The bustling streets of Paris on the night before Christmas Eve, the city took on a frantic pace. We left the hospital and a sleeping Renee behind as Tina steered the car into the chaotic traffic. Despite the first few snowflakes that drifted gently from the darkening sky, people laden with shopping bags, their faces flushed from the cold and the hurried pace, passed by on the Boulevards.

’Give me a break.’ Tina threw her hands up in the air in frustration, stuck behind a line of unmoving cars at the green light.

’Go right.’ I motioned at a side street that would lead us away from the busy 2nd arrondissement into the more quiet 9th. A group of tourists with ludicrous matching shirts and Christmas hats posed in front of their hotel. The camera flashed and I was happy I couldn’t hear their cheers inside the car. Tina leaned her elbow on the door panel, rested her temple against her hand and sighed. She hit the break when the next traffic light turned red. ’I told you to go right.’

’That side is closed. See.’ Annoyance flashed over her face in the light of the car display as she pointed at the route.

’I don’t find this system user friendly.’ Searching for the climate control function, I randomly tapped the touch screen, different icons popped up and disappeared. But the scorching air kept on blowing. ’Why did you actually change the car? What was wrong with your other car?’

She turned her head away from me and looked out of the window. A couple stopped in front of a shop window, the guy put and arm around his girlfriend as she pointed something out. He kissed her cheek and pulled her inside the store. The sign said; Boutique pour bébés. ’Drive asshole.’ Tina honked and surprisingly the traffic moved.

I pulled my leather gloves off and threw them on the dashboard. ’Can you please, for the love of god, turn down the heating? It’s like August in Saint Tropez in here.’

She pursed her lips and swallowed a sigh, but with quick scroll turned the blower down. We stood still at Pont de la Concorde. The street lanterns reflected in the dark waters of the Seine, that churned beneath. I thought of the fake little Christmas tree in the corner of Renee’s hospital room, and wondered if she would sleep whole night or would wake up during the night, alone and disoriented. At least she had a Christmas tree.