Of course this could also have something to do with this morning’s news. Cradling a little being just a few weeks old is inevitably making me think of Andrew and his baby-to-be. Not that babies wriggle as much as puppies, and they don’t tend to get involved in synchronised wrestling matches, pinning each other down by clamping their jaws around their opponents’ neck. They also don’t throw themselves off ledges, eat straw or scratch behind their ears using their foot.
‘Towards me,’ Gilles instructs as I try in vain to corral one pup with apricot accents to her fur.
‘You can tell you’ve never had children,’ he jokes as the puppy twists and flounders until I am now holding her upside down.
Of course he doesn’t mean to hurt my feelings.
Then again, why would anyone say such a thing? Who would want to hear that they have no natural aptitude in this arena? Even if it’s true. Perhaps because my body can’t produce a baby, it doesn’t see the need to be able to nurture and care for one. Perhaps even adoption would be unwise. Perhaps I’m better off with animals that are more resilient to being dropped …
I turn away on the pretext of trying to rearrange the wriggler, but I can’t stop my eyes brimming up and over. How is it possible that my tear ducts have refilled so quickly after this morning’s outpouring. Why is there so much left? Why can’t I stop it?
‘Jinx, are you misbehaving?’ Jacques steps in, blocking Gilles’ prying lens. ‘Here.’ He boosts Jinx higher so her furry face is now level with mine, her little puppy tongue quickly lapping away the salty streams.
‘How’s that?’ he asks with the tenderest tone.
‘Better,’ I nod.
He looks as if there’s something more he wants to say but not in present company. I wonder if he has any children of his own?
‘Why don’t you sit here?’ He guides me to the wooden ramp leading to the hutch. ‘That way you can hold more than one,’ he says, as he heaps Toutou and Sky and Asha onto my lap.
The trio are almost entirely soft beige, but with flecks of black along their lower spine and tail. Toutou has velvet ears that flop forward in little triangles, Sky has milky sapphire eyes and Asha looks as if she slept in her mascara, waking up with rings under her eyes.
‘And you have to have Bandit, he has the best eye mask of them all … ’
He keeps going until I am overrun with loving, nuzzling, leaning, licking puppies, all cramming into the baby-less gap in my heart and filling it up with fuzzy puppy love.
‘This is fantastic!’ Gilles raves as the remaining pups trot over to join the party, grouping around my feet. ‘Just look at the camera and let them do their thing!’
Now these pictures I can’t wait to see – I have no idea what mischief they are up to around me.
‘Watch out for Biscuit,’ Jacques laughs. ‘I think he’s going to start nibbling on your ear!’ And then his phone rings.
He turns back to give me a significant look as he says, ‘It’s my father.’ And then he excuses himself, beckoning Sebastien to take over the puppy supervision.
I try not to even look in his direction as he enters the pen. It will be all too apparent that my attitude towards him has changed. Instead of bombarding him with questions and challenging him, I only want to offer quiet understanding. And a little admiration at his loyalty and devotion to his brother. Even if said brother is, at this very moment, concocting a plan to release him from his Guardian Angel contract.
‘Well I can’t this week: it’s the Carnival, we’re booked solid,’ Jacques projects loudly as he heads back over. ‘I’ll have to send Sebastien.’
‘What? Send me where?’
‘Montreal. Dad needs the old car, his Citroën has finally died and he has to be at the physio by Friday.’
‘Well I can’t leave.’
‘What choice do we have? We can’t leave him stranded.’
‘It’s only three hours away, isn’t it?’ I chip in.
Sebastien shoots me a look that clearly states, ‘This is none of your business.’
But I ignore it …
‘You could leave first thing in the morning and be back on the train before dark.’
‘Do you have some vested interest in this?’ he snaps at me.
‘Only that I’d like to visit Montreal, and hear about all the hotspots from a native.’
He looks between the two of us, sensing a conspiracy.
‘Give me the phone.’
‘What?’
He snatches the mobile from Jacques’ hand and presses redial.
‘Dad?’ There’s a pause. ‘Oh. So it’s really broken. You want it on Thursday now?’ He sighs heavily. ‘All right. All right! I’ll see you then. Yes, yes, and the citron-pistachio biscotti, I know, I know.’
He hands the phone back to Jacques.
‘Café Olimpico?’
Sebastien jerks his head for a yes and then sighs, ‘Well, I suppose it’s an opportunity to get some more of my stuff.’
They exchange a few words in French and then Sebastien says he’s going to the barn, which seems to be his equivalent of the garden shed.
Jacques waits until he’s certain he’s out of range and then gives me a high-five. ‘Six months I’ve been trying to get him back there! I know he’ll get hooked again once he sees his old haunts. If you could try to prolong his stay as long as possible … ’
‘I’ll certainly try.’
‘This is great,’ he enthuses, gently rubbing at Bandit’s belly with the edge of his boot.
‘You will be all right while we’re gone, won’t you?’
He stops what he’s doing. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘I just mean, you won’t be short-handed?’
‘I’ll be fine. There’s a guy in the next village I can call upon anytime. No need to worry.’
I wish I could be certain. This is what you get for meddling before you have all the facts. It seemed such a simple solution before – your brother has left his dream job to get under your feet and on your nerves? Let’s get him back to Montreal so you can both get on with your lives! But now I know why Sebastien is here, I’m not so sure that I want to be the one to take him away. What if something, god forbid, did happen while we were gone? But no. I’m being silly. It’s just one day. And Jacques seems in genuinely good spirits about it all. Besides, there are so many people here to watch over him, all of them know the situation. They wouldn’t let anything bad happen.
‘Jacques!’ Lucy is calling out to him to let him know the next group has arrived. It’s time for us to move on.
‘I’m sorry I’ve been so unprofessional today,’ Annique apologises when we collect her from the farmhouse.
‘Not unprofessional,’ I correct her. ‘Human.’
She smiles and then gets a twinkle in her eye. ‘You know there is one thing I can do even with a hangover … ’
‘What’s that?’
‘Shop!’
‘Ooooh!’ Now she’s got my interest. ‘Not that you can let me buy anything,’ I tell her.
‘We’ll just lick the windows!’
‘Eww!’
‘That’s what we call window shopping.’
‘Ohhh!’ I laugh. ‘Actually, I need to do a shopping section for the website – you know, special Quebec buys?’
‘Yes, I remember from your email. I have a list of places to show you.’
‘See how professional you are?’
‘Oh!’ she blushes then looks at her watch. ‘We should go! Many of the shops close at five p.m.’
‘Just like the good old days back in England,’ I smile.
As we make our way to the car, we pass Jacques on the path.
I take a moment to stop and thank him again for being so obliging at such a busy time.
‘It was my pleasure.’
And then he hands me a card. ‘This is Sebastien’s number, so you can make the arrangements for Montreal.’
‘Great!’ I say, though I am a little dismayed that he hasn’t added his own. I don’t even know when our next encounter will be. ‘Well, I’d better go.’
As I turn to leave he says, ‘See you at the Bain de Neige.’
I switch back around. ‘What did you say?’
‘The Bain de Neige – Gilles said you’ll all be there.’
‘You’re not doing it?’
‘No, no. I’m actually helping the police with something.’
‘Catching Malhomme?’
He purses his lips. ‘All I can say is that I inherited a sniffer dog from a friend of mine and they want me to bring him along to the event.’
I wonder if I should tell him about the Staring Man at Auberge Saint-Antoine? I open my mouth to speak but Annique overrides me with a honking horn. No worries, it can wait until tomorrow. Everything can.
Right now I’m going to set aside all complex concerns and indulge in some all-consuming consumerism …
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
We start at Artisans Canada – a pleasing emporium for local crafts, gifts and apparel, all made in Quebec ‘
avec fierté
’ – with pride. They even stock a clothing range by former Cirque du Soleil costume designer Rosie Godbout. Her garments are predominantly black with intricately entwined swatches of colour and, though the voluminous coats are a little eccentric-art-teacher for my readers, I am immediately drawn to the nearby rail of patchwork sweaters in a rather more rustic palette …
‘These are really unusual,’ I say, holding up one asymmetrical top with a man’s tie re-purposed as shoulder straps. ‘I like the mix of textures and patterns.’
'They also sell them at the Hôtel de Glace,' Annique informs me.
‘Oh, I didn’t see them – I was up and out before the gift shop opened.’
‘Krista,’ Gilles beckons me. ‘Hold this up in front of you.’
He’s finally getting my vibe – a T-shirt with a cartoon beaver and the words ‘
Dam it!
’
We peruse every trinket and tchotchke in the place, but my most highly recommended purchase leads us back to Cirque du Soleil – jewellery by young designer Anne-Marie Chagnon.
The woman behind the glass display tells us that Cirque du Soleil creator and founder Guy Laliberté saw her designs and pretty much declared, ‘I want your work in every one of our boutiques around the world.’
She’s been creating exclusive collections for them every year for the past ten.
Can you imagine that warp level of success? One minute you’re tinkering with your mini blowtorch and a heap of metal alloys, the next you’ve been
discovered
…
I immediately fall for a cool, chunky pewter ring with a geometric slice of honey-coloured glass. This is the first time I have seen my hands displaying anything since I removed my wedding ring. And what a different message it sends, I think as I hold out my right hand to admire it. My wedding set was classic, traditional; this is a whole lot edgier and more independent.
‘And the prices are not too much.’ Annique shows me the tag which works out at about £50.
I am sorely tempted but this being our first shop, I decide to hold back. For now.
Next is Simons department store – founded in 1840! – which Annique suggests I explore at my leisure, but we peek inside the old-fashioned doors so she can show me the sale they have on gloves, hats and scarves. Definitely the place to come for bright red mittens and stripy beanies with fleece linings.
‘I’ve just realised we’re on the Côte de la Fabrique!’ I point up at the street sign when we step back outside. ‘How appropriate!’
Gilles dutifully snaps the sign and then asks, somewhat plaintively, ‘Is anyone getting hungry?’
‘Yes, yes,’ we girls chorus, with Annique adding, ‘Let me just show you one more place – Harricana; it’s on the way … ’
I love the window display – everything looks fluffy, strokeable, and slip-off-your-shoulder sexy. Thick knits, chunky boots and pristine, shiny-shiny furs.
And therein lies the problem. The fur is real.
‘No, no, this is different,’ Annique insists as I explain that this just isn’t cool in England. ‘Everything here is recycled.’
‘How so?’
‘In Quebec everyone’s grandmother owned a fur coat, so they collected up all the ones that had been left in storage or rejected in favour of modern fabrics and they created something entirely new. See this?’ She reaches for a cropped, collarless jacket and then points to a photograph showing the original long, voluminous form.
‘Quite the transformation!’ I note, also clocking a selection of furry bags, Yeti leg warmers and nifty capelets.
I must confess that, in my more shivery moments, I have wondered what it would be like to be enrobed in luxurious mink, but ultimately I came to the conclusion that it would be better to persuade the live animal to cosy up around your neck and shoulders, then you could trade off each other’s body heat.
As it happens now, I’m too hot. Shopping here comes with an inbuilt time limit – you are blown in through the door with an icy gust, so happy to be greeted with abundant warmth, and then gradually the chill leaves your body and the heat seeps in and then you start to sweat and that’s when you’ve got to get out. Purchase or no purchase.
Of course it’s different in a restaurant because you can relax and take off your coat and selective layers, which is what we do at Les Frères de la Côte.
I like this place straight away. An eclectic bistro with ketchup-red walls, multi-era memorabilia and a wine list penned on the mirror behind the bar. The waitresses look as if they’ve seen it all, but whereas in England they’d sling the menus on the table without even looking in your direction, here even the most jaded face softens into a smile.
‘You know, I’m starting to notice a trend … ’ I muse as our particular server heads off to place our order. ‘Everyone here in Quebec looks at you like they really see you.’
Annique and Gilles look bemused.
‘I mean, they’re not glazed or distant; everyone here seems
present
. And they are all so nice.’
I leave it at that, but what I’m really thinking is that this is what life could be like if no one had any hang-ups, just an easy-breezy openness. It’s certainly extremely validating when people take the trouble to have a genuine interaction. It makes you feel better about yourself and thus you are more inclined to pay that pleasantness forward …
‘Oooh, food!
Merci!
’
As Gilles turns a snap of my quiche-salad-fries combo into a work of art, I ask him how he got into photography. Unsurprisingly he tells us that his interest was first piqued when he was working as a model.