Escape to the French Farmhouse

by Jo Thomas

  ‘My pleasure,’ he says. ‘Like I say, it makes up for some of your lost stock.’ He nods to the boxes of biscuits.

  ‘I lost more to Ralph’s antics than I did to the shop-lifter.’ He only took a couple of biscuits. Ralph scattered most of the macarons over the ground.

  ‘Perhaps I should take the rest to give as dessert to my customers. They’re really very good.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I didn’t get the chance to tell you when we had the problem here.’ He points out into the road. ‘But it was very, very tasty.’

  ‘Here. Take them,’ I say, handing him the box. ‘I can’t use them for anything. And it’s only me in the house.’

  ‘You live alone?’ he asks softly.

  I swallow. ‘I do now. Just me and Ralph,’ I say. Another first! I managed to say it. I live alone. ‘I’ve split from my husband. But it was the right thing for both of us.’

  ‘I split from my wife after the children left home. We had nothing in common. I had work and spent more and more time there. We became strangers. And the children are now adults and live their own lives. I sometimes think they only get in touch when they want something.’ He laughs gently, one hand on his stomach. I wonder if that would have happened to me and Ollie if we had had children. When we discovered we couldn’t, there was nothing left. I had a dog that I wasn’t sure I wanted, and he hatched the idea of France. It had felt like something to put on the Facebook page.

  ‘Here, take the biscuits, Henri,’ I say. ‘Really. They’re yours.’

  ‘I will pay you for them,’ he says. I start to argue but he won’t hear of me refusing. Then we eat a plate of tuiles with our coffee.

  ‘These really are good. I cannot bake or make desserts. And I don’t have the time or patience to learn. Hence the ice creams. I have ice creams in tubs, but when they’re gone, it’s lollies.’ He takes another bite. ‘Do you have other recipes?’

  I nod. ‘A whole book of lavender recipes Fabien gave to me as a moving-in present. I’m working my way through it.’

  ‘Ah, from the heart of Provence! Then why not bring to me what you make? I will buy them from you. A daily dessert!’

  My mouth hangs open. I can continue through the book. Another day, another recipe. ‘Really?’

  ‘Of course!’ He gives a belly laugh, a big hearty one. ‘Desserts were never my thing. Too much sugar isn’t good for me.’ He pats his stomach. ‘I’d be delighted if you made them. And, as I say, I can pay you.’

  ‘That would be wonderful, Henri! You have no idea how much that will help!’ I want to throw my arms around him in gratitude. Instead, buoyed by the wine and his offer, I kiss his cheek and thank him again. Life is finally coming together. He laughs again, the sound as warm as the sunshine on my face.

  ‘Ah, Fabien,’ says Henri, and my cheeks burn as I see him walking towards the small terrace. As he approaches, he looks at me and then at Henri, raising an eyebrow. With a tiny tilt of the head he seems to be questioning what’s going on. I can see how it might look. I open my mouth to explain.

  ‘So, a good lunch?’ he asks, looking at our coffee cups.

  ‘Delicious,’ I say, not knowing whether to reply in English or French, my tongue tying itself in knots. I wonder if he’s annoyed that I turned down lunch with him and now am here, clearly having had lunch with Henri. Would he care?

  Before I can explain what’s happened, Henri replies, ‘Great dessert,’ and pats me on the back. I accept his compliment gratefully as it hides my blushes.

  ‘I will take the table and chair back,’ says Fabien.

  ‘You can always leave them here, in the restaurant, if need be,’ says Henri to me.

  Ralph barks from under the table but doesn’t move.

  ‘It looks as if you had a good day,’ Fabien says.

  ‘Not bad. But Henri here has just made my day better,’ I say.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he says softly and, once again, I feel I should explain it’s not the kind of offer his tone implied.

  ‘She is going to make my desserts daily.’ Henri cuts across me as I gather my thoughts. I nod. ‘We’re in business!’

  Now Fabien smiles too. ‘Perfect! Looks like your business is up and running!’

  My heart tap, tap, taps and my stomach fizzes. I’m in business!

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Looks like I’m here to stay.’

  Fabien holds my gaze for a second and my stomach fizzes again. ‘I’ll get the table,’ he says, breaking away, and I wonder if Henri noticed.

  ‘There was a problem with one of the legs. Let me help you,’ I say.

  ‘No problem, I’ll fix it before next week and bring it back to Henri’s. Stay. Enjoy your coffee,’ he says. ‘Enjoy the sunshine … and your new life.’

  ‘Are you sure you won’t join us, Fabien? A beer, perhaps?’ asks Henri, but Fabien declines, picking up the table.

  ‘À bientôt,’ he calls over his shoulder, and waves.

  ‘À bientôt,’ I reply, watching him walk away and wishing he’d stayed. But now, I have something else to worry about.

  ‘Henri?’

  ‘Oui?’ he says, standing and clearing away his coffee cup. ‘More coffee?’

  ‘Non, merci. Henri, you said you knew the young person who took the biscuits.’

  He nods.

  ‘I think I should pay him a visit, return something he dropped.’

  Henri looks at me and then puts down the coffee cup. ‘Okay, I’ll write down the address for you, but, Del …’

  I take the piece of paper from his order pad on which he has noted the address.

  ‘Not all parts are as … relaxed as this bit of the town,’ he says. ‘Just be aware. On the outskirts, sometimes, it’s not always picture-perfect, even in France.’

  I take the paper and promise I’ll be careful. My heart beats a little faster. But something in me needs to return the boy’s property to him and see for myself where he lives. I hurry from the restaurant, across the square, following Henri’s instructions, feeling him watch me as I go. I walk down into the dark streets on the other side of town beyond the square, suddenly very pleased to have Ralph by my side.

  FOURTEEN

  ‘You’re a girl!’ I say, standing in the dark room, only a piece of thin material as a curtain covering the door from the hallway where people are coming and going, up and down the stairs, shouting to one another.

  ‘Putain!’ she swears, clearly taken by surprise.

  ‘I tried to knock. Someone let me in. I asked for Steph.’

  There is another piece of fabric over the window, pinned in place to attempt to mute the light, but so thin it’s of little use. She is standing over a mattress on the floor, presumably her bed. There is an unpleasant smell about the place, could be the drains, and an atmosphere that matches it.

  The whole area couldn’t be more different from the one I’ve just left, tucked away beyond the town, right on the outskirts, over the river. Walls are graffitied, there is shouting and a sense of aggression about it. A small, sad estate of forgotten flats, a far cry from the beautiful buildings in the town and up in the hills where Le Petit Mas is.

  The girl eyes Ralph warily, standing with her back and arms across the corner of the room, protecting or hiding something. ‘How did you find me?’ Her hair is plaited, her hoodie top down now.

  ‘Henri told me where to come.’ I look around the little room. The area is squalid, but the room is clean and tidy, if sparse. There’s nothing here. The remnants of my biscuits lie on a small table. She follows my gaze.

  ‘I only took a few!’ She lifts her chin defensively. ‘You can have them back if that’s why you’re here!’ she says, with a thick, gravelly accent.

  Distantly, I’m amazed by the fluency of her English. Her honesty catches me off my guard. I’d been ready to give a young boy a talking-to about stealing from people who are trying to make a living.

  ‘It was the end of the market. I just took what w
as going to be thrown away,’ she says.

  ‘Your English is amazing,’ I can’t help saying.

  ‘I went to school. I took myself when there was no one else to do it.’ Again jutting her chin at me.

  Ralph barks. She drops her head, looks at him, then back at me. Suddenly I hear a small giggle.

  ‘The dog’s friendly,’ I say quickly, then look down to her knee, and up again at the girl, who is suddenly unsure, watching my face. ‘You have a child,’ I say quietly. The little one giggles again, Ralph barks playfully – and everything drops into place. She was taking fruit the other day from the strawberry stall, and now the biscuits, not for her but for the little boy, who is holding a tuile in one hand and pointing at Ralph with the other. She picks him up and holds him to her on her hip. Something in me twists at the sight of him smiling, crumbs around his mouth and over his hands, holding the girl’s plait and covering that with crumbs too.

  ‘Maman,’ he says, and tries to poke the biscuit into her mouth, clearly used to sharing food, but she moves her mouth away.

  ‘Non, mange!’ she tells him. Eat. She is doing what anyone would, feeding her child first. But how old can she be? Sixteen, seventeen? Certainly no more than eighteen. A child herself.

  ‘Is …’ I say tentatively, ‘… is he yours?’ I smile at him. He points at Ralph, who pants, his tongue hanging out of his grinning mouth. And right now, I think Ralph is the best dog in the world. We may not have got off to a great start, but I couldn’t love him more for being Ralph.

  ‘Yes! He’s mine,’ she snaps back. ‘I am a good mother!’

  ‘Yes, yes! I’m sure you are.’ Outside the room people are still going up and down the stairs, men’s voices shouting, and I wonder how on earth she can live like this. I feel sick, realizing how full of pity I was for myself the night Ollie left. But I have a house and it feels safe. Not like this place. The little boy points to me and smiles. I have no idea how to talk to children – I’m not used to being around them. I don’t have nephews or nieces, and I’d kept my distance from friends who were having babies and then second babies. It was like a world I wasn’t a part of. Some tried to include me, asking me to be godmother, but I declined. I always felt on the back foot when I saw them, trying to work out how to speak to the children or hold them. It just made me more awkward. In the end, I turned down the invitations to birthday parties and days out. I felt I was on show, having to play a part. I couldn’t have kids so I was labelled the ‘fun aunt’. But it wasn’t fun: it was strained. And the hole inside my heart got bigger. But I smile back at this little boy and reach out a hand to touch his.

  ‘May I?’ I ask the girl, who is scowling at me. She thinks about it, then gives a curt nod. I take his crumby one.

  ‘Bonjour,’ I say. I waggle his chubby fingers and, again, can’t help smiling. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Tomas,’ she replies.

  ‘Bonjour, Tomas,’ I say. ‘I think I have something that belongs to you.’ I reach into my pocket and pull out the item that’s brought me here and hold it up, by the chewed ears. A soft, worn, light blue-and-white toy rabbit.

  ‘Monsieur Lapin!’ The girl’s face softens and she nearly smiles, but not quite. Tomas’s face erupts into joy and he kicks his legs happily into his mother’s side and reaches for his rabbit.

  ‘You dropped it, when you …’ I search for the right words. ‘When you left the market.’

  ‘When I stole from you. I’m sorry. I just wanted … It was for Tomas. There is not much money left after I pay for this place,’ she says. I wonder how anyone can charge money for this sweltering hell-hole. ‘He was sleeping, and I wanted to find something for him. Sometimes the stallholders are throwing things away. Sometimes … I … take.’ She lifts her chin again. ‘I’m not proud of it. I don’t take what I think the stallholders will mind losing. And your biscuits looked so good.’

  I feel a ridiculous sense of pride.

  ‘And, let’s be honest, you had a lot left!’

  She’s teasing me.

  Suddenly I laugh. ‘I did!’

  ‘But they tasted really good,’ she says. ‘Tomas loves them.’

  ‘Well, Tomas, come by next week and I’ll give some to you,’ I say, holding his little hand, and he points again at Ralph, who gives a little bark of agreement. Tomas giggles into his mother’s neck and, once again, the sound echoes round the hole in my heart where I wish my own child had been.

  ‘Is it just you?’ I ask, in awe of how she’s managing to bring up a child in this place.

  She nods. ‘Just me and Tomas.’ She’s letting me know that she and Tomas are just fine.

  ‘Okay,’ I say. There’s nothing more to be said or done here. I’ve returned the soft toy to its grateful owner and there is no way I’m going to reprimand her for the few biscuits she took. Next week, I’d love her and Tomas to come by so that I can give him some. I turn to go.

  ‘Merci. Thank you,’ says the girl, quickly and quietly. ‘And, again, I’m sorry I stole from you.’

  ‘I’ll see you next week at the market. And you, Tomas,’ I say, touching his little hand once more, for the first time in ages not feeling that anyone is judging or pitying me. I turn with Ralph and push back the curtain. An argument is taking place on the floor above. A woman is berating someone loudly. A man is arguing back. Now, two men are arguing with the woman. I shudder. What a place! I can’t wait to get back to Le Petit Mas. I hurry towards the door, holding Ralph tightly. As I reach it, the two men are tumbling towards the landing at the top of the stone stairs, obviously exchanging blows. Ralph barks loudly, lurching towards them. This is not Ralph who wants to play but Ralph on the defensive, a Ralph I haven’t seen before. The two men are still in dispute at the top of the stairs but turn to stare at me. I hold on to Ralph’s lead even tighter, taking hold of his collar too. He growls and I’ve never heard him like this before, clearly unhappy. The two men are glaring at me and I swallow hard. I reach for the front door, open it, pull Ralph outside and slam it shut behind me.

  Then I stand against the wall to the side of it, finally letting myself breathe again. The sooner I get out of here the better. On the waste ground in front of me a group of young boys are playing football. That will be Tomas in a few years. A couple of bigger lads walk through the middle of them, sending them on their way, and sit on a graffitied wall. If I’m not mistaken they’re doing business, exchanging a small package for euro notes. The two older boys shake hands and go in opposite directions.

  The front door to the flats opens and one of the men involved in the scuffle emerges. Ralph barks at him loudly. He swears at me, wiping his hand across his mouth, and storms off, shouting at the teenager on the wall as he goes.

  I take my opportunity to get out of here, and hopefully not come back. Just like every town, life isn’t all roses around the front door, but I’d quite like to get back to the lavender by mine. My house, I think, where I intend to stay. Something about it makes me feel that life is going to be okay. I’m happy there. That house has given me a second chance at life and I’m grateful.

  I march determinedly back towards the bridge and the alleyways that led me here. With each step I take, I can hear the arguing on the landing above the little back room where Steph and Tomas are living. I can feel Ralph’s nervousness. My steps slow. What am I doing? Ralph is looking at me as if he’s asking the same question. I slow to a standstill.

  ‘What am I doing, Ralph?’

  ‘Woof!’

  ‘I have no idea,’ I say to myself … but I know I have to do something.

  FIFTEEN

  ‘Why would you do that?’ says the young woman. Tomas is on the floor now, running his hands through Ralph’s thick coat, both enjoying it.

  ‘Because …’ I try to come up with a suitable reply. I think of Carine, a new friend in the town inviting me out for coffee. I think of Fabien putting my furniture together, giving me the book. I think of Le Petit Mas and the second chance it’s given me.<
br />
  ‘I stole from you!’ she persists.

  ‘You said yourself I had a lot left over. It was only going to waste.’ I don’t tell her that I gave the rest to Henri: lovely, kind Henri who treated me to lunch and put in an order for daily desserts. ‘From the heart of Provence,’ I hear him say. The three who have helped me get started here.

  ‘Why?’ She narrows her eyes. Then we both look at Ralph and Tomas.

  ‘Because everyone deserves a second chance,’ I say. I think of the failure I felt at being unable to have children. But it’s not failure if we grow and learn along the way and take life’s chances, a chance at happiness. I hope I can learn to live with not having children. I hope the pain will start to fade. I hope I can learn to live a life here, happily too. Right now, I just know I can’t walk away.

  ‘Come and see what you think. If you don’t like it, I’ll bring you, Tomas and your belongings back here. I promise.’

  She frowns.

  ‘I’m just offering you a chance. I have a house, plenty of room, and I need someone to work with me. Help me develop my … business.’ I’m thinking on my feet. I’m inviting a young woman and her child into my home, to live with me, I have no idea how long for, but all my instincts tell me I can’t walk away from a girl trying to do her best for her baby in a place like this. ‘I’m turning my home into a chambre d’hôte. You work for me in return for accommodation and food. If and when …’ am I really saying this? ‘… I get the business going, and if we get on okay, I can begin to pay you too. It’s a fresh start for your son.’

  ‘I don’t need charity! I’m doing fine!’

  ‘I’m not offering charity. I’m offering you a job and somewhere to live,’ I say firmly, sounding much more professional than I feel. I’ve done one day on a market stall and I’m going to make daily desserts for Henri. I’ve barely started and have no idea how I’m going to support another two people. But I have a house, a safe one, which is more than this is. I shudder. The front door slams and the shouting starts upstairs again. We look towards the curtain-for-a-door and the stairwell.