Escape to the French Farmhouse

by Jo Thomas

  We look at her in horror, hardly able to believe what we’re hearing.

  ‘No, actually, it’s Henri, from the bistro,’ I say, pulling myself up tall.

  ‘Ah, the man who feeds them all. Well,’ she says, ‘maybe if they’re no longer getting fed here, they’ll move on somewhere else and leave our town alone,’ she says, with a tight smile. ‘This area could certainly do with redeveloping. Something for the townspeople. I’ll speak to the mayor. And chase up that CCTV he’s been promising us. These people aren’t from around here. They don’t belong here. We need to look out for each other.’

  My cheeks are flaming as I watch Cora turn and totter away on her kitten heels over the riverside path. I try to find the words to call after her, but am totally tongue-tied. We’re the ones who don’t belong, who moved in, I think furiously.

  I look at Stephanie, whose lips are tight, and see the fury in her eyes.

  ‘Show me to the kitchen!’ I say, determination rising inside me and a voice to match coming out of my mouth that I’ve never heard before.

  ‘I’ll go with Henri,’ says Rhi. ‘Fabien, you can come with me, can’t you?’ she says, and he nods. We just need to get Henri off. At that, Fabien looks at me as if to check I’m okay with it – but okay with what? Not going to the hospital with Henri, going instead to the restaurant to cook, or him going with Rhi in the ambulance? But the sirens are starting to wail. Rhi steps in, followed by Fabien who gives me one final look, as if he’s about to say something, but the paramedic is ready to shut the other door, and I watch as Fabien dips his dark curly head and steps in. The doors are shut. And we all stand, including Alain and the group around him, and watch as the ambulance pulls away, sirens blaring, lights flashing, all of us praying that Henri will live.

  ‘Come on, Stephanie,’ I say, the steel still in my voice. ‘We have people to feed. Grab the recipe book from Le Petit Mas and meet me at the bistro. You too,’ I say to JB and to Lou, who is busy cancelling taxis and flights. ‘We have people who need us right now.’

  THIRTY-NINE

  I look around the smart but small kitchen, not having an idea where to start. It’s all very well cooking shortbread, tuiles and lavender macarons, but this is a whole different affair. I wonder if Henri has written down the plat du jour he intended for today. But there’s nothing.

  I open the fridge and look at the contents.

  Cora’s words are ringing in my ears. And Henri’s ashen face is haunting my thoughts.

  ‘What can we do? Where can we start?’ Lou asks, as everyone piles into the kitchen. ‘I can peel potatoes,’ she suggests.

  ‘I can … Tell me what you need me to do too,’ says JB, looking lost.

  I don’t think I can do this. I take a huge breath. And then Stephanie arrives, with the book, and takes charge.

  ‘Lou and JB, you sort out the restaurant. Lay the tables,’ she instructs. And they nod and leave the tiny kitchen, with Tomas, who is carrying the napkins. They take the tables outside, even though the mistral is revisiting the town, causing chaos, knocking over glasses as Lou puts them in place and snatching tablecloths. Tomas lets go of the paper napkins, which flutter skyward like red birds.

  Stephanie hands me the book. I take it from her, hold it to my chest, and breathe in the scent of the pages I’ve come to know so well. I put it on the side and open it. This book has been my map, keeping me focused and on the right track. Each day I’ve turned a page and planned the next. It’s been my guide, my friend, my bible. Now, I look at the pages and they blur. I have no idea what to do. I put my hands over my face.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ says Stephanie, placing a hand on my shoulder. ‘Trust yourself. You know what you’re doing.’

  She thinks I can do this. She is staring at me, willing me not to let down the people she cares about. Well, I’ll just have to give it a go. I walk back to the fridge. It’s time to work without the book and I push it gently to one side.

  I think about the recipes Mum used to cook for me and that I had hoped to cook for my family one day. The dishes Ollie never wanted me to make because they were too calorie-laden. I think about the lamb shanks I was going to cook this evening. Well, I can’t do lamb shanks for everyone, but I could do cawl, a traditional lamb and vegetable stew, which Mum would cook to make the meat go as far as possible. I check the fridge and send Stephanie out for the meat and baguettes while I start chopping vegetables. As I work, I find myself back in the kitchen with Mum and a kind of calm takes over. I’m cooking, without the recipe book, from instinct. I drop things, panic, get hot, but when we’re nearing lunchtime, I dip a spoon into the broth for Stephanie to try. She sips and smiles. ‘Nearly perfect!’

  ‘Nearly?’ I laugh.

  I taste the cawl, wondering what could be missing. I test for seasoning. The meat is falling apart. The vegetables and potatoes soft but not overcooked.

  Stephanie flips open the first page of the old recipes and picks up the sprig of dried lavender that has been there since the day Fabien gave me the book. ‘Lavande!’ she says.

  ‘Of course!’ I strip into the stew a few dried flowers from the bunch that Henri has hung from his ceiling.

  ‘Perfect!’ we agree.

  At that moment, regulars begin to arrive at the bistro for lunch.

  ‘Smells good!’ they mutter to each other, and I’m nervous and excited all at the same time. Lou, JB and Stephanie are helping me in the kitchen, and we serve all of Henri’s customers, who ask after him as we wait anxiously for news from the hospital. As we put up the ‘Closed’ sign, we sit down to eat together in the little bistro window, Stephanie, JB, Lou, Tomas and me.

  As the sun begins to set we take the rest of the food to the clearing, where the talk is of Henri and Alain. The regulars smile when we arrive, and I tell them it may not be as good as Henri’s but it’s made with as much love. They clap. As Stephanie opens the hatch to the makeshift kitchen, we put the pan of stew on the stove to keep warm and I take the first bowl to Alain. He saved a special man’s life today. I promise to tell him any news as soon as there is any. He thanks me and takes the bowl from me with his dirt-engrained hands.

  ‘Merci,’ he says, and gazes at the small queue lining up at the hatch and Stephanie’s smiling face. ‘Henri would be very pleased,’ he tells me in French, and I understand, on many levels.

  Stephanie and I serve the food into bowls. JB and Lou take the empties, stack them and start the washing-up. They smile as every single person thanks them for the meal. Dogs are wandering around and I put out bowls of water for them, then offer their owners any leftover scraps to give to them, which is, according to Stephanie, what Henri does.

  Just as we’re clearing up, Rhi and Fabien arrive back from the hospital.

  ‘He’s okay,’ Rhi says. ‘Sleeping and as stable as can be.’

  ‘I’ve let Carine know and she’ll tell the mayor,’ says Fabien.

  ‘Fabien was great,’ says Rhi, brimming with excitement, ‘really calm. Especially when we thought Henri had had another attack in the ambulance. But they sorted him. They said Alain’s quick thinking saved his life.’ I look at Fabien, who gives an embarrassed smile at Rhi’s sudden praise for him. There are tears in my eyes. I don’t know if they’re from relief that Henri is doing well, or the sight of these people, who rely on him every night for the work I never knew he did.

  I go to Alain and pass on the news about Henri. I tell him I’ll come with an update tomorrow.

  ‘So, you’ll be back? Here? Demain?’ he says.

  I glance at the happy faces, feeling pride in what we’ve done here tonight. Lou, Rhi, Stephanie, JB, Tomas and Fabien: we all did this.

  ‘Yes, I’ll be back,’ I tell him.

  ‘I’ll let the others know. Merci, from the bottom of my heart,’ he says, and I see tears in his eyes too. For whatever reason he is here, he clearly didn’t intend to be.

  The wind rustles through the trees, the mistral letting us know that change could be on the way f
or everyone once again.

  ‘I wish there was more I could do to say thank you to Alain,’ I say, over wine at the table at Le Petit Mas that evening. We’re all there, Rhi, Lou, Stephanie, JB and Tomas, who is sleepy now, curled up in his mother’s lap, hugging Monsieur Lapin and sucking his thumb. There are empty bowls with spoons in them, from the last of the cawl, some goat’s cheese from Henri’s fridge and the end-of-the-day bread, which won’t keep, crumbs spread over the table. Only Fabien isn’t here. He went home after he’d delivered the news about Henri, despite Rhi’s protestations that he should join us for leftovers supper and wine at Le Petit Mas. But he said he knew I’d want to hear about Henri, then made his excuses and wished us all a good evening. But not before telling me what a brilliant job I’d done tonight.

  ‘Really, he would be so proud of you,’ he says. And then adds, ‘I know I am.’ He’ll be in touch about visiting Henri in the morning. I wanted to call him back, ask if he meant it. But everyone wanted to thank me for the meal and he disappeared into the night, his words still in my head. I feel a warm glow and manage to smile.

  ‘I think I may have an idea,’ says Rhi, as she pours more wine.

  ‘For what?’ I ask, bringing myself back to the here and now.

  ‘A way to thank Alain.’ She picks up her glass. I hesitate, remembering the last time we sat here and Rhi came up with an idea. She had suggested we go and find JB, I seem to remember, and look how badly that went. But then I look at him now, his arm around Stephanie, with Tomas on her lap. Well, maybe it worked out for the best.

  ‘Really?’ I say to Rhi, raising my eyebrows.

  ‘Yup! I think I might have just the thing. Lou, you can help me.’ She sips her wine, putting her feet on an upturned plant pot, as we watch the sun set over the lavender field.

  FORTY

  The following morning, I’m awake before the cockerel starts to crow. It’s Monday, market day. There is so much to do. I rush down the stairs to the kitchen and wonder how I’m going to get everything done.

  Ralph barks so I go to the front of the house and look out. I see a dark figure and am suddenly filled with fear, until I recognize the person walking down the drive, away from Le Petit Mas.

  ‘Ssh, Ralph. It’s just JB,’ I say, and smile as he heads into town. He’s clearly trying to disguise the fact he stayed over with Stephanie last night.

  Within a few minutes, Stephanie joins me in the kitchen with Tomas in her arms. There is a sparkle in her eyes.

  ‘Morning, Stephanie.’ I smile.

  ‘Bonjour, Del,’ she corrects, mildly scolding me, and kisses me on both cheeks. I kiss Tomas too.

  ‘Bisous?’ I say, and he happily kisses me back.

  ‘Everything okay?’ I ask his mother, as the sun rises in the still morning, no hint of the mistral. A new beginning arriving with the new dawn.

  ‘Oui, bien sûr, of course,’ she says, not catching my eye, and I can see the faint pink blush in her cheeks.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say gently, ‘for JB to stay.’

  And she looks at me.

  ‘If you’re an item, and you are …’ it’s my turn to blush ‘… taking precautions.’ We’re both slightly embarrassed, but know it had to be said. ‘We all love Tomas, but no one wants any more surprises. Much better to plan next time.’ She finally looks at me, more beautiful than I have ever seen her, and happy too.

  ‘You’re a couple, and if it’s okay with his family, it’s okay with me … not that I’m your—’

  ‘You are the most family I have ever had,’ she cuts me off, and we hug each other. ‘You have done more for me than anyone ever has. Merci.’

  I feel like my heart could burst, knowing that, somewhere along the way, I may just have made a difference. I was there when someone needed me, and it feels very good.

  ‘And about Fabien,’ she says, as we pull apart. This time my cheeks flame red. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, and I wave a hand, pushing away the thought of him and how he makes me feel, and trying to cool my burning cheeks as well. ‘I realize now he might not have been thinking what I was thinking. I was confused. Silly.’

  ‘We’ve all been silly.’ I try to lighten the mood.

  ‘If you and he were to get together, I wouldn’t mind. I’m sorry I made it hard for you in the first place.’

  She’s giving me her blessing to get together with Fabien. Could there possibly be a chance for him and me? Would he even want it? After all, we both said it was ‘just a silly kiss’. Is it too late? Has our moment passed? But what if … what if it wasn’t just a silly kiss? What if it meant much more than we were prepared to admit? I shut my eyes for a second, remembering his lips barely touching mine before they whisked away. And then, buoyed up by the memory, I clap my hands together. ‘We must get to work. We have so much to do.’ I take a huge breath and force a smile.

  ‘Del,’ she puts her hands on mine, ‘go to the bistro. I can manage here.’

  ‘Oh, no, it’s fine …’ I wave away the suggestion.

  ‘Really,’ she says. ‘I can handle the market. I know what I’m doing. Remember? Everyone deserves a second chance? I promise I won’t let you down. And I’ll bring the money box straight to you.’

  ‘I know that!’ I say, shocked that she thinks I might not trust her.

  ‘I can cook up our usual bakes. Just like you taught me. You can go to the bistro and get ready there, opening for lunch, and we’ll take the food to the riverside together later.’

  This young woman has blossomed and grown up in front of my eyes.

  ‘I can cope, really,’ she reassures me.

  And this time my smile spreads of its own accord. ‘Of course you can.’ I feel a surge of pride. I need to let her do this. ‘That makes perfect sense,’ I say, trying not to ask if she has everything she needs. ‘I’ll be at Henri’s if you want me. And I’ll let you know if there’s any news of him.’

  ‘Okay, go, go!’ She laughs. ‘JB will help me set up the stall in a bit. I’ll tell him to bring back some clothes. Maybe he could look for a job in town.’

  ‘Maybe Fabien could do with some help,’ I suggest. Fabien again. Never far from my thoughts. ‘Or Carine may know of something,’ I add quickly. ‘Okay,’ I say, picking up my bag and Ralph’s lead as he bounces around happily. ‘I’ll see you at the bistro.’ And then, I can’t help myself. ‘You’ll be okay?’

  ‘I’ll be fine, Del.’ She smiles. ‘It’ll all be fine!’

  And I hope she’s right as I pat Ralph’s head and step out into the early-morning lavender light to the cockerel announcing a new day, pick a bunch of lavender and carry it to the bistro.

  FORTY-ONE

  I stand in the little kitchen and look at the empty fridge. I’m on my own here now, doing this totally by myself. Soon people will be arriving, wanting to know the plat du jour, and this evening there will be hungry mouths to feed at the riverside clearing. I hold on to the fridge door and rest my head against it. I’m not sure I can do this. Then I think of Henri lying in hospital, fighting for his life. If he can get through that, I can get through this, I tell myself, and pull myself up straight. I collect the shopping baskets hanging on the cupboard door and head into the market, with no idea what I’m going to cook, but knowing that the place and its people won’t let me down. I still have no idea if Henri is going to be okay. Fabien has been in touch with Henri’s daughters in Australia and America. He says he’ll stay in touch and they’ll come over if things don’t improve. My memories of Mum and her stroke haunt me. There’s only one way I can get through this and that’s to throw myself into cooking for the bistro and the clearing. And I just hope that while I’m cooking Henri is getting better, not worse.

  By eleven, everything is in hand. I go to the chalkboard and wipe off yesterday’s special, replacing it with today’s. Stephanie has been working hard all morning, JB at her side, Tomas handing out samples and eating them too. People are buying. Stephanie has done a lovely job of putting the biscuits in little
paper parcels, tied with some ribbon and a sprig of lavender from the field. The tourists are loving them. I write on the board ‘Poisson de Provence’, soft white cod, sautéed with tomatoes, olives, onions, garlic and peppers, flavoured with herbes de Provence, including a sprinkling of lavender, of course. Simple but amazingly delicious. I dust off my hands, then put the board out for customers to see, feeling proud of myself.

  I glance up and down the cobbled street towards the busy market square, then the other way, across the road at the top towards the brocante. Fabien appears, and my heart lurches. It’s almost as if I’ve conjured him up. I don’t know whether to turn and walk inside, as if I wasn’t hoping he’d appear, or stand and stare. Instead, I stand and look the other way, at Stephanie, my heart thumping, Fabien walking towards me in his battered leather jacket and bandanna around his neck, despite the sunshine. I can smell him before I see him. I turn, the sun catching in my eyes so I can’t see his expression. What if it’s Henri? What if it’s bad news? My heart is thundering now.

  ‘Bonjour, Del,’ he says, and kisses me on each cheek. I feel the bristles of his chin and wonder if it stays there a fraction of a second longer than I’m expecting and if he feels it too. Or did I imagine that? Of course I did. I shut my eyes and shake it off.

  ‘How is Henri?’ I ask, holding my breath. We had agreed that Fabien would be the one to telephone the hospital as he’d understand more of what was said than Rhi or I.

  His face breaks into a smile. ‘He’s doing okay. How do you say? Holding his own?’ His smile broadens and my heart squeezes.

  I nod and smile. ‘Good.’

  ‘I am going to see him. Rhi has offered to come with me.’ He looks at me and I wonder if he’s waiting for some sort of reaction, to see how I feel about them going together.

  ‘Of course!’ I say quickly, waving the tea towel that was tucked into my apron.