Chapter Four
Olivier – 36 Tilgate Road, Brighton
Olivier hefted his sports holdall onto his shoulder and pulled the handle of his wheelie case to its full length to drag it from the car to his maman’s house. The cold nipped at him after spending hours in the warmth of his Renault, making him wish he’d put on a coat over his jumper, but it was only a short walk from around the back alley where the garages were, to the front door.Ifhe’d remembered right and taken the correct turning.
The road stretched on away from him as he followed the hill upwards, reminiscent of an exercise in drawing perspective in art class, houses all the same height and width, disappearing to a point in the far distance. They weren’t all exactly the same though; it was just the darkness of the late winter afternoon drawing in and the glow of streetlamps making it seem that way. Some were painted different shades of grey, blue and beige – even a salmon pink – and their small front gardens varied between empty concrete rectangles to those holding assortments of colourful plant pots or with bicycles chained to black railings.
The plastic wheels of his case scuffed and bumped over the uneven paving slabs. When he came to a small faded brown brick wall with a row of white planters beneath the front window and a black and white chequered path, a plaque with ‘36’ screwed onto the gate, he stopped. An unexpected warmth tumbled through his chest at the sight of the terraced house. He’d known he was looking forward to seeing his maman again of course, and he liked England, but he hadn’t expected it to feel like he was coming home. After all, he’d never lived here. Perhaps he was just tired from the journey, and all the concentrating on driving on the wrong side of the road from Dover.
He lifted his case up onto the path and heard a door open, looking up quickly, but confusingly finding the red-painted one before him was still closed.Nothis maman rushing to greet him then. A movement to his left drew his attention and he realised it was the next-door neighbour’s, opening to reveal…an elf?
A tall, willowy blonde elf, carrying a black bin bag and grumbling under her breath about cheese and gravy.
Olivier drew in a sharp breath. He’d known Ashleigh was still living next door – or had gathered as much from his conversations with their mutual friend Romesh – but he hadn’t expected to bump into her immediately.
Her pale face glowed in the dim light, and her eyes, that piercingly light blue, accentuated by dark, artful flicks of eyeliner, glanced over at him. For a moment he thought she would walk straight past but then she did a double take and stopped in her tracks.
They stared at each other for a moment, a car passing behind them on the road, until Olivier found his tongue. ‘Ashleigh.’
Her mouth made a perfect ‘O’ as she lowered the bin bag part way. ‘Olivier,’ she finally shaped the rest of his name. ‘Hi.’
‘Hello.’
‘Hi.’ She repeated and then bit her lip. ‘Wow. This is a surprise. Are you just arriving?’
‘Yes.’ He unhooked his holdall, as though he needed to prove it and not that he’d been standing outside the house waiting for her. He rested it on top of his wheelie case precariously and then looked back at her. She was still watching him, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sheer pleasure of seeing her face again. ‘I’ll be staying until Christmas. It’s lovely to see you.’
She smiled back but it was a small, jaded thing compared to the one he remembered. ‘And you. It’s been a long time.’
He nodded and quiet settled between them again. This was where they first met when he was fourteen and her twelve, either side of the wall in the front garden. He wondered if she was thinking of that moment or of the last time they saw each other, seven years ago. Warmth touched his cheeks at the thought.
Perhaps that was why she didn’t look so happy. The perimeters of the friendship zone had grown fuzzy that night, and he’d given her his number to call him when he left. But he’d had to assume she regretted it when he never heard from her. He hoped it wouldn’t sit awkwardly between them because it was genuinely a joy to see her. Romesh and Ashleigh were as much a part of the memories of his Christmases here as his maman was.
‘I’ve just got to—’ She pointed at the bin in the corner of her garden, to the side of the gate, and walked over to lift the lid and dump the bag of rubbish inside, then pulled it outside the gate onto the street.
He waited. Maybe he shouldn’t have but his eyes couldn’t seem to get enough of her. She was a shadowy thing, like she’d stepped out of his dream and not fully formed yet.
‘How are you?’ he asked, moving closer to the wall as she turned to walk back up the path. She slowed down, like she didn’t want to get too close. ‘Well, as you can see, my acting career is in full flight and I’m still living with my nan.’ She gestured with a rueful smile to her clothes.
‘You are one of Santa’s elves?’
She nodded. ‘At a grotto on a farm near Crawley.’
‘I hope that wasn’t his sack you were throwing away.’ It was a fairly lame joke, but she laughed, and he was pleased to see it was filled with more of the warmth he was used to, though it was gone too quickly. ‘It sounds like a fun job for this time of year. All the excited children.’
‘I suppose.’ She crossed her arms over her chest at first, her elf costume slipping haphazardly across her narrow shoulders, but then she nodded after a moment thinking about it. ‘Yes, actually, it can be. You’re still working with your father?’
‘Yes. The restaurant is doing very well and I’m pâtissier now.’
‘You still enjoy it?’
He hadn’t thought about it really. She’d not lost her talent for asking direct questions, the ones that pinpointed the sticky truth of a matter.
Didhe still enjoy his job? He’d always wanted to work with food. He loved to experiment with flavours and techniques but…he never really got to do that in his papa’s kitchen did he? He supposed if he took on the sous-chef role, he might be more likely to help create dishes – but then he would be doing less of the actual cooking, and more managing too.
He gave an uneasy shrug. ‘I love cooking.’
Her eyebrows drew together as she looked at him and then she dropped her gaze and looked towards her door. ‘Well. I better get back inside. Nan’ll complain I’m letting all the heat out and I have to go to the supermarket.’
