A Year at the French Farmhouse

‘Well, it’s all a bit… sudden, really,’ she said. ‘I just…’ She couldn’t for some reason tell this man that she’d bid on the house by mistake on eBay. ‘I suppose it was a bit of an impulse purchase,’ she finished weakly.

‘It’s—’ But before he finished his sentence a door opened and a small man with dark hair and a well-groomed beard appeared in front of them.

He greeted Frédérique like an old friend and then turned to look at Lily. ‘Madame Butterworth?’ he said, his brown eyes crinkling as he smiled.

‘Yes,’ she said, offering her hand for a shake. ‘Nice to meet you.’

He looked at her hand for a moment as if confused then shook it briefly. ‘Et Monsieur Chrees!’ he said, his face breaking into a wide smile as he looked at the translator. ‘We meet again!’

Chris stood up and awkwardly exchanged air kisses with the notaire followed by a brief handshake with Frédérique.

Lily wondered at the need for a translator when everyone seemed to speak such good English, but didn’t say anything. Surely it was better this way than trying to work out legalese in a foreign tongue, even if it was costing her €250.

Moments later, she was sitting in a chair in front of Jean-Jacques, half nodding off and half drowning in a sea of terminology, as Chris quietly translated by her side. Rights of way and boundaries and the location of the septic tank and the sheer amount of clauses made her head spin. According to one document, the house was rated ‘D’ on a scale of A to E for its environmental credentials. ‘Is it not double-glazed?’ she asked Chris, who was in the middle of telling her what modifications she might need to make.

‘Well, no. Surely you noticed when you viewed?’ he said, confused.

‘I haven’t actually… I mean, I’ve seen the outside, but…’

Chris looked genuinely surprised. ‘You’re signing for a property and haven’t yet seen the inside?’ he asked, concerned.

‘Well, I’ve seen pictures… so…’

‘Did the agent not…?’

‘I’m not actually using an agent… it was… advertised online.’ The ridiculousness of her situation made her blush again. What exactly was she doing?

Chris held up a single finger towards Jean-Jacques who obediently fell silent. ‘Je suis désolé,’ he said to the notaire. ‘Un petit moment, s’il vous pla?t.’ Then to Lily. ‘Do you really want to sign the compromis without a proper viewing,’ he said. ‘It’s legally binding, you know. And you have every right… We can view today and come back tomorrow. I’d really advise…’

Lily felt the eyes of the room on her. ‘It’s fine,’ she said, feeling embarrassed. ‘I’ve seen… I mean, I know it needs work…’ She trailed off.

‘If you’re sure?’ Chris asked. doubtfully.

‘I am,’ she said, feeling uncomfortable and slightly doubtful herself. Was she sure? Her stomach dipped slightly as she considered the risk she was taking. The property was cheap, but it was still a lot of money to spend on something sight unseen. In normal times she’d probably have stopped, taken a viewing, made sure.

It was just, she’d already left her husband – at least for now – crossed the Channel, committed in every way to a life in France. Signing a compromis seemed almost insignificant when she’d made a promise to herself that she’d see this through.





Eventually she was released back into the sunshine, her hand aching from initialling each page in a series of documents that she didn’t completely understand, despite Chris’s efforts. She wondered if this was how they kept the property market moving in France. Just literally kept talking to you about clauses until you’d sign anything just to escape?

Before she could say anything else, Chris appeared in front of her. ‘Well, thank you,’ he said. ‘See you at the completion.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

‘No questions before I rush off? I’m afraid I’m rather booked up today.’

‘No, it’s fine.’ She smiled.

‘OK. Well, nice to meet you,’ he said. She noticed a line of sweat beading on his forehead. ‘I’d better…’

‘Yes, that’s fine.’

‘Right. Goodbye, then.’ He disappeared, half running towards a Renault Clio before clambering inside, his too-tight trousers revealing a cheeky glimpse of buttock as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

Left alone for a second, she suddenly felt quite tearful. The transaction, even with Frédérique green-lighting it through the local council, might take up to eight weeks or even more. Eight weeks in which she’d thought she’d be in the property, doing it up. Starting a new life. Eight weeks when instead she might find herself having to rent or stay with Chloé, which although wonderful would be expensive in the longer term.

It wasn’t as if she could go home though, was it? She had every right to live in the house in the UK that had her name on the paperwork. But she couldn’t make a dramatic exit then scuttle back for an eight-week wait. She’d have to find another way, if only to save her pride.

She had only been here a couple of days and already she’d started to feel as if the puzzle pieces of her life were falling into place. But suddenly, standing in the unfamiliar hamlet, fifteen miles from the B. & B., twenty from the property she’d committed to buy and at least five hundred from everything normal and familiar in her life, she felt suddenly and completely alone.





10





‘Do you want me to come weeth you to see la maison?’ Frédérique said, appearing beside her, an enormous set of keys jangling in his hand.

‘Sorry?’ she said, turning to face him and trying to smile. She could feel her mouth wobble slightly with emotion and hoped it wasn’t too obvious that she was on the verge of tears.

He peered more closely at her, and for a moment she wondered whether she had a stray facial hair she needed to whip out with the tweezers. Then, ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, his brow furrowed with concern. ‘Pleurez-vous? You are… raining? Your eyes?’

‘Oh. No. Non, je suis… je suis bien,’ she said, forcing out even more of a smile. ‘I am fine.’

‘Je vais bien,’ he corrected.

‘Sorry?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Are you sure you are all right, Madame Buttercup?’

She didn’t bother to correct him. ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. Bien. I just… buying the house, doing all this. It’s a bit overwhelming.’

‘Ov-er-whelming?’ he said, slowly.

‘Oh. Um, it’s… c’est trop pour moi… um… parfois,’ she said, desperately reaching for the right words. It’s too much.

He nodded. ‘The new ’ouse? It eez… you are scared?’

‘Yes. Scared. Sort of, anyway. It’s just, I’m on my own and… well, it seems…’

‘Do you want not to buy it, per’aps?’ he said, putting a hand on her arm. She looked up and saw his eyes clouded with concern. ‘It eez not too late. The notaire, Monsieur Berger, ’e iz mon ami, my friend? If you have made a mistake, we can rip.’ He mimed ripping up paperwork. ‘The ink is not dry, huh?’ He smiled. ‘It eez not a problème.’

‘No, no. It’s not that,’ she said, shaking her head and looking away. It was something about his smile – the friendliness and openness of it – seeing someone smile at her like that when she felt so alone might actually break her. ‘I want the house, it’s just…’ She trailed off. How much detail of her life did she actually want to share with this stranger? She decided to keep any thoughts about Ben close to her chest, but said: ‘I suppose I was hoping I would be able to live there now; I didn’t realise it would take so long for it to be mine.’

He nodded, understanding. ‘But you can move in, eh?’ he said. ‘There izz no one living in de ’ouse. It izz empty!’

‘But it isn’t mine? I haven’t… the paperwork.’

He shrugged. ‘In France, it ’appen sometimes. You can move in, if you want? After all, I am zee owner and I say it’s OK!’ he said, smiling. ‘You can start today, if you want? The water, he is still turned on. And I can telephone for the électricité if you want?’

‘Oh! Thank you,’ she said, not sure how comfortable she felt with the idea, but grateful for the offer nonetheless. ‘Are you sure that’s all right? I mean, legally?’

‘Mais oui!’ he said. ‘I am the maire, yes! I am – ow you say – the law.’

‘Like Judge Dredd?’

‘Who?’

‘Never mind.’ She smiled and saw his mouth turn up at the corners reciprocally. ‘Just… well, thank you. I might do that. If you’re sure.’

He held out the enormous set of keys. ‘You can take zem now,’ he said. ‘But if you want I can come weeth you to ’av a proper look? Per’aps save you from le jungle, eh! There are no tigers, but maybe a wild boar, or un chat, huh?’ He mimed an animal peeping over long grass. ‘Maybe it is not safe for you!’

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