Chapter 35
‘This is where I get my croissants,’ she said, gesturing to the boulangerie in the town square, ‘but the gateaux at the patisserie are amazing, so I always go there for puddings.’
‘God, you must have more willpower than I do,’ Harriet said, looking at the array of desserts and pastries through the glass. ‘I’d be as big as a house if I moved here.’
Nicola laughed. ‘I’m working on it,’ she said, patting her stomach.
This morning she’d taken them for a walk around the town, starting at the river which, swelled by the recent thaw, rushed under the bridge with almost brutal force.
The sun was shining again and everything in the town looked almost magical in the bright light.
She felt proud, as if she somehow owned the town, or was responsible for its beauty.
They’d wandered the high street, looking into shop windows and occasionally popping inside. Her mother had bought a small vase for a friend, a necklace for another. ‘Thank God we didn’t fly,’ Nic’s father had grumbled. ‘I’d be paying a small fortune in excess baggage charges.’
‘The van’s enormous,’ Steven had said. ‘Buy as much as you want!’
‘Don’t encourage her.’
She led them down a narrow road that led to Choubeurrepomme, the tiny patisserie that served coffee, handmade chocolates and ice cream, alongside a mouth-watering selection of delicate sweet treats that glistened temptingly in their small paper cases.
Having ordered, they settled down in the courtyard outside the church where a few tables were set out for that purpose.
It was cold, their breath still steamed in front of their faces, but they had all wrapped up warm and were insulated from the worst of it.
Despite the coolness in the air, the sun had some warmth on it, and Nicola found herself tipping her head back to let it play on her face.
They still had January and February to go, but she could already imagine that spring was just around the corner.
The waitress brought over their drinks: cappuccino for Steven, a black coffee for her. Mum, Dad and Harriet had opted for hot chocolate, which was so thick and sweet she wondered whether they might regret combining it with the cakes that she’d bought them.
They sat together, sipping and smiling and relaying anecdotes from the past and hopes for the future. ‘I’ve got a new pupil starting next week,’ she told them. ‘And I’ve already had some interest for painting retreats through my website.’
Steven told them about his new role in the French hospital. How it had taken an age to have his qualifications recognised and all the paperwork complete.
‘What about your French?’ her mum asked.
‘It’s coming along. I think I’ll be OK.’
‘Do you—’ Mum began.
But Nic’s phone started to ring. She drew it from her pocket and saw Lucien’s name. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I have to…’ She stood up and answered. For some reason, an icy dread flooded through her. ‘Hello?’
‘Nic.’ Lucien’s voice didn’t sound as friendly as usual, as if it were taking all his effort to keep it steady. ‘I need you to come and watch Matthieu. Can you do it? I have to go to the hospital. It’s Annabelle.’
‘Oh God. Yes, of course. I’ll go home. Get my car. I can be there in ten minutes.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Is everything—’ But the line was dead.
She looked at her family. ‘I have to go,’ she said.
Steven offered to come with her, but she told him to stay, look after Harriet and her parents. ‘Matthieu barely knows me; it’s probably not a good idea to foist another stranger on him.’
‘Well, promise me you’ll drive carefully. Please.’
‘I will.’
It was hard though, to keep to the speed limits.
Every fibre in her being wanted to get there, to help Lucien, to be there for her friend.
She made it to his house and before she could even open the car door, he was outside, rushing to the gate.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Matthieu’s asleep inside.
I didn’t want to wake him – he had trouble sleeping last night. ’
‘OK. Won’t he freak out when he finds you’re not here?’
‘Maybe. But I can’t—’
‘Sorry, of course. It doesn’t matter. Go. Go!’ she said. ‘And look, drive safely. It won’t help anyone for you to get in an accident.’
‘Oui, you are right.’
She wanted to ask what had happened. Had Annabelle taken another turn for the worse? But she couldn’t find the words. How did you ask someone whether their wife was dying?
But the way Lucien’s car screeched away made her heart turn over. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
She sat in the kitchen, listening out for any sounds from Matthieu’s room, and nursed a coffee that she could barely stomach.
On the sill, the angel threw out its usual golden hue and she felt embarrassed that she’d given it to him.
He must have thought she was completely unhinged to try to magic his wife a completely new heart.
For a moment, she was tempted to grab the thing and fling it into the bin, but she managed to restrain herself.
It belonged to Lucien now and it wasn’t hers to trash.
After thirty minutes, Matthieu woke, padded through half-asleep in his rumpled clothes. He saw her and stopped, his eyes widening.
‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘I’m Nicola, remember? Daddy’s friend. He’s just had to go and visit your mummy. He’ll be back soon.’ She hoped that was true.
Matthieu eyed her suspiciously, his lip trembling a little. Then, ‘Chocolate?’ he said.
She smiled. ‘Yes, I’m the chocolate lady. Actually’ – she rummaged in her bag where she’d placed the wrapped-up eclair from the café in her haste – ‘I do have something chocolatey for you.’
His eyes widened and, shyness forgotten, he grabbed the eclair in a tiny fist, sending some of its chocolatey interior squirting out of the delicate pastry casing. Then, without hesitation, he brought the whole of it to his mouth, as if believing that he could fit the thing in in one go.
For the first time since the call, Nicola laughed.
And the little boy, catching her eye, laughed too.
As they giggled together, she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to this tiny boy if his mum never came home. Would he be able to recover the simple happiness of childhood that could be brightened simply with a bit of sugar?
Later, she made him some lunch, using some of the leftovers from the fridge and hoping she was doing the right thing. She’d thought about calling Lucien to check what Matthieu liked to eat, but hadn’t been able to bring herself to do so. Food seemed trivial at a time like this.
Then, she drew from her bag the other thing she’d brought.
‘What is it?’ Matthieu’s nose wrinkled a little at the grey lump, wrapped in plastic.
‘This,’ she said, ‘is proper clay. You make things out of it, then they dry in the air and you can paint them if you want. I bought some to make decorations but… well, it doesn’t matter. I thought we could play with it, if you like?’
He reached up for a piece but she shook her head. ‘No, let’s not make a mess; I’ll set it out at the table.’
Matthieu nodded.
‘I thought we could make Mummy a Christmas angel, what do you think?’
It was four o’clock when the phone finally rang. Picking it up, she felt nervous as if her life, too, hung in the balance. Lucien’s voice on the other end was slightly breathless. ‘Nicola?’
‘Yes?’
‘I am so sorry I left you for so long. Is Matthieu OK?’
‘Matthieu’s fine. How is…’ She wasn’t sure how to finish this sentence. ‘…everything?’
‘I have just heard from Annabelle’s mother. They should be at the house in the next hour. Is that OK? I haven’t kept you too long from your day?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m happy to help, honestly.’
‘Thank you.’
There was a silence that she didn’t know how to fill. ‘Are you… OK?’ she said at last.
‘Oui. It is difficult, this waiting. But they say it can be up to nine hours, sometimes. It is not a cause to worry. And of course, they keep me updated. The surgeons.’
‘The… surgeons?’
‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘Nicola, I didn’t say in my hurry, but there is a heart. Annabelle is getting her new heart today.’
‘She is?’
‘Yes!’ He laughed, although she could hear the stress and tiredness behind the sound. ‘They are very optimistic. It is a match and they have a top heart specialist.’
‘Oh my God.’
‘Yes. It is a miracle. Truly.’
When she ended the call, she realised her hands felt sightly trembly. It was the adrenaline, perhaps, of speaking to Lucien, of dreading him saying the worst possible news and instead hearing the best news any of them could have hoped for.
Just before five, there was a knock at the door and a rather stern-looking couple stood on the doorstep.
Annabelle’s mother’s eyes were red-ringed from crying; the father looked shattered.
By now, Matthieu was playing with cars at the table, his face still covered with chocolate.
She felt embarrassed, suddenly, as if she’d not given him proper care.
Probably she should have wiped his sticky face and hands.
But it had been such a stressful, strange day that it hadn’t even occurred to her.
‘Can I make you a coffee before I go?’ she asked, and they both nodded.
‘Thank you,’ Annabelle’s father said. ‘Lucien told me what a wonderful friend you’ve been to him. To both of them.’
It was strange driving back in the darkness again after the bright sunshine of the day.
As if, briefly, she’d forgotten they were still in winter.
But the lights at the other villagers’ house windows and the occasional ribbon-decked tree brightened the winter’s gloom, and when she reached her own house she saw the flashing sleigh, the trees festooned with baubles and light, and felt her heart lift.
She barely knew Annabelle, didn’t even know Lucien that well. But she felt her heart swell at the knowledge that they’d received the most amazing Christmas present possible.
The front door opened before she even turned off the engine, and as she exited the car her whole family stood and waited for her to come back into the warmth of their house.
Gabi was curled in Harriet’s arms and her parents had their arms around each other.
Seeing them all there, waiting for her, and knowing how worried they’d probably been, and that she had good news to tell them, made her feel as if she were floating as she made her way over the now-clear driveway and towards the light.