Chapter 19
Nicola was debating whether to bother with her plan to pop to the market on the way home from Limoges.
She could hardly slither out of the window again or expect a kind group of strangers to shove her back into the driver’s side if she tried to exit the car once more.
And she wasn’t about to cut the twine and retie it all.
Perhaps it would be better to forget about the market – she’d be able to pick up some treats from the local shops and the supermarket later.
Plus, Gabi was at home and although she’d left enough food for the tiny animal, she couldn’t help but worry a little that she might be pining.
But then she had a brainwave. Carefully parking the car in a small lot close to the market, she climbed to the back and removed the parcel shelf. Then, carefully, she pressed the ‘open boot’ sign on the keyring and as if by magic, it opened.
Result! She stepped through, ignoring the glances of passers-by as she did so, and smiling to once again reassure them that no, although she was climbing out of the boot of a car, she hadn’t been abducted by a person with some sort of Christmas obsession.
She paid for her parking, glancing at the Santa and sleigh atop her car one more time before walking off. Hopefully, seeing as it was Christmas, nobody would be tempted to tamper with it or cut the string and whisk it away.
It was odd being here on her own. The Christmas tree with its turning baubles was still there, full of excited families and chattering children, but she wasn’t tempted to ride it on her own.
It was strange how being with someone else turned something silly like riding a children’s fairground ride into a fun suggestion rather than an odd one.
But the stalls still held their magic. Almost immediately she bought herself a bag of churros sprinkled with sugar, their warm crispy coating and soft, baked insides filling her with warmth and energy.
She hadn’t had lunch, and they were hardly a good substitute, but it was Christmas after all.
She’d worry about nutrition in the new year.
For once, she’d managed to bring her tote bag, and as she made her way along the wooden cabins, she filled it with handmade baubles, wooden puzzles, a Santa hat that she’d make Dad wear on the big day.
She bought a hand-woven basket from a stand then filled it with pain d’épices, Christmas biscuits and an assortment of breads that almost threatened to tip over its raised edge.
And she absorbed the atmosphere: people passed in pairs and groups, chatting and laughing and exclaiming over trinkets on display made by the artisans.
She tried to breathe it in and not be jealous that other people had their families in tow – after all, hers was on its way. And Steven wouldn’t be far behind.
Her arm was starting to ache, so she set both bags down at the antiques stall and began looking at the eclectic mix of ornaments and jewellery on display.
There was a bracelet that would pair nicely with the necklace she’d bought last time.
After all, it was Christmas, she reasoned.
(She had a niggling doubt that she ought not to use this excuse for everything or she’d wind up starting the new year with a completely empty bank balance.)
‘What did you wish for?’ The voice came suddenly, making her jump.
The little man was there again, standing at the counter, smiling at her. ‘Oh. Well, I’m thinking of buying this bracelet,’ she began.
‘No, no.’ He shook his head impatiently. ‘Not what do you want, what did you wish! I am talking about the angel.’
‘Sorry?’
‘You are the woman who bought the angel, n’est-ce pas?’ He tilted his head to one side, reminding her briefly of the little robin she sometimes used to see in the garden at home.
She was surprised, maybe even a little disconcerted, that he’d remembered her. ‘Yes, I did. Thank you. It’s a beautiful piece.’
He nodded as if this were obvious. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said a little more impatiently. ‘But I wondered what you decided to wish for. What did you ask the angel for?’
Was he serious? She looked at him askance. ‘What did I ask the angel for?’ she repeated slowly, wondering whether she’d misunderstood.
‘Yes.’ He sighed deeply. ‘I told you I think that the angel is a good luck charm. You need to ask it for what you want.’
She laughed. ‘What, like a genie in a bottle?’
He looked offended. ‘No, of course not. They are make-believe! From fairy tales! But’ – he leaned forward a little – ‘these angels, people have told me that they bring good luck. And some people ask them for what they want, and it comes to them.’ He straightened.
‘I admit it probably sounds a little odd. But perhaps you should see if this happens for you.’ He gave her a conspiratorial wink that left her unsure of whether he was joking or not.
‘I had it for many years, and it brought me much happiness. But now I am old; I wanted to give it to someone who needed it. And you looked so sad.’
‘I did?’
He nodded. ‘Oui.’
She felt suddenly flustered. This was all a bit too weird. ‘Right, well,’ she said, ‘Thank you.’ Then because the moment felt awkward and because she needed to move the conversation on, she held out the bracelet. ‘And I’ll take this please.’
It was an odd journey home. The roads were clear, snow still evident on the trees and hedgerows that lined the way, the tarmac damp but not iced, so she was able to go at a reasonable speed, albeit sticking to forty at the most to stop Santa from flying off into the sky a few days sooner than he should.
Almost every driver who passed her beeped their amusement at the appearance of her car, and while she tried to smile and wave, it got tiresome after the first ten miles or so.
She suddenly felt exhausted from the day, from rushing around, from the horror then embarrassment of getting stuck in her own car window.
The idea that her family would be here in four days’ time and the fact that she’d bought all these new Christmas items and would have to install them was as overwhelming as it was exciting.
And she wouldn’t be able to ask Lucien for any more help, especially after his odd exit this morning.
And the Christmas food! She’d yet to buy potatoes and sprouts, and she’d have to make stuffing from scratch rather than simply rely on the supermarket’s ready-made offerings.
Yes, her parents would help on the day itself, but she’d have to look up recipes, buy all the right things, and she was pretty sure if she made an error, she’d struggle to find even a convenience store open late on Christmas Eve.
Underneath it all, too, she missed Steven.
She hated the fact that her parents and Harriet visiting didn’t seem enough.
But it was natural to miss her husband, she supposed.
It had been just over three months since they’d seen each other properly, other than one rushed long weekend in October – the longest time they’d been away from each other since… well, since forever.
It was impossible to stop the tears once they came.
Fat, relentless drops of salted water that ran down her face as she continued the slow drive home.
Perhaps she was being pathetic. Perhaps they were tears of self-pity.
But nobody could see her, nobody needed to know.
And whether she liked it or not, they were here.
By the time she reached the edge of Eymoutiers, the tears appeared to have run out.
It was dark now, the air, icy. Tiny flecks of snow or ice were floating down from the sky, making glittering pinpricks on the windscreen, soon swiped away by the wiper blades.
Sniffing, she turned into her drive, relieved to see that she’d left a light on, and shut off the engine.
She’d have to return to cut the Santa free before she went to bed, but for now she was too exhausted and in need of tea or hot chocolate to worry too much about her festive friends on the car roof. Instead, she clambered out through the boot, bag and basket in tow, and made her way into the house.
It was good that she’d cried her emotions out, she decided.
She felt calm. And she was determined to make the best of things.
She knew that it would all feel better when her family was here.
Being alone brought home just how far away Steven was, just how long they’d been apart.
Soon there would be people and music and – if she managed to get the groceries in on time – festive food.
Placing down her shopping, she walked over to the window and looked out at her car with its ridiculous sleigh appendage.
Then turned in search of the kettle. The angel caught her eye, its halo glowing as always; wherever the light came from – starlight, sunshine or an electric bulb – it seemed designed to reflect it, to create that golden shimmer around itself.
She picked it up, laughing to herself as she thought of the little man, his earnest expression, the luck he wanted her to wish for.
‘OK, angel,’ she said. ‘I wish for a Christmas full of people, laughter, light. And I wish that Steven could be here.’
‘OK, Nicola,’ she made the angel say in a high voice, wiggling it slightly. ‘Seeing as it’s Christmas!’
She laughed to herself, wondering if she had in fact gone mad.
She’d call Steven in a bit, tell him about her car escapade which, like most unfortunate experiences, had already started to solidify into a classic anecdote she’d revisit time and time again.
He’d laugh his head off at the thought of her legs sticking out of a car window, no doubt.
Then, shaking her head, she placed the angel back down and went in search of cocoa powder and milk.