sapins for forty euros each. So far, so straightforward.
Only once she had chosen and paid for the tree did she suddenly realise that somehow she had to get the thing home. And in retrospect, being festive and buying one of the biggest ones they had was probably a bit of an overshot.
She pulled the paid-for tree out of its stand; it was wrapped in a thin net, its branches held in to make it easier to transport.
Then she attempted to walk, holding the thing in front of her.
It was cumbersome rather than excessively heavy, and she clutched it to herself, her hands almost meeting around its middle. Yes. This might just work.
Only holding it in this way meant she couldn’t see where she was going and within minutes she had annoyed at least three market-goers. ‘I’m sorry,’ she puffed at each one as they had to swerve to miss her. ‘Really sorry.’
She was halfway along the high street, still quite a distance from her car which she’d been forced to park on a road half a mile away – the market was pedestrianised and the roads closed when it was in situ – when there was the sound of heavy, determined footsteps behind her.
‘Nicola!’ said a voice. ‘Do you need some help? Before you take out half the elderly population of Eymoutiers.’
She turned gratefully and saw Lucien, holding a paper bag full of vegetables. His hair was in disarray and he was wearing a pair of jeans that had clearly been used for gardening at some point. At his side was a small boy, aged about three years.
‘Oh, hi. Yes. Yes, I think I do.’ She smiled. ‘And who’s this?’ she asked, propping the tree against a shop window for a moment and reaching out her hand for a shake.
The boy looked at her proffered hand suspiciously.
Lucien grinned. ‘He is not unfriendly. Only he is not used to shaking hands like an Englishman.’
She flushed. ‘Oh. Sorry!’
‘This is my son, Matthieu. We are giving his mother a break this morning. She’s very tired. And he has the energy of a whole army.’
She smiled. ‘Pleased to meet you, Matthieu.’
They made rapid progress once the tree was tipped on its side and supported between them, Lucien holding the heavier base and Nic’s arm wrapped around the upper branches, holding them to her side.
They were soon at the car and, somehow, managed to shove the thing in through the back, over the seats, its tip resting on the passenger side.
The boot remained open, but it was a short drive and it seemed sufficiently wedged.
‘Well, thank you,’ she said.
And Lucien nodded. He was holding Matthieu’s hand. The little boy, she realised, looked quite pinched and pale.
‘Will you be OK the other end?’ he said.
‘I think so.’
‘See you on Monday?’
She nodded, then, looking at Matthieu, said, ‘I hope your mummy was able to have a good rest.’
Matthieu stared at her, then looked at his father as if for approval.
‘She’ll be fine,’ Lucien said, but it wasn’t clear if he was talking to Matthieu or Nic.
Back home, she managed to drag the tree from its wedged position and, hoping she didn’t make it shed too many needles, along the driveway to the few steps at the front door.
She had laid the tree down and was rummaging in her bag for the front door key when she noticed it.
A small paper bag placed on her doorstep.
Curious, she picked it up. There was no note, no label.
She removed the piece of tissue paper obscuring the content and found a reindeer figurine.
It was small, made of pottery, with an oversized red nose that caught the light.
She recognised the style – there was a tiny pottery shop tucked around close to the library in Eymoutiers, its windows full of models of people and animals, alongside more traditional dishes and vases.
The shop ran pottery classes from time to time and she’d considered joining one, but hadn’t yet managed to sign up.
Opening the door, she made her way into the house then set the little reindeer on the table.
She looked again in the bag, but there was nothing else to suggest who this might have come from.
Perhaps Chloé? But it seemed odd: after all, she’d already thanked her and brought a gift.
Leaving something else for Nicola to find would be excessive.
And it couldn’t be Lucien. He was still back at the market, and he certainly hadn’t had this bag in his hand when she’d seen him.
Walking out to drag the tree into the house from where it lay forlorn on the half-iced ground, she looked over at the window of the house where the only other person she’d connected with so far lived.
She noticed one of the curtains flicker a little, although it could be her imagination.
Either way, just in case, she raised a hand in greeting and thanks and held it there for a second.
The curtain moved slightly but she couldn’t see beyond the reflective darkness of the window.
If it had been Monsieur Rémi, she hoped he’d seen her wave and realised that she was thanking him. It would be far too awkward to go knock at his door and say thanks properly – what if it hadn’t been him? It would be excruciating.
She gathered the last of her strength and dragged the poor tree up the steps, leaving a small scattering of needles and hoping that it wouldn’t be entirely bare when she finally cut it free from the net. But before she could do anything else, her phone began to ring in her pocket.
Harriet.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi yourself. What’s wrong? You sound out of breath! You haven’t been driven to exercise, have you? Surely things aren’t that bad,’ her sister quipped.
‘Ha. No, just lugging a Christmas tree through a doorway.’
‘A real tree? Seriously? You know you can get plastic ones these days, don’t you?’
It was true. Back in the UK she’d had an easier, lighter version, telling herself that she’d keep it for at least a decade to offset her guilt about its environmental impact.
But they’d shed most of their furniture and possessions, hoping to buy new ones in France and save the cost of a removal lorry. ‘Yeah, but when in France,’ she said.
‘They’re all about the real deal, eh?’
She thought about the row of shops in the high street; how the maire had provided each with a ‘real’ tree, festooned with red and gold ribbons. ‘They seem to be.’
‘Oh là là!’
‘Yup.’
‘Anyway,’ Harriet continued excitedly. ‘I am about to tell you something completely amazing, so you’re going to need to sit down.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Despite Harriet’s tone, the idea of having to sit for a revelation made her think of illness, of bad news. But she obediently perched on the edge of the table.
‘No, it’s good news. Just somewhat shocking.’
‘You’re pregnant?’
‘That would be a bloody miracle.’
‘You saw Harry Styles in Waitrose and he fell madly in love with you.’
‘Plausible. But no. Harry still hasn’t come to his senses.’
‘Then what?’
Harriet paused for maximum effect. ‘We’re coming to you for Christmas.’
‘You’re… what?’
‘You heard. I mentioned it again to Mum and Dad, expecting their usual evasion. But they kind of looked at each other. Said they’d been thinking about it after you asked.
That they’ve not travelled for so long but now they have a daughter in France they’re going to have to get over it.
Mind you, Mum’s insisted we drive instead of flying.
Says it’s so she can bring “a few bits” over which I’m taking to mean half of the Christmas aisle from Asda.
Pretty sure she’s just avoiding planes – you know how she is. ’
‘Oh my God, Harriet! They’re coming? Here?’
‘I know! I nearly passed out.’
‘And you’re coming with them?’
‘’Course. Although you may need to get in a lot of alcohol, bearing in mind I’ll be sitting in the back of our parents’ car for ten hours. I mean, the things we do for family, eh.’
‘I will buy out the entire alcohol aisle.’
‘That’s the spirit.’
They both laughed. Nicola looked around the room as she did so.
She’d yet to light the fire, and the decorations she’d carefully selected as tasteful suddenly looked a little sparse.
If Mum was coming, she’d expect lights, colour, almost too much of it.
Something Nicola had always hated. But imagining it now, imagining her mother’s face if she recreated that kind of Christmas, it suddenly didn’t seem such a bad thing.
But could she pull it together in time? The house looked drab and in the dull room, the only thing that glowed at all was the halo on the porcelain angel that seemed to catch the light no matter what.
Plus, as well as having only meagre decorations, she knew without looking that there wasn’t much in the fridge – the idea of cooking a turkey for one was unappealing and it had been ages since she’d bothered to do a big supermarket shop.
She was definitely going to have her work cut out.
‘When are you arriving?’
‘Next week, all being well.’
‘A week’s time! Great.’ She tried to keep the enthusiasm in her voice.
After all, this was good news. Christmas was saved!
She’d have her loved ones around and although she’d miss Steven, having her parents and Harriet there would be wonderful.
It just meant she had to make this place look welcoming and festive in a matter of days. ‘Well, wow. I’d better go shopping!’
‘Get that tree up, miss. We’re on our way.’
As soon as she hung up from Harriet, she called Steven.
Their calls and texts had been sporadic over recent days, as they often were when he was on nights.
But it was eleven; usually the best time to call when he was on this particular pattern.
She felt suddenly guilty at how she’d been annoyed, distant after he’d let her down.
Knowing that she wouldn’t be alone now made the resentment she’d been trying to repress melt away.
Poor Steven. After all, he would be alone at Christmas, and working too.
‘Hey, Nic,’ he answered.
‘Hi!’ She blurted out the news about her parents and Harriet.
‘That’s great!’ He sounded weary.
‘Still wish you could be here, obviously.’
‘I know.’
They were silent for a minute.
‘All OK at work?’
‘Yeah. How about you? Up to much?’
She told him about today’s market and the tree.
And how she was going to a carol concert tomorrow at Saint-Léonard.
‘Apparently there’ll be warm wine, which I assume is going to be similar to mulled wine.
And nibbles. And I’m kind of hoping I’ll get to speak to Chloé – she seemed really nice and, you know, it would be good to have a couple more friends here.
Then I’ve got to get shopping – back to the markets.
There’s one in Chateauneuf-la-Forêt on Monday so I guess I’ll be stocking up as much as I can for the big day…
Are you still there?’ She noticed the line was quiet.
‘Yeah, I’m still here.’
‘Sorry if I’m gabbling on. I know you’re tired.’
‘It’s not that. It’s just… everything seems to be going so well for you there.’
‘Which is… good. Right?’
‘Of course. Of course. Just sometimes it makes me feel a little… well, shit in comparison. And I wonder whether there’ll still be space for me.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Well, you have this new life. And I’m still here. You just feel… kind of far away. I suppose I wonder whether you’re even going to want me to come and join you.’
‘That is the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard.’ But she’d felt it too, a little. The distance between them and the impact it was having on them.
‘I know. I’m just feeling sorry for myself, I guess. Lonely.’ There was a muffled sound as his finger briefly covered the mouthpiece. The sound of his voice, as if it were far away, words indistinguishable.
‘Steven! I can’t hear you.’
‘Sorry, I must have… I’ll move. Is that better?’ His voice was clear again.
‘Yeah. Look, Steven. I get how you feel. But it will be great. Honestly. Christmas will pass and it’ll be New Year. You’ll finish these nightmare shifts and we’ll laugh at all this.’
‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘So, don’t go hooking up with any hot paediatricians!’
She wasn’t really sure where that had come from. Some fear, buried but never acknowledged, that the distance might be driving a wedge between them perhaps? Or his recent furtiveness?
There was a beat. ‘How could you say that?’ There was a definite edge to Steven’s tone.
‘Sorry. I’m not sure why—’
‘You need to trust me, Nic.’
‘Yeah, sorry. Bad joke.’
When she ended the call, a lot of the excitement she’d felt seemed to have drained away. But whether it was Steven’s mood or his acknowledgement of the shift in their relationship, she wasn’t sure.