Page 60 of A Loser by Christmas
“Promised your grandmother to keep you safe. Forher.” He comes out with a photo. It isn’t my grand-mère who smiles behind glass. It’s the woman who missed every single Christmas.
“Sylvie studied for years in London before our paths crossed. Her English was fluent. My French...” He flinches like I have so often when he’s raised his volume at me. “Her parents did their best to help you be bilingual so we could communicate, but I could have...”
Tried harder?
He shows me what kept him busy. Dad takes me on a boatyard tour, although not to brag about his business. We end up back at the speedboat I found him painting where he repeats what Calum guessed in a gallery containing a silver trophy with my name on.
“I couldn’t risk you ending up with no one at all.” He eyes me, and I wish I had a camera to catch this empathy. “Can’t say I ever wanted to resurrect my family business, but you and I lost your mother just when the last big recession happened. The banking crisis.” He sighs. “It reminded me of what my father told me when he was still alive. He always said that the one group of people who do well in hard times are the wealthy, so I rebuilt Juno Speedboats to chase their money.”
For me.
He scrubs at the back of his neck like I’ve seen Calum do so often. Dad does it while telling me about being between a rock and a hard place.
“This whole year has given me flashbacks of those first few years. Of not being able to pay the team and letting their families down at Christmas. Of letting you down, Valentin, when you were so young. Felt that all over again when you lost your grandmother. If I’d spoken better French, I could have reassured you. I tried to do that, but...” His face creases, words dying.
I fill his silence, and you better believe I speak up so he hears me.
“You made sure I was safe.” I’ve filmed parents trying to do the same between sand dunes and the sea where there are nosafe options for their children. “You can stop now.” I make eye contact and cup my hands around my mouth. “But you do need to start wearing ear defenders in the workshop. And I’m booking you a hearing test for Christmas.”
He laughs beside a boat where gold paint glistens. So do his eyes, and they shine even brighter when I spot a new addition written in much bigger letters than all the other names on this lifeboat.
Le Valentin.
Dad is still too loud, but I like this bellow.
“Seemed only right when your own boat was named for your mother. Nearly killed me when you sailed off in her that first time. Getting to watch what you did aboard her all on your own?” He makes a thick-sounding confession. “It was like having your mother back.” Again, he scrubs the back of his neck. “Scared the crap out of me when you almost sank. I did everything I could after that to keep you landlocked. Don’t know what I was thinking.”
Hearing that makes all the difference. We head back to his office where he makes hot drinks, and we face each other across a desk where I get busy doing some of my own sharing.
“The contest Maman won. I entered it.”
“You did?” He leans forward.
Usually, I’d lean back.
Now we meet in the middle.
“I got shortlisted.”
He beams, and I keep going.
“Today is the final deadline, but I don’t feel it’s done yet.” I wish I’d brought my laptop so I could show him. Even my phone would help to replay where I keep stumbling. Both are where I left them beside my bunk to run after Calum this morning. “I’ve gone off-track. I can’t figure out where.”
“Want to know what I do when a design doesn’t work out?”
I nod and take a sip of a drink that sends me straight back to early childhood. I could be sitting with a puzzle between us, both of us sipping on mugs full of chocolat chaud. Today, Dad turns his laptop to face me, a cross section of a speedboat filling the screen. “Missing something at this stage of a design throws out the whole build. Go back to the start, Valentin. Turn over all your pieces and take a second look at where they fit together. If something is missing, that’s where you’ll find it. Right at the beginning.”
The boatyard phone rings. He doesn’t pick it up to answer.
“Dad? The phone?—”
“I can bloody hear it,” he booms. “I’m more interested in hearingyou.”
I can’t hold in a grin as he snatches up the handset. “Juno Speedb—” His gaze lands on me. “Yes, he’s here. Hold on.” He passes the phone across the desk, and this is the softest I’ve ever heard him. “It’s Trelawney. He sounds...”
Upset.
That’s how Calum sounds, and for a moment, I think it’s actually his brother Patrick who says, “Babe?” like I’m the narrow-eyed elf he married. “Babe, can you hear me?”
