A Year at the French Farmhouse

‘But…’

‘I know you said he said not to. But I think you should, Mum.’

‘I just don’t think…’

‘He misses you, you know. I mean, loads, right?’

‘Oh Ty. I’m sure he…’

‘And he’s in a right state. The house is a shithole.’

‘Ty!’

‘Sorry. It’s very messy,’ he said. ‘He needs you, I think.’

‘Oh, Ty… it sounds like he needs a cleaner.’

‘Nah, it’s not that… he’s just… He’s sad, I guess.’

She wished now that she hadn’t brought the subject up. ‘OK, Ty. I’ll, well, I’ll see what I can do.’

This seemed to satisfy him. ‘Thanks.’

In a way she was proud of him – an eighteen-year-old trying to save his parents’ marriage. But at the same time she was angry at Ben, for not filling Ty in on all the details and leaving him to assume she was the ‘bad guy’ in all this.

Angry, she dialled the one person who she knew would say the right thing.

‘Hello, stranger,’ Emily said, a smile in her voice.

‘Hey, you.’

‘So?’

‘So, what?’

‘So spill. About the date?’

‘It was. Well, it was really lovely,’ she said, feeling herself begin to blush.

‘That’s great, Lily.’

‘Really?’ Lily’s face relaxed. ‘Because yesterday you seemed to think it was a mistake to be going at all.’

A beat.

‘Look, honey. It’s your life – your choice what you do with it. It was just… I suppose I wanted to make sure that you’re sure, about Ben.’

‘Well, I am.’

‘Well, then I’m happy for you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And now it’s your duty to tell me all the details!’

Lily told her about the restaurant, the wine, the drive back home. And the kiss.

‘Wow, romantic!’

‘Very.’

‘And you’re not rushing into anything.’

‘Would it matter if I did?’

‘Well, no. I just…’

‘Look, Em… you know I love you. But you seem to be siding with Ben in all this. He let me go. He. Let. Me. Go. He didn’t want to come, he didn’t even want to try.’ She heard the wobble in her own voice. ‘What am I supposed to do? Sit around and wait forever? Live alone somewhere where I know no one and not leave the house?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Emily said. ‘And I am your friend. Always. It’s just… I don’t know. I want things to work out for you, I suppose. And it’s hard with you over there… I just worry about you.’

‘I know. But honestly, I’m fine. Well, most of the time.’

‘Good. Well, I’m glad to hear it.’

‘Thank you.’

There was a silence.

‘But Lily, just… just don’t rush into this thing, OK? I mean, it’s your life and I don’t want to interfere…’

‘Yes, Mum.’

‘Ha. You know what I mean. I care about you… is all. And… I just… Look, don’t give up on Ben, Lily. Not yet. Not completely.’

‘OK,’ she said. Because it seemed like the thing she ought to say.

But when she hung the phone up minutes later, she wondered why Emily had said that. Had Ben actually been going round convincing everyone she was the one in the wrong? Had he bad-mouthed her to Ty? Painted a tragic picture of his suffering to Emily? Surely Emily would have said if she’d seen him, heard from him.

For years, she’d been going to work, coming home; feeling completely invisible and unimportant. Now it seemed the world and his wife wanted to tell her how to live her life.

She debated whether to call Emily back and challenge her. But it was easier to leave it. It wasn’t as if she even had another date with Frédérique sorted yet. Any more conversations about what she should or shouldn’t do with the attractive, kind Russell Crowe doppelg?nger (circa 2006) would ruin things entirely. Just when she had been feeling upbeat and excited and attractive and all the things you feel when someone new comes into your life.

Instead, she decided to search online for a few more pieces of furniture. She’d seen a wooden bedstead on sale recently, and needed to research what kind of mattress might fit it. And sitting down and scrolling was all she was really good for right now.

Just as she was about to fire up the laptop, there was a knock at the door.

Perhaps it was someone else, ready to stage an intervention on her love life, she thought as she went to answer it.

‘Bonjour.’ It was Chloé, clutching a p?tisserie box.

‘Oh, bonjour, Chloé.’ Lily said, feeling her heart turn over.

‘It is OK for me to come in?’

‘Of course,’ Lily said, stepping back and smiling nervously. Then ‘Thank you,’ as Chloé handed her the box. Inside were two tartes aux fraises, glistening with sweetness.

‘I want to tell you for last night,’ Chloé said, settling herself down rather uncomfortably on one of the metal garden chairs. ‘I did not mean to be unfriendly, uh?’

‘It’s OK,’ Lily said, putting spoonfuls of coffee in her new cafetière and pulling a couple of plates from the cupboard. ‘Frédérique explained everything.’

‘Oh, he explain?’ Chloé said with a delicate raise of the eyebrow.

‘Yes, don’t worry. I understand.’ Lily smiled, passing Chloé her coffee before sinking into her own hard, metal seat.

‘Well, I am not sure what he say, but maybe I say what I think too?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Lily replied, her heart sinking.

‘Because Frédérique and I, we were lovers many years before.’

‘Yes, he said.’

Chloé shot her a look. ‘Yes? But did he tell you zat I don’t approve of ‘im much?’

‘Well,’ said Lily. ‘Sort of. That you find it… difficult.’

‘Difficile? Pourquoi? Why?’

‘Because,’ she felt herself going red. ‘Well, he said you feel…’

‘Pah! I feel. That I am in love with him, yes?’

‘Well, sort of…’

‘That I cannot ’elp myself to feel amour for ’im,’ Chloé said, shaking her head. ‘Bah.’

‘So you don’t…?’

‘Not for many, many year. But I watch him, huh? He did not treat me well, he – ‘ow you say – three-time me.’

‘Oh.’

‘And he say he love me, and want to marry. And then, pouf!’

‘Oh, that’s horrible.’

‘So, he is a friendly man. Kind. But not a nice man for boyfriend, I think,’ Chloé concluded.

‘So you don’t mind if we… if I…?’ Lily took a sip of her coffee and looked at Chloé intently.

‘But you wish to date him still? If he is not a good man?’

‘Well…’ Lily shrugged. It was hard to know how to reply without causing offence. It wasn’t great that Frédérique had form – perhaps this was what Claude had been referring to too? But she didn’t want to judge him on past misdemeanours. ‘Maybe not. But we’re just getting to know each other.’

‘As you want.’ Chloé took a bite of her strawberry tart, a little custard escaping over the side of the generously filled pastry, and wiped her mouth delicately with the serviette from the p?tisserie box.

‘You don’t mind?’

Chloé smiled. ‘I don’t mind for me. But maybe a little I mind for you, huh?’

‘Well, thank you. It’s nice, that you care.’

‘Well, we are friends, I think?’

‘Yes. Yes, we are friends.’





An hour later, after Chloé had disappeared into her car and driven off into the early evening air, Lily sat on her front step, head spinning.

She’d woken up with a headache dampening her mood. Now the headache had lifted, but her mood remained sombre. Because although it was nice that everyone seemed to care so much about her, there was a big part of her that wanted to tell them all to mind their own business. She was an adult, she was alone for the first time in two decades. And while it was kind of them to try to spare her from hurt, surely taking a risk was part of actually living?

The phone beeped, interrupting her thoughts. Frédérique.

Vendredi soir? You are free to come to a restaurant?





She typed:

Oui, bien s?r.





You bet I am.





25





The second-hand furniture store wasn’t quite what Lily had expected. When she turned left, as instructed by the GPS on her phone and bumped down a potholed lane she was certain she’d made a mistake. Passing a wood yard stacked high with cordes of wood for winter burning, and some sort of industrial unit, she was just about to turn around when she saw a ramshackle barn, the space around it filled with old garden ornaments and toys, a leaning stack of metal gates and a few rusty bikes.

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