A Perfect Paris Christmas - Mandy Baggot Page 0,21
might as well have a name seeing as it’s the only thing that listens to me when you’re not around.’
Keeley felt a prick of guilt in her chest like someone had stabbed her with an extra sharp and spiky bough of a spruce tree. And here she was about to tell Erica she wouldn’t be coming to visit for a while. The train ticket was currently open-ended and Silvie had booked a room at a hotel called Perfect Paris near the Eiffel Tower. It sounded so quintessentially French that Keeley had allowed herself to get a little excited for the holiday element of the trip. It was a country she’d never visited before and she was going with her best friend.
‘The fat nurse came in this morning to wash me,’ Erica carried on, trying to sit up a little, but flailing. Keeley leaned in to help her, supporting her shoulders and adjusting her pillows. ‘She smells so bad, man. Even I can smell her!’
‘Oh, well…’ What did you say to that?
‘I told her,’ Erica carried on. ‘I said “has anyone introduced you to Lynx Africa? Because it ain’t just for men, it’s for man-sized issues in the armpit region no matter what your gender and you… you are holding on to the perspiration problems of all the continents”.’
‘You didn’t!’ Keeley remarked, suppressing a laugh.
‘Just because the nearly-dead might stink a bit, doesn’t mean everyone here should let their standards slip, man. Before all this I never left my flat without Lynx under my pits and large-arse spray of eau-de-toilette.’
‘I remember,’ Keeley said. ‘But… what was it called again?’
‘Bronze Goddess. Like me.’
‘Do you have it now?’ Keeley asked. ‘I could get it out and we could spray some on your blankets.’
Erica shook her head, vigorously at first, and then less so, as if the exertion had suddenly got the better of her. ‘I can’t… it doesn’t… it doesn’t smell the same anymore.’
Keeley swallowed a lump in her throat. ‘I’m sorry.’ She knew a little of what it was like to have that aroma familiarity begin to slowly fade away. Her impaired sense of smell was another thing she had had to adapt to since the transplant.
There was no easy way to tell Erica she was leaving, but delaying the news wasn’t going to make it any better. She needed to say something right now.
‘Erica…’ Keeley began.
Erica turned her head, those large eyes surveying her now. ‘That’s your serious and concerned voice. What’s going on, man? The last time you had that voice was when you were softening me up because they said I was too wobbly to take showers anymore.’
Keeley remembered. She also knew how much Erica loved to shower. Erica had said the joy was the combination of searing hot water, her favourite lemon shower gel and the chance to sing at the top of her voice. Bathrooms had acoustics to rival the best concert halls according to Erica. Keeley took a breath. ‘I’m going away for a bit. To Paris.’ She didn’t want to stop talking. She wanted to get it all out before Erica had any chance to react. She would deal with any fallout when she was finished. ‘The mother of my kidney donor contacted me and she’s offered me the chance to go to Paris and meet her. I didn’t want to say no. I thought it was the right thing to do to go and see her. To maybe find out a bit about who my donor was.’ She checked Erica’s expression, but her friend wasn’t giving anything at all away. ‘I’ll be away a week or so. But I’ll be back before Christmas and I’ll… send you some postcards and I’ll FaceTime.’
‘Paris,’ Erica finally said, the word hanging a moment too long on her dry, cracked lips. ‘The home of the Eiffel Tower… and cheese… and all the good coffee.’
‘Yes,’ Keeley said. And Erica was never going to experience it. She felt terrible. ‘I’m sorry I’m going now. I replied to Madame Durand and then it all happened so quickly and Rach had to make sure her clients were introduced to Jamie and I had to shift a few things around with my schedule and… we both had to shunt Mr Peterson on to Oz and—’
‘Stop,’ Erica begged. ‘You’ve got “Desperate not to piss off the girl on her death bed” written all over your face.’
‘Well,’ Keeley began sadly, ‘I am… desperate not to piss off my friend.’