And then the line clicks off.
‘What do you think he wants?’ Laurie asks when I bring her up to speed. ‘And why a church?’
‘I have no idea. I just hope he doesn’t know about the pictures with Gilles; he’s extremely protective of his brother.’
‘You’d better get ready,’ Laurie urges. ‘And dress for all eventualities.’
‘Laurie?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re such a good friend, always there for me.’
‘Oh don’t start!’
‘I mean it.’
‘Just bring me back a bottle of Caribou and we’ll call it quits.’
As I layer on my clothes I feel nervous, curious and sad all in one. Is there any way for this situation to turn around? The thought of going back to my life in London seems nigh-on unbearable.
Time to go. I’m halfway down the stairs when I collide with Annique.
‘Oh!’ She takes a step back. ‘I was just coming up to see you but obviously you’re headed out.’
I look at my watch. ‘I’ve got five minutes.’ And then I think that sounds callous so I explain, ‘I have to meet Sebastien – he needs some kind of favour.’
‘Sebastien? Did you resolve things with Jacques?’
I shake my head. ‘I sent him a text but he didn’t respond.’
‘Perhaps his phone doesn’t accept texts?’ she offers.
‘Perhaps. What about you and Gilles? Is everything all right now?’
She sighs. ‘No. But it’s okay. It’s for the best.’
My shoulders slump. ‘Annique, you have to understand I hadn’t even met you when it happened and I had no idea that the two of you were—’
‘No,’ she cuts in. ‘But he did. He knew.’
‘I know he thinks the world of you … ’
‘Do you know how old he is?’ Her chin juts the question. ‘Or rather I should say, how young?’
‘I just found out yesterday,’ I say in a small voice.
‘You consider his age, the fact that he’s not ready to be a father, the fact he was kissing another woman two days after we met … ’
I grimace. ‘Well, when you put it like that … ’
She checks her watch. ‘You need to get to your appointment.’ She leads me back down the stairs and pushes the bar on the door. ‘If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that I need a man who has all the time in the world for me and for Coco.’
It is precisely at this point that I look across to the church and see Mr Dufour waiting in the car park. Retired, mad about kids … I turn back to Annique.
‘How do you feel about older men?’
She shrugs. ‘It might be time.’
‘I want you to come and meet someone.’
‘Ohh, not now, I have Coco with me – she’s just waiting in the souvenir shop.’
‘Actually, she would be a bonus as far as this guy is concerned.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely.’
So now there are three of us heading for the church.
I understand the choice of venue now – this is where all the sled-dog vans are parked, bringing with them the distinctive smell of hay and revved-up dogs.
‘Krista!’ Jacques’ father does his classic welcome cheer.
‘Hello Mr Dufour!’
‘Call me Philippe.’
‘Philippe, I’d like you to meet Mademoiselle Coco.’
She is a darling little girl, eyes like chocolate buttons, hair braided with bright pink bows, sticking out from her jaunty cerise beret.
He doffs his cap with a swooping bow, causing her to giggle and respond with a curtsy.
‘And this,’ I pause for effect, ‘is Annique.’
His eyes widen to take in her beauty. ‘Enchanté … ’
‘She’s even prettier on the inside.’
He looks back at me to check my sincerity and I give him a nod of confirmation – she’s the real deal.
‘Would you like to meet the dogs?’ He turns his attention back to Coco. ‘Give them a lucky paw-shake before they race?’
She looks excitedly up at her mum for approval.
‘That would be lovely,’ Annique confirms.
‘After you … ’ Mr Dufour motions towards the truck. But before he follows them, he turns back to me and husks, ‘I think I just met my next wife...’
I’m just thinking that I should probably have asked where Sebastien is when he appears beside me.
‘Thanks for coming,’ he puffs, a little out of breath.
‘Everything all right?’
‘Just running around setting up for the race. Jacques is already at the start with the first group. I don’t know if you know but we run a couple of teams each year?’
‘No … ’
‘And I was due to race second but,’ he gives an exaggerated grimace, ‘I’ve got this twinge in my arm and I can’t risk messing up my body before the Cirque du Soleil tour. You understand?’
‘Of course.’
‘So you’ll do it?’
‘Do what?’
‘Race in my place?’
I stare at him in disbelief. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Why not?’
I give an involuntary snort. ‘You’ve seen what happens when I mush under pressure – I land flat on my face!’
‘You’ll be fine.’
‘Sebastien!’ I despair. ‘I can’t believe you’re being so blasé about the Dufour reputation. What if I completely mess up? Which is really likely considering I have done this precisely twice before and only out in the snowy wilds – I don’t know anything about careering through a town centre with hundreds of whooping people lining the trail.’
‘Oh you’ll love it, it’s a total trip.’
I blink at him. This must be a wind-up. It has to be.
And then it strikes me …
‘If you knew an hour ago that you weren’t going to race, why didn’t you ask one of the other guys or Lucy … ’
‘Because it has to be you.’
Before I can probe him further he adds, ‘And it has to be now.’
At which point Mr Dufour comes around the corner with six super-charged dogs, rearing up on their hind legs with excitement.
‘You’re not going to deny them their race now, are you Krista?’
Oh cripes, he’s in on it too!
‘You can do it!’ Annique encourages.
I want to point out that she’s in no position to be allowed an opinion since she was curled up in a hungover ball when we were last at the farm.
‘I asked them to run faster than they ever have done in their life,’ Coco adds.
‘Thanks for that,’ I mutter, feeling faint with anxiety.
As we progress up the hill to the starting point, Sebastien continues with his pep talk.
‘You can’t mess this up.’
I give him a ‘Be real!’ glare.
‘What I mean is, this is a fun race, a Carnival attraction. You’re not going to make or break us.’
‘Then why is it so important?’
‘Because I don’t want the last image Jacques has of you to be the one he saw in the photo studio.’
My stomach drops like a stone. He knows.
‘I feel awful about that,’ my brow crumples. ‘It was just a fleeting moment—’
He holds up his hand. ‘I know. I saw Gilles on the way in. Jacques wouldn’t speak to him but I did.’
I heave a sigh. And then I startle: ‘I’m supposed to be meeting Gilles at Starbucks—’
‘I already told him you had other plans.’
I give Sebastien a steady look. ‘Do you really think me doing this is going to make a difference? It won’t just annoy Jacques more?’
‘Listen, you’re not the only one around here with devious ways of fixing situations.’
I raise an eyebrow.
‘And don’t act all innocent with me. I know Montreal was your idea.’
I bite my lip.
‘So you see, I owe you.’
An announcement is made over the tannoy. Sebastien translates for me:
‘It’s your turn.’
I take a breath, the mere influx of oxygen making me giddy. I can hardly hear the dogs barking for the rushing in my ears, but I can feel them straining, yanking at the sled.
‘
Set us free! Set us free!
’
Sebastien places his hands over my trembling mittens.
‘Trust the dogs, trust yourself. Lean to the left, lean to the right. And enjoy it – in approximately three seconds you will be the star attraction at the Quebec Winter Carnival!’
Oh my god!
And with that, we’re off!
It’s an interesting thing being a writer. Nobody cheers and whoops as you sit at the laptop. There are no crowds of people peering over your shoulder, elbowing at each other to get a better look at your adjectives or gasp at your innovative use of punctuation. You might get a compliment after the fact, but the actual act of writing is about the least likely ‘spectator sport’ you could get.
So this rush, this frenzy, this sky-rocketing adrenalin is all very new to me.
Not that I can really take any of it in. Other than passing through the archway as we exit the Old Town, I don’t think I could even describe the route that I am currently pounding down. I am soley focussed on the dogs. I try so hard not to panic-brake as we plunge downhill but a few times I get a ‘runaway train’ sensation and have to slow them just enough to keep my hysteria at bay.
Out of some mysterious instinct I feel my knees bending and flexing in response to the motion, and when we take a steep slope I hop off the sled and run myself. For a few seconds after I jump back I enter the zone. I have just enough time to think, ‘This is the best!’ before we take a sharp right and the Château Frontenac comes into view.
The cheering intensifies.
‘
Allez, allez!
’ I request one last burst of energy from the dogs and they oblige.
Suddenly it’s all over.
And then it’s all hands on deck – Sebastien and his father running towards me to take over and handle the dogs. My legs almost buckling as I step off the sled.
I did it! I can’t believe it but I did!
And then I see a surprising pair of arms advancing to embrace me.
‘Madame Laframboise!’
‘
Bien fait, vous êtes tellement brave!
’
‘Th-thank you!’ I say, though I have no idea of the exact translation, it seems positive. She’s still hugging me when, over her shoulder, I see a man approaching.
And that man is Jacques.
‘I didn’t realise you two knew each other.’
‘She’s a good girl,’ Madame Laframboise places her hand on my cheek. ‘She cares about you very much.’
I blush and look at the ground.
‘It was you?’ Jacques steps closer. ‘You’re the reason she called me?’
‘I’m sure she would have any way, with the baby coming … ’
And then I look up at him. This is my chance to speak. I have to at least try to make him understand.
‘Jacques, I’m so sorry about the picture, I—’
‘No,’ he stops me. ‘I’m embarrassed about how I behaved. I don’t normally get that jealous. There was just something so … I don’t know,
pure
about how I felt about you and when I saw that, just the thought of another man … ’ He shudders.
‘It was the briefest moment—’
‘I know,’ he soothes me. ‘Sebastien told me. And he showed me just how brave you were willing to be for me.’ He rubs his hands over his face. ‘I can’t believe you just competed in the
La Grande Virée
!’
‘I’m still in shock myself!’ I laugh.
He takes a step closer. ‘You were wonderful! On fire!’
‘Really?’
‘Jacques! Krista!’ Sebastien interrupts, beckoning us over. ‘They have the results.
Thanks to me, this is the first year in ten that Jacques does not come out as overall winner. And he says he couldn’t be happier.
‘It’s time for a change, time for something new.’
And then he pulls me into a big squishy Puffa hug and kisses the top of my head.
‘Tell me, it’s not true that you’re leaving today, is it?’ he says, looking down into my eyes.
I give the slightest nod.
‘Can’t you stay just one more day? I owe you a dinner. I’ll get your flight changed. We can have the whole evening to ourselves – just you, me and a hundred and twelve dogs.’
My smile becomes a mile wide. ‘Sounds like a dream!’
‘So you’ll stay?’
‘I’ll stay. With you.’
He looks as if he might burst with delight. I feel the same way.
‘So you’ll check out of the auberge and check in with me?
I nod, desperate to squeak or squeal or roll in the snow like Jupiter is doing right now. This is beyond wonderful! I’m all but soaring with joy!
‘Okay, well, we’ll get finished up here and then let me know when you’re ready and I’ll come get your bag. And you.’
I so desperately want to run all the way, but I don’t want any broken bones or concussions before what could be the best night of my life, so I inch across the road in my usual eighty-year-old-with-an-invisible-walker mode.
As I come through the front door the woman on Reception jokes, ‘No messages, no packages!’
‘That’s okay,’ I chirrup.
‘But there is a man waiting for you in the restaurant … ’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
My face falls. This can’t be good. I almost daren’t look in. I just couldn’t bear it if anything got in the way now …
As I walk past the beige-clothed tables, I study every male I see, just to be sure that the complexion and eye colour isn’t a variation on you-know-who.
But then I see one face that has remained the same from the first day I arrived – Gilles.
‘I got a booth away from the window so no one would see us.’
I slide onto the opposite banquette.
‘Jacques is coming to get me here so I haven’t got long.’
‘That’s okay. I just wanted to tell you … ’ He looks a little lost for words.
I want to reach across and touch his hand but think better of it. Instead I simply say, ‘I’m sorry about Annique.’
‘Me too. But I feel relieved that I can’t disappoint her or hurt her any more. She deserves better.’
I nod, only now realising that Annique could end up being my mother-in-law. But I’m getting ahead of myself …
‘I got some great shots of you in the race!’ he perks up.
‘You did? I wondered if you’d even realise it was me. You know, seeing as I was going by so fast!’
‘You were fast!’
I smile back at him. ‘I’m glad there’s proof because no one back home would believe I did that.’
And then I get a queasy pang. I said ‘back home’, but it doesn’t feel like I’ll be going back ‘home’ at all; it feels like I’ll be leaving it.
‘You don’t want to go back, do you?’ Gilles tilts his head at me.