A Perfect Paris Christmas - Mandy Baggot Page 0,94
selling everything from vintage furniture – antique mirrors all highlighted with festive fayre – to books, shoes and vinyl records some in better condition than others. To Keeley it felt like it was a treasure trove and she was definitely going to be looking for Christmas gifts for her parents here. It seemed like the perfect place to discover something truly unique.
‘Silvie said not to bring anything,’ Keeley answered, pausing by a stall that sold jewellery. There were thick silver rings alongside the most delicate bands of gold with stones running around the circumference of them, then brooches encrusted with rubies and topaz. Something like that would be ideal for her mum. Something to wear and show off at book club or to use as a weapon in Krav Maga. ‘But I thought we would take some wine and maybe some flowers. What do you think?’
‘I think perhaps I should have answered Louis’s last text message about dinner.’
‘He texted you again?’ Keeley asked, looking away from the jewels to her friend.
‘It was the one text. I didn’t reply. But he didn’t follow it up with a second one. And he could have called,’ Rach said. She picked up a silver ring and blew some dust from it.
‘Did you want him to call?’ Keeley asked. ‘You did say you thought he was cute.’
‘But I obviously didn’t think he was cute enough to answer his text.’ She put the ring back down. ‘I don’t know. I think maybe I should start waiting.’
‘Waiting?’ Keeley wasn’t quite sure what Rach meant. Rach never really waited for anything in her life. She was a go-at-life-at-two-hundred-miles-an-hour kind of person. She hated even waiting for the time it took the kettle to boil for her coffee.
‘For the person who looks me in the eye and doesn’t care I’m wearing pyjamas,’ Rach elaborated.
‘Rach,’ Keeley said. ‘Are you really really worried about that?’
‘Not worried about it,’ Rach said quickly. ‘Just, you know, thinking maybe I might have sometimes… underrated myself in the dating arena and, you know, possibly made poor choices in case, maybe, the choices dried up completely.’
‘Oh, Rach,’ Keeley said, gathering her friend in her arms and hugging her close.
‘Don’t make me emotional,’ Rach ordered. ‘I put special mascara on today.’
Keeley let her go but kept her eyes direct and focused. ‘Your man choices are not going to dry up if you say no once in a while. Saying yes should be about how you feel, not anyone else. And it shouldn’t be because you’re worrying that the next invitation might be a little while coming.’ She took Rach’s hand and squeezed. ‘You’re talking to Kidney Girl, remember, the woman who can’t usually say anything to a member of the opposite sex without adding in her transplant life story.’
‘Or a terrible joke,’ Rach said, a smile appearing. ‘Do you remember that time at the curry house with the cute waiter? You said to him “how do you ask a kidney doctor if they are there?”’
Keeley cringed as she remembered the punchline. ‘Are u-rine?’
‘He didn’t know where to put his face let alone his poppadoms.’
‘See,’ Keeley said. ‘Nothing for you to worry about not responding to a text if you don’t want a date.’
‘Except Louis will be there tonight. At Silvie’s house. His home.’
‘And it will be fine,’ Keeley reassured. ‘I promise.’ She gave Rach’s hand another squeeze. Except Keeley herself was already nervous about tonight. The closer the evening got, the more the anxiety started to take hold and she was left second-guessing every one of her emotions. Yes, Silvie was nice, in fact she was more than nice, and Keeley had very much enjoyed their lunch, feeling that she had got to know Ferne a little bit better. But the café near the Louvre was very different to going to Silvie’s home. The house that had once been Ferne’s home. It was bound to be chock full of memories, a little like her home in Kensington that still held little touches of Bea in every corner. The white ring on the coffee table from Bea’s hot chocolate without a coaster when she was fourteen. A hairband down the side of the sofa. A charcoal drawing of the Bristol suspension bridge that was the cornerstone to Bea’s GCSE art coursework…
‘We could take prosecco,’ Keeley began. ‘You can’t go wrong with prosecco, can you?’
‘Are you mad?’ Rach exclaimed. ‘Of course you can go wrong with prosecco… by it simply not being champagne!’