A Perfect Paris Christmas - Mandy Baggot Page 0,81
market online and they had taken a thirty-minute stroll to get here. And it was living up to all the Time Out article expectations so far. Beautiful rounds of Munster and Gerome cheeses were piled high, together with hams, jams and lots of gingerbread. It was a foodie’s nirvana with every kind of gastronomic delight you could imagine. They had already sampled wines, liqueurs and eau-de-vie – the latter, they were told, was a colourless fruit brandy using double distillation. Whatever it was it was very pleasant on the taste buds. But, experiencing the shopping revelry, Keeley had the urge to FaceTime Erica, particular when they had come across Christmas cookies Keeley knew her friend would have enjoyed seeing even if she couldn’t taste them.
‘She’s probably, you know, resting,’ Rach said softly.
‘Or she’s too ill to answer the phone. Or…’ She was already thinking it. Not there at all.
‘She’ll be fine,’ Rach said, sounding a little too upbeat. Keeley knew this was because she was worrying.
‘She won’t though, will she?’ Keeley swallowed, feeling a little guilty about the bright lights and the warmth beneath the marquee filled with goodies. ‘That’s the only certainty.’
Suddenly Keeley’s phone trilled in her hand and it made Keeley jump, almost knocking into a display of charcuterie items including some rather delicious-looking smoked sausages.
‘It’s Erica,’ Keeley breathed, her heart doing a happy bounce at this revelation.
‘Well,’ Rach said, ‘don’t just look at her name on the screen! Answer it!’
Keeley did just that, but turned the screen so it was facing the sausage display in all its glory. She knew her friend would appreciate it.
‘Hello?’ a voice said down the line. ‘Who is this?’
Keeley gulped. It wasn’t Erica. It was someone else. Now Keeley was back to being concerned about her friend’s health. She quickly switched the screen back around and looked at the caller on screen. It was a nurse.
‘Hello?’ the woman said again.
‘Hello… I’m Keeley… Keeley Andrews. I volunteer there, at the hospice and I’m Erica’s friend and…’
‘Rach,’ Keeley said, trying desperately to keep composed. ‘Nurse Walters, is Erica not… there?’ There were so many eventualities that could be associated with the word ‘there’. She could hardly breathe. She was seeing the looks on her parents faces when they told her Bea was gone. The first thought that had gone through her mind then was she would never hear Bea’s annoying humming along to the radio as she made coffee in the morning…
‘No,’ Nurse Walters replied, the phone screen wobbling as her face moved in and out of shot. She appeared to be dipping in and out of sight busying herself with something. It was hard to see in what looked like a darkened hospital room.
‘Well, where is she?’ Keeley was internally bracing herself for bad news. She didn’t know this nurse, but her matter-of-fact attitude was obvious. Was she about to brazenly impart tragic information over FaceTime? Surely a carer wouldn’t do that…
‘We’re moving her,’ she informed, again no-nonsense. ‘To another room.’
‘What other room?’ Her relief that Erica was still alive would only be absolute if this room was one of the ones further up the corridor rather than down it.
‘Room nine,’ the nurse said, finally stopping with her business and connecting with Keeley’s eyes.
‘Room nine,’ Keeley mouthed.
‘Room nine?’ Rach asked, none the wiser.
There was only one reason people got moved into room nine.
‘You understand?’ the nurse asked.
‘I don’t bloody understand!’ Rach exclaimed.
‘It’s…’ Keeley couldn’t bring herself to say the words. ‘It’s…’
‘Listen,’ the nurse interrupted. ‘She’s not too bad today, but she’s showing signs that things are taking a turn. We thought the view might be appropriate now.’
Tears were leaking out of Keeley’s eyes before she even knew about it. They were streaking her face and dropping onto her red coat, Rach still looking oblivious. She attempted to gather herself together and cleared her throat. ‘Could you take the awful painting?’
‘What?’ Nurse Walters asked.
‘The painting. In the room there. The poodles. She’s called the big one Henry.’
‘I will see what I can do.’
‘Please,’ Keeley begged. ‘And… make sure she has Nick Jonas with her.’
‘She can still talk at the moment,’ Nurse Walters said, her stern demeanour slackening a little. ‘She told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to touch that particular photograph. She actually clung on to it like it was a rock face she was climbing and it was the only handhold.’