Just for the Holidays: Your perfect summer read!. Sue Moorcroft

an inappropriate moment, he let it drop. ‘I’ll help you move what you need into the main house. Then let’s all eat at the little restaurant in the village tonight and worry about tomorrow when it comes. You look as if you’ve taken quite a bump yourself.’ He winced as he got a proper look at her grazed and contused arm.

      She touched her swollen elbow gingerly. ‘It’s sore.’

      ‘I’ll bet. Why don’t you just point me in the direction of whatever you want carrying?’ His left shoulder gave a throb as if to remind him it had been injured, too. ‘As long as it’s not madly heavy,’ he amended.

      She gazed around sadly. ‘I just need a few clothes and toiletries. It’s not as if I’ll be far away.’ But her sigh was all about leaving behind the most precious item – space.

      After several more attempts, Leah gave up trying to get more than her sister’s voicemail and turned to text instead.

       Leah: Michele, ring me ASAP. Alister’s had an accident and is in hospital. His ankle’s badly broken.

       Leah: It’s just me with the kids and they’re upset. A’s got to have an op and will be away about a week.

       Leah: Ring me now!

      In half an hour she was checking her phone for the hundredth time. Nothing. To reassure herself her phone was working she clicked on Scott’s avatar, showing his one-sided smile and tousled hair, and sent a long, groaning text to spill out the day’s events.

      The reply arrived in seconds:

       Scott: You need to give your sister a kick up the arse. Btw, do you know you’re only 2 hours from the Merc museum in Stuttgart? *tongue hanging out* x

      Briefly, she dreamed of the luxury of jumping into the Porsche and crossing into Germany to spend tomorrow admiring amazing cars. Then shoved the dream away.

       Leah: Very helpful. Not. x

       Scott : Does Alister’s accident mean you’re coming home? x

       Leah: I wish. x

      Hearing Ronan and Curtis knocking at the door and shouting to announce themselves, she shoved the phone into her pocket and ran downstairs. She found Jordan and Natasha in the kitchen ahead of her.

      Over their heads Ronan sent her a smile and mouthed, ‘OK?’ She rolled her eyes but nodded as Jordan shoved his feet into unlaced trainers and Natasha crawled beneath the table looking for a missing pink flip-flop.

      When everyone was finally ready to leave, Ronan said to the teens, ‘We’re walking into the village. Don’t get too far ahead, you guys.’ This pretty much guaranteed that they got as far ahead as they could along the lane without being out of sight, leaving Leah and Ronan to enjoy the peace and tranquillity of bringing up the rear, Ronan entertaining Leah with tales of childhood holidays in Kirchhoffen until they reached the village restaurant.

      À la Table de l’Ill was in the centre of the village where Rue Paul Deschanel widened into a crossroads. Painted blue and bedecked with white petunias and red geraniums, it was evidently popular with the locals. Wine bottles gleamed on tables beside jugs of water that clinked with ice. Inter-table banter filled the soft evening air and Leah supposed that in a place the size of Kirchhoffen you fell over your friends and neighbours – which was companionable or claustrophobic, depending on your point of view.

      Ronan chatted to the pretty waitress as she showed them to a table in the courtyard, his deep voice rolling over the rhythms of the French language and making the waitress smile.

      Once the kids were engrossed in their own whispering and sniggering, Ronan dropped his voice to ask Leah, ‘Have you managed to get in touch with their mum?’

      Leah pitched her voice equally low. ‘I’ve tried several times, but no reply.’

      ‘Worried?’

      She considered the emotions prompting the butterflies waltzing tensely in her tummy. ‘I’ve been focusing on terror with a touch of anger but, yes, I’m uneasy. In the furore of her leaving, I never thought to ask where she was headed. Bailey could have minced her up and stuffed her in his boot for all I know.’

      Ronan’s eyes smiled. ‘If that was his plan I think he’d have done it at home, saving the expense of travelling to France.’ He went on more seriously. ‘She couldn’t have foreseen what was about to happen and she’ll probably come back when you get the chance to explain.’

      ‘I hope she does, but the Michele who’s infatuated with Bailey is not the one I’ve known all my life.’ She put her glass down on the wooden table, too on edge even to enjoy the wine. ‘It’s scary enough for me, with the kids, the language and the French medical system, but goodness knows how Alister feels, in pain and abandoned in hospital. We don’t even know when his surgery will be. I’m to ring in the morning for an update, which will be fun if I don’t get an English speaker. I’m more worried about the prospect of trying to make myself understood in French than driving in a strange city on my own, which I’ll have to do to find this new hospital.’ She wiped suddenly sweaty palms on her dress.

      Beneath the table, Ronan’s hand found hers. ‘I can telephone the hospital for you. And why drive into Strasbourg when the trams and buses are so fantastic? Hautepierre’s website will have directions for public transport and Curtis and me would be happy to come along to familiarise you with the system.’

      Some of Leah’s tension seeped away. ‘Would you mind?’ She had to swallow a wimpy urge to cry in gratitude. ‘I wish I hadn’t dropped French as soon as my school let me. Even Curtis knows more than I do.’

      He picked up the menus and passed them around the table. ‘We can’t all be good at everything. I can’t do handbrake turns.’ He winked.

      Blushing at this reminder of her inglorious hour Leah turned her attention to selecting her meal.

      However, when her food arrived she found herself doing more brooding than eating, reminding herself to pack Alister’s bags then checking her phone in case she’d somehow missed a call or message from Michele.

      Ronan’s voice jolted her from her thoughts. ‘Is that sauce as good as it looks?’

      Not even sure she’d tasted it properly, sufficient professional interest stirred for her to swirl a forkful of duck in dark-red sauce and pop it in her mouth. ‘It’s unusual. Mushroom base, owes something to pine nuts and a lot to red wine.’

      His eyebrows lifted. ‘Impressive analysis. What about mine? It’s a local speciality, baeckeoffe, a kind of hotpot of more than one meat.’

      As the kids laughed because ‘baeckeoffe’ sounded like ‘bake off’, she tried a few bites. ‘Mutton, beef, pork, onions, carrots, leak, celery, bay leaf and clove. White wine, probably Riesling.’

      They continued tasting, discussing ingredients, and it was only when most of both dishes had vanished that she realised it had probably been a ruse to get her eating. She narrowed her eyes at him but definitely felt better for the food.

      Natasha dragged her chair closer so that she could rest her cheek against Leah’s arm. ‘Are we having dessert here or are you going to make something?’

      ‘Here,’ Ronan replied, firmly.

      Leah, smothering a yawn, didn’t protest at his answering for her. Her elbow was throbbing and she was beginning to feel a lot of other bruises.

      Finally, full of plum clafoutis and wilting fast, they trailed homeward along the cobbles, past the tabac, a mini-market, a pizza vending machine – to the fascination of the children,