Chapter 18
She was a little concerned at Lucien’s sudden exit, but determined not to let anything spoil her day. After all, she was running out of time and needed to go full Christmas before her mother arrived.
Mum had had quite bleak Christmases growing up; she’d been in care and had never quite felt part of things – had always felt inadequate when she saw families gathering in TV adverts: everyone together, merry and bright.
So the moment she’d had her own children, she’d resolved to go all out each December.
And she’d kept her word. When Nicola was little, she’d adored the riot of colour that overtook their house by the end of November each year – enjoyed buying more decorations, adding to the sparkle and magic of the season.
As a teen, she’d been less impressed: the fact that theirs was the only house on the street with decorations on the outside, so many that cars would often slow to look, was – as she’d commented back then – ‘so lame’.
But then she’d moved past that phase and begun to appreciate that while she preferred a few tasteful, well-placed ornaments, Mum’s Christmas was an important part of who she was.
If she’d known from the start that Mum was going to be there this December she’d have started buying things around November time. As it was, she had a tree, a few lights on the outside, the angel and one or two little ornaments. She needed to go all out.
Her plan for this afternoon was to hit the big stores – an out-of-town shopping park named ‘Family Village’ promised several home and DIY places where she could hopefully pick up some garden ornaments.
Then on to the market to buy sweet treats, candles, small touches of a French Christmas that would make her mother feel as special as she was.
There was a craft store too and she planned to buy materials so she could make a few special items of her own.
Harriet had messaged her yesterday:
I hope you’ve got the full grotto sorted. Mum’s so excited.
She’d replied, smiling:
Getting there.
It was going to cost her a fortune and take her most of the rest of the day – not ideal when money was tight, but 100 per cent worth it for her mum.
Dad enjoyed Christmas too, of course, and she wanted him to have fun.
But he’d have been happy with a paper hat and a sprig of holly, so she wasn’t too worried about having to please him.
She arrived at the Family Village by two and parked in one of the free spaces.
It was busy – people were walking to and from stores and cars, laden with boxes and bags.
Music piped out of speakers, filling the air with festive tunes.
Once again ‘Last Christmas’ filled the air.
She wondered if she would ever be able to listen to it now without thinking of Lucien and his apparent George Michael aversion.
Slipping a two-euro coin into the slot, she pulled an enormous trolley out of the storage area and trundled into a shop called Leroy Merlin, which promised everything for the DIY and garden enthusiast. Hopefully that included enormous reindeer, or at least a Santa or two.
It was somehow odd being in a store that felt so modern after her many trips to the Christmas markets and the local shops in Eymoutiers with their stone walls and inbuilt charm. But it wasn’t time for nostalgia. She needed a life-size snowman and she needed it now.
Walking to the garden area, she found a few Christmas lights then, beyond, a single large figurine – Santa sitting in a sleigh, with reindeer prancing in front, all made with LED lights and clear plastic.
It would look amazing on the front lawn and had the wow factor that Mum would definitely approve of.
The label informed her it was the display model, with a 10 per cent discount – there were no new, boxed versions left for purchase. Lucky that she’d come in time to snag this final one, as the small display had been more or less stripped of its contents. Next year, she’d start in November.
It was only once she was happily trundling out of the store, Santa and his sleigh just about balancing on the long metal tray at the bottom of the open trolley, Rudolf and friends protruding out in front of her, that she wondered how she was actually going to get the thing home.
Nicola paused, considering. She couldn’t dismantle it – it had been put together so well. Besides, if she did, she’d have to spend hours reassembling it when she got home. But there was no way this thing was fitting in the boot, or even the back seat.
‘Steven,’ she said minutes later on the phone.
‘Yes? What’s happened?’
‘How do I attach a Santa and sleigh to the roof of the car?’
A small pause. ‘Your text said it was an emergency.’
‘It is an emergency! I’m stuck in a car park and need to get this thing home!’ She explained her predicament and despite the underlying stress in his voice, Steven chuckled.
‘Typical Nic,’ he said.
‘I know. This is why I needed you for Christmas! Look at the mess I get into when you’re not around.’ Despite the situation, she found herself smiling. It was nice to be speaking, joking with him again.
‘I guess your mum would be proud.’
‘That she would.’ Nicola grinned, thinking of Mum’s face when her car turned the driveway and she came face to face with a virtual winter wonderland.
‘OK, well, you’ll need some rope. A lot of rope.’
Half an hour later she was standing, a ball of thick twine in hand, and a friendly helper from the shop at her side. Carefully he helped her lift the sleigh onto the top of her car, then together they fed the twine between it and through the windows of the car, tying each loop down tightly.
‘You will have to drive slowly,’ the shopkeeper said as they stood back and inspected their handiwork.
‘I will,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
He still looked uncertain. ‘I am not sure if it is legal.’
She looked at her car. Santa’s face caught the light and for a moment it looked like he was winking. ‘I think I’ll be OK,’ she said.
‘OK, well, be careful.’ The young man turned to walk back to the store.
She reached for the handle of the car. Then realised they’d made a terrible error.
The twine that threaded through each window, holding the decoration tight onto the car roof, was also sealing the car doors shut.
Nicola pulled at the door, managing to create a gap wide enough for a tiny child to wriggle through, but which was in no way large enough for a full-grown woman.
‘Bollocks!’ she found herself crying out loudly.
The worker and several other people in the car park turned. One mother covered her child’s ears and shot her a look. She wondered whether the woman was English or just spoke it well enough to understand the meaning of this staple British expletive.
She nodded and waved and pretended everything was all right, long enough for everyone to lose interest. Then she returned her gaze to the car.
The driver’s side and passenger windows were open where they’d created a gap to thread the twine through.
Carefully, trying not to look like a car thief or petty criminal, she pushed on the glass and managed to shove it down a few more inches.
Then, checking over her shoulder that nobody was looking, she hoisted herself up and tipped the front of her body through the window.
This was another of the times when spatial awareness might have been useful, she thought, as she landed with her head uncomfortably on the driver’s seat, her legs sticking out of the car window at a strange angle.
And, no doubt, if Steven could see her now, he’d remind her once again that it’s OK to ask for help and that she didn’t have to do everything on her own.
But it was a bit late for that now.
She tried to wriggle her upper body forward and managed to gain a few inches.
But the angle of her legs, the tightness of the window and – probably – her lack of flexibility (she’d meant to book a yoga class here, she just hadn’t had time!) scuppered her chances of a Houdini-style escape. She was well and truly stuck.
It was minutes rather than hours, but in the time she lay there she imagined appearing on the local news, imagined firefighters having to cut her out of the car. Imagined – in a moment of panic – the blood supply being cut off to her lower extremities.
Even for someone as reluctant as her, this was a good enough reason to cry out: ‘Help! Can anyone help?’
There was soon a murmur of voices behind her. She tried to shift herself a little so she could see, but failed to move. Someone laughed. Another spoke in low, serious tones.
She could only catch the odd word:
‘Pull her out.’
‘My God, what happened?’
‘Did someone do this to her?’
‘Is this a prank?’
‘What is she trying to do? Is she crazy?’
Non, she wanted to tell them. I’m not crazy. I’m just on a tight deadline. And I need to get this sleigh home before my mother arrives.
Someone grabbed one of her legs and gave it an experimental tug.
‘No,’ she said as best she could with a mouth full of car seat. ‘In. Push! I need to drive.’ It would be a relief to be out of her predicament one way or another, but better if she could actually drive away, get the decoration home.
‘Who sealed the door shut?’
‘We could cut the rope?’
‘Is she hurt?’
‘She wants to drive. But perhaps she’s drunk?’
‘Come on, I think we can do this.’
The murmurs increased and she felt a hand on her foot, another on her leg. Someone counted. And then there was enormous forward motion. Her legs came flying in through the window, sending her into a near somersault.
She gave a small cry as her legs flew over her, then banged her head on the gear stick as the momentum pulled her head from the chair.
There was a thud of boot on glass and for a brief moment, she thought she might have put her foot through the windscreen.
But no, she thought as she righted herself.
She was… fine. Injury-free. And In Her Car. It was a miracle! A Christmas miracle!
‘Merci!’ she said to the small gathering of inquisitive French people. ‘I can’t thank you enough.’
A man’s face appeared at the window, his expression grave. ‘Madame,’ he said. ‘Were you kidnapped?’
She wanted to tell him that if she had been, then the kidnapper probably wouldn’t have half shoved her into a car with half of the North Pole on its roof. But instead she smiled and told him no, that she was fine. That it had been an accident.
He didn’t look convinced. But then her limited language and the fact that, even in English, it would be hard to explain exactly how it had happened probably didn’t help. She smiled and nodded and fielded off concerned questions.
In the end, she started the engine, still grinning madly to prove that she was definitely all right. That nobody had hurt her. That she wasn’t completely insane.
To be honest, the smile probably wasn’t helping as much as she’d thought it might.
Still, she was grateful. Smiling and waving like a minor celebrity, she carefully reversed and drove towards the exit, Santa rattling gently on her roof.