A Year at the French Farmhouse

As soon as she arrived home, she resolved, she was going to have the bath to end all baths – even if she had to boil a thousand kettles to warm it to the right temperature. She wasn’t sure whether she’d damaged the slug, or whether she’d simply made it slightly flatter with her tread, but whatever was on her foot, she longed to scrub it off, before also attempting to wash away the horrible feeling of being hungover. Next time they went out, she resolved, she’d stick to one glass, whatever stomach-churning delights were on the menu.

She hoped so much that there would be a next time.

Finally, her house came properly into view and she was on the home stretch. Just a couple of hundred metres and she’d be able to let herself in the front door, strip last night from her body, pop a couple of paracetamol, scrub herself clean then see if she couldn’t get an hour or so’s nap.

Then she stopped, feeling the blood drain from her face as she took in the sight of a figure standing close to her front gate. Someone who looked incongruous in his surroundings, but achingly familiar, even from this distance. But it couldn’t be, could it?

Since moving in, she’d come to like the occasional knock at the door – the way people popped around on their way to the lake, or dropped in to help out with something. She’d even enjoyed a coffee with her next-door neighbour last week – although her thick accent had been hard to understand, it had been a pleasant enough experience that had left her determined to pick up the pace with her online French lessons and find a local class as soon as possible.

But this wasn’t her neighbour, or Claude, or Frédérique, or any of the people she’d encountered in her time on French soil. It was someone else entirely, someone from a completely different world.

Even with his back to her and from this distance, she felt a flood of recognition taking in the chequered shirt, the tousled hair, the way he stood, one shoulder leaning slightly.

She began to run, her heart pounding, her whole body longing to get closer to him, to fling herself into his arms. All the missing him she’d repressed suddenly rushed to the fore. She hadn’t stopped loving him; hadn’t given up hope that this might happen. It was Ben! Perhaps he loved her after all? Perhaps he’d decided to make a go of it.

But as she approached, the man turned towards her and fixed his eyes on her, lifting his hand in a small wave of greeting and she felt a flush of heat on her neck. Her feelings raced from elation to disappointment to another sort of elation altogether. It wasn’t Ben at all. Just someone who looked incredibly like him from behind.

‘Ty!’ she cried, as she raced towards him, no longer worried what her poor bare feet might encounter and stumbling over a particularly pointy stone, before flinging herself into his arms. ‘What are you doing here?’

He embraced her briefly before standing back, slightly horrified at her enthusiastic greeting. But she’d missed him so much over the past few weeks, despite their phone calls and texts, that seeing him out of the blue had made her momentarily forget that although he was still her boy, he was also a teenager standing in front of a mother, asking her not to hug him.

‘All right?’ he said, picking up the bag at his feet.

‘Yes. Oh, Ty, it’s so good to see you!’ she said, feeling slightly dizzy. It was wonderful to see him, but the merging of one of her worlds with the other made the whole experience feel surreal.

She saw his eyes take in her appearance and suddenly realised how this must look. Flimsy dress, shoes in hand, messy hair, smudged mascara. It was a classic ‘walk of shame’ only in reverse – she, the wayward mother sneaking in after staying out all night, he the disapproving teen waiting on the front doorstep.

‘It’s not what it looks like,’ she said, instantly regretting the words, surely one of the most incriminating phrases in the world.

‘I’ve been here for two hours,’ he said, frowning.

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I just didn’t… Why didn’t you call?’

‘I wanted to surprise you.’

‘I’m really sorry, Ty,’ she said, rubbing a hand on his arm.

He nodded, looking again at her dishevelled appearance but not saying anything – probably in fear of unleashing the most awkward conversation in the history of awkward conversations. You didn’t ask your mum where she’d been all night, did you? Especially if you were afraid of the answer.

‘Come on,’ she said as brightly as she could, hoping to distract him from her appearance. ‘Let’s get inside and I’ll give you the tour.’

Half an hour later, she’d slipped on some more respectable jogging bottoms and a loose T-shirt, given her face a rudimentary wash, made a quick call to the bricolage to arrange an oil delivery and made him a cup of tea with a side order of pretty much all the biscuits she had in the cupboard. At last she no longer felt on the back foot (although one of her feet was still suspiciously sticky under its clean sock).

‘So,’ she said, sitting down opposite her son and taking a grateful gulp from the mug of tea she’d made. ‘What made you decide to come?’

He shrugged. ‘Dunno.’

‘I mean, I’m delighted you’re here. You can stay for as long as you want – forever if you want. But it’s a surprise, is all.’

He looked at her over the top of his mug. ‘Where did you go last night?’ he asked.

The question was unexpected. ‘Well, I was out for a meal with… well, with a friend. I’d been drinking, so I crashed at… hers,’ she said, feeling a little guilty. But it was less complicated than admitting she’d been with Frédérique. Plus it was private and new and something that was – for the moment at least – just theirs. The moonlight shining on the edge of crystal glasses, the softness of his lips against hers. The way in which he’d made her feel attractive, wanted in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

Tyler nodded, his eyes dark.

She tried to smile.

‘Well, I came for… I wanted to come for Dad,’ he said.

She felt something inside her sink. Guilt rose up. But what could she do? ‘Oh, Ty.’

‘What?’

‘I’m so sorry we’re putting you through this, sweetheart. And it’s so lovely that you love Dad so much and want to come and fix things for us. But…’

‘No, wait,’ he said, ‘I’m not…’

‘Not what?’

‘I don’t think I’m going to fix things for you, I’m not stupid,’ he said, frowning. ‘I’m just… you don’t know everything and I thought you should know everything before you…’ He trailed off, his eyes pleading with her not to make him say it.

‘Before I… move on?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, comfortable with her choice of words.

‘Oh, Ty,’ she said again, reaching over and covering his hand with hers. He let her, briefly, before moving his away. It wasn’t a gesture of rejection, just an automatic teenage reflex. ‘I know Dad loves me. I love him, too. You know? But…’

‘It’s not that.’

‘Then what?’ She felt a lump in her throat. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Well, not exactly. Dad, he’s… A couple of nights ago, I came in and he was kind of…’ He paused and looked at his nails, finding a dirty one and lifting the grot out of it with another fingernail.

‘He was what, Ty?’

‘I dunno.’

She sighed. ‘Angry?’

‘No, not that. More… you know like, sad, I guess.’

‘Oh.’

‘And like he doesn’t normally talk to me about stuff like this. But he kind of said some things to me.’

‘OK?’

‘He… he’s got… He’s not well, kind of…’

Her stomach heaved slightly. ‘Oh my god, Ty, what is it?’

‘He’s… He said he feels anxious. He’s… Well, he feels anxious about coming here, or really doing a lot of things. He says that’s why he can’t come. He just… Well, he can’t.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yeah.’ Ty shrugged. ‘I thought you should know, in case you want to…’

‘In case I want to…?’

‘I dunno. Come home and look after him.’

‘Oh, Ty.’ She reached for his hand again but this time he pulled it away before she got there. He stared down at the table, the back of his neck red. For a boy who’d barely admitted emotions existed for the past five years, to fly out here to tell her Ben had anxiety was nothing short of incredible.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ he said, at last. ‘I mean, I’m meant to be going to uni… but I can’t leave Dad in this state can I?’

‘Ty, look. I realise this is hard. It’s hard for me to hear too. But your dad… I mean there’s help out there. People can… well, get through these types of things.’

‘But…’

‘And there’s no way you’re going to delay going to university. You’ve worked hard for that. We’ll find a way – we’ll sort it. Dad will be OK, I promise.’

He grunted.

‘I mean, he’s eating? He’s going to work? There’s food at home for you?’

Ty nodded.

‘And do you know if he’s getting any help?’

A shake of the head.

‘OK, well, how about I ring him. I’ll ring him and check he’s OK.’

‘And if he’s not?’

It was so hard to have this conversation with her son. And even though it wasn’t directly Ben’s fault that Ty had taken it upon himself to come out, she felt angry that once again she’d been put in this position – the last thing she wanted to do was to use her son as a kind of envoy between them.

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