France is home, family and community. How can I even be considering leaving that?
So I can’t leave Cal and I can’t leave St Quentin … but … Being back home is bringing back the horror of last year, things I’d forgotten like Mum trying to get hot chocolate down me because I stopped eating. Seeing my parents again today helped me to see they hadn’t been avoiding looking me in the eye because they were ashamed of me but because they couldn’t bear to see me in so much pain. With Dad it was partly embarrassment because he couldn’t deal with the sex tape, but I didn’t give either of them enough credit. They were trying to deal with the situation, and with me in the best way they knew how. I shouldn’t have left it a year to see them.
I wish they weren’t so worried about me again, now there’s all the media about being linked with Cal.
If I’d come back I would have seen Gran again, one last time.
By the time the sky outside has lightened to an orangey-grey dawn I’m no closer to reaching a firm conclusion. Except that I won’t ask Cal to give up the Sex in the Suburbs special. I can’t let his career suffer because of me.
And given that I can’t bear to give him up I’ll just have to cope with whatever price I have to pay for staying with him.
Yeah, right. I’ll cope. Just like that.
I remember getting into my car last summer with just my handbag and an overnight bag and driving blindly with no clue where I was going except it had to be away or I was going to lose my mind. Away from everything and everyone.
On a whim I drove towards Folkestone and, at a motorway services pit stop, I booked a Eurotunnel crossing on my phone. Those first weeks, driving through the French countryside, staying at cheap hotels, I was a mess. I don’t think my heart stopped pounding the whole time. I had a tightness in my chest that never went away, my emotional heart attack. The thought of the ‘Disgraced Joanna Grant’ being found dead in her car after fleeing the country depressed me so much, I booked into the next cheap hotel I could find.
After a while the wide open spaces of the French countryside and the anonymity of budget hotels helped me calm down. I’d go for long walks in the woods and grounds around the motorway service areas and then in my hotel room I practised all the breathing and relaxation exercises I could remember. Once I realised that here no one recognised me I managed to calm down into something resembling a normalish human being.
Maybe it will be easier this time round. After all I’ll have Cal at my side. The glimmer of hope is tinged with fear of him seeing me at my emotionally messy worst.
My heart tells me that wouldn’t scare Cal off … hopefully.
But things are different this time round. My feelings for Cal are deeper, stronger, more profound. What I felt for Aiden by comparison appears to be a hormone-induced crush. I never talked with Aiden like I talk with Cal. In fact, I don’t think I ever really knew Aiden at all. He was a chameleon; he told me so many lies it became impossible to know what, if anything, was true.
I sigh and sit up in bed, wishing like crazy that Cal were here beside me and coming to the funeral with me. What I wouldn’t give for a Cal cuddle right now.
I hug my knees to my chest and think of Gran. She never trusted Aiden and I wish I’d listened to her. When will it hit me that she’s gone? I hate this numb nothingness. I run my eyes over my old bookshelves. Maybe I’ll take my childhood books back to France so we can expand Les Coquelicots’ guest library.
Then I catch sight of my box of treasures sitting on the bottom shelf and cross the room to fetch it. Going through it easily beats thinking in endless repetitive circles.
Sitting on my old childhood bed with its primrose-dotted duvet cover and duck-egg-blue eiderdown I feel like I’ve been transported back in time. My box of treasures is on the bed in front of me, covered with a patchwork of pretty wallpaper samples. I lift the lid and sift through the collections of flowery hair clips in tins and make-up bags filled with sparkly lip gloss to find my very first cookbook at the bottom of the bag. I got my love of cooking from Gran. I run my thumb over the cover thinking of the many times she touched this book, from when she first gave it to me to the cookery lesson she gave me in her kitchen after school, while Mum was still at work. It’s like I’m hoping to still feel the touch of her hand as I stroke the cover, to connect with her in some way. How daft. I wipe away the tear that is sliding down my face.
Why did I take for granted that she would always be there? She was so active, going to keep fit classes at the village hall and always on her feet, bustling about, trying to feed someone whether they wanted to eat or not.
It was her way of showing love, cooking and feeding people. I think that rubbed off on me. For me food and love are intermingled. I suppose it’s hardly surprising I fell for a chef!
On the front cover is a picture of biscuits with currants for eyes, standing up in little rows. We used to call them crumblies because the buttery shortbread would always crumble in your mouth. They were the very first thing I ever baked on my own, with Gran keeping a beady supervisory eye on me, of course. She was always very strict about clearing up as you went along. I used to love the whole ritual of washing hands and putting on the flowery apron Gran had made for me by hand to match hers. That should be in the box too. I dig to the bottom, pull it out and run my fingers over the fabric, thinking about the time she put into making it. Next in our ritual was the prepping of ingredients. There was always a sense of peace in Gran’s kitchen, accompanied by the delicious aromas of freshly baked bread and cakes or a meaty casserole.
I open the book and read the inscription.
‘To my darling JoJo, sous chef extraordinaire and baker in waiting. May this book bring you hours of joy.’
My eyes sting with tears again. Gran gave me my love of cooking, along with a large dose of unconditional love. It breaks my heart to think she died ashamed of me, and maybe disappointed in me for running away too. Was her love really as unconditional as I believed? I can’t bear to think of her being questioned by reporters about my ‘sexploits’. That was my fault. The guilt I feel won’t be reasoned with even though I had no control over the situation. I’ll always feel bad that she got caught up in something so … sordid.
I wrap my arms around my legs and hug them to my chest.
We never really talked before I left for France and now I wish so much I’d taken the time to talk to her properly. Instead we exchanged the odd pretty greetings card and said nothing of any substance at all.
Today, I have to face the mess I left behind and that knowledge weighs me down. I ran away and let my family face the press.
That’s on me.
I remind myself I had to go. I wasn’t coping and was just a few crying sessions away from total hysteria or a breakdown or whatever. I wanted to crawl into a deep black hole somewhere and disappear, never coming out again. I couldn’t bear the slut-shaming, the trolls, the hatred, the shame, my broken heart or the betrayal of my best friend.
So, I had to run to survive but I’m always going to feel bad about the fallout.
I’m dreading the funeral. All those whispers and staring eyes … distracting me from saying goodbye to Gran. Making it doubly difficult to endure and detracting from the reason we’re all there.
I’ll just have to cope. I’ll find the strength from somewhere.
Cal’s words, ‘No more shame’, come into my mind along with the memory of his touch. Thinking of Cal gives me a much-needed boost of confidence. I can do this. Every time I’m tempted to run, I’ll think of Cal’s words and draw strength from him. I don’t know how or if we can be together but whatever happens Cal has changed me. He’s woken me up and given me a hunger to engage with life again.
I’ll always be grateful to him for that.
Annabel stays by my side for the whole service, like my own personal bodyguard. My little sister, not so little any more, and so fiercely protective of me that few people approach to talk to me. Only back at the house does she relax her guard
a little and I go to sit with Gran’s next-door neighbour Mary. I need to talk to someone who cared about Gran far more than any stupid reality show. Mary’s genuine smile lights up her face as I sit down and I relax a little.
‘It’s lovely to see you, love.’ Mary makes extra room on the sofa for me.
‘And you too. It’s just all such a shock, given she wasn’t ill, you know.’ My voice catches a little and the tears I’d held back during the service start to slide down my cheeks.
‘It’s how she would’ve wanted it, slipping away without any fuss,’ Mary says. ‘She always hated fuss.’
‘I know and when I think what I put her through … I feel really bad about it,’ I admit. Mary was Gran’s neighbour for fifteen years and they went to bingo together so I feel I can talk to her.
‘She was proud of you, you know.’ Mary pats my hand and gives me a tissue from her handbag.
Tears are streaming unchecked down my cheeks now.
‘Really? Even with … you know, everything that happened?’ My voice breaks. I see Annabel watching me from across the room, looking stricken, and I feel awful that she’s worrying about me, today of all days. I am so sick of it being about me.
I don’t want to be the subject of worry for anyone any more.
‘Absolutely. She didn’t give a fig for any of that nonsense. She was so proud of you for opening that café and she never lost faith in you.’ Mary’s tone is firm and no nonsense. ‘When anyone said anything less than kind about you she gave them what for all right. She never stopped standing up for you. You should have seen her telling one reporter to get lost. She could be quite intimidating when she wanted to be.’
‘She could, I know. Mary, thank you so much.’ I manage a small smile. ‘You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.’
I wipe away the tears. They are still falling but it’s grief for Gran this time, not tears for myself. There’s a peace creeping in I’ve been missing for a very long time. My relationship with Gran was precious. Her love was precious. The thought that what Aiden did might have ruined that had been tormenting me.
I smile to think of her telling reporters where to go. She would never have used bad language but would have remained dignified throughout. When she worked she was a primary school teacher and she never stopped teaching when she retired. Her teaching tone and her ‘getting the class to settle down’ voice were particularly effective. I saw her use them more than once on strangers she thought needed putting in their place.
I only have one more night at home because I need to get back to help with preparations for Poppy’s wedding, and there’s the hen weekend too. I spend the remaining time trying to convince my family I’m not broken and I’m doing okay. I don’t know if I succeed and it’s pretty exhausting. I also try to avoid all questions about Cal and brush off the video of me kissing him as nothing important, but I can see Mum and Dad and Annabel are afraid.
They’re afraid I’m going to fall apart like last time.
I wish I could tell them that I’m afraid of that too, but it wouldn’t be fair, not when I’m setting off for another country again. So we leave the important things unspoken, as usual, but all the time Cal’s words, the seeds in my mind, are germinating and I’m wondering if there’s a different, better way to deal with things.
It’s only on the flight back to Carcassonne airport that I get the space to really process everything. Gran’s defiance makes me wonder if maybe I do have it in me to be brave, to face this thing with Aiden and Sally head-on instead of hiding in the shadows. It’s tempting.
Maybe I can. I think Gran would have wanted me to stand up for myself.
Parking back at the guesthouse I leave my overnight bag in the boot of the car and my heart thumps painfully in my chest, a moment of uncertainty making my stomach do the now familiar falling-lift lurch. Will Cal be as glad to see me as I am him? All the lies I’ve tried to tell myself about why I’m better off without him have vanished. Being without him for the past couple of days has clarified for me that I simply can’t be without him. He gives my life energy and colour and I can finally believe in a future that isn’t just about survival. He makes me want to live to my full potential and to love and be engaged in the world around me.
No more shame.
He gives me strength and my body craves him, states its allegiance and tells me again that it belongs to him. I’ve always believed sex is about connection, not possession, but now I’m having to rethink. My body says otherwise. Every cell, every atom in my body is drawn towards Cal with a magnetic pull I can’t resist.
I am his. Pure and simple. As for all the rest … well, I’ll just have to deal, or put my big girl’s pants on, as Annabel would say. I’ll find the courage to deal with the fallout from somewhere. I want to try to be the woman Cal believes I can be.
I find him on a bench behind the barn. He’s sitting in the sun, eyes closed, but he must sense me watching him because suddenly he opens his eyes and a definite frisson passes between us. He tilts his head a little and raises an eyebrow in query. There’s a gleam in his eye that tells me my big girl’s pants might be about to be ripped off, albeit temporarily.
‘Hi,’ I say, feeling shy and inexplicably nervous. Why am I feeling jittery with Cal? I’m comfortable enough to be naked with him but still my nerve endings are doing a jig and sending messages to my brain that this is a huge deal. I close the distance between us.
‘Hello, you. Everything okay?’ He pulls me onto his lap, and I feel like I’ve come home.
‘Yes, I’m okay.’ I’ve no desire to go into everything that happened at home and anyway I’m okay now. Okay now that I’m back with Cal and back at my real home. I’m not sure when I made the switch from calling England home to calling France home. Or rather this particular corner of France. It’s the people that make it home for me and Cal is now integral to that.
I wish I knew how long he was staying and how he feels but … as he would say, I need to focus on the moment. On this particularly perfect moment.
‘Where’s Flump?’ I ask.
‘He’s on a long walk with Poppy, Leo and the rest of the pack,’ Cal says. ‘So we have a little time alone.’
‘Oh, do we?’ I smile but my heart is thumping away, my nerve endings super-sensitised.
He entwines the fingers of one of his hands in my hair. I can feel the tension in his grip, his barely concealed passion. Yet his lips on mine are soft, gently caressing me, his tongue slowly parting my lips. Cal’s other hand is against the small of my back, pulling me against his firm body, and then I’m pressing every part of me against him, just as hungry as he is to celebrate being together again.
He must sense a shift in me, the absence of doubt from my mind, because his kisses become more passionate, claiming my mouth and then trailing along my jawline to my neck and earlobes, his teeth nipping on just the right side of pain. When his lips dip to my collarbone and down to the swell of my breasts the breath catches in my chest and I’m practically panting.
Cal’s breath is ragged too as he gently strokes my breast through the layer of dress and lacy bra. After checking there is no one else around he tugs my neckline down a little to expose one lace-covered breast. He lowers his mouth and sucks my nipple hard through the sheer lace. I deliberately wore my sexiest underwear and the lace is practically see-through. From Cal’s appreciative intake of breath as he traces the swell of my breasts with his fingers I know it was worth it.
I practically groan with disappointment as he pulls away and tugs me to my feet but that vanishes when he takes me into the barn and locks the door behind him.
Once inside he finds another chair and pulls me back down onto his lap, only this time I slip one leg either side of his hips so I’m straddling him, the skirt of my dress riding up my hips. I know it hasn’t been long but it feels like it’s been forever, and my body is delighting in reacquainting itself with Cal’s, exploring joyfully, unable to believe its luck, that this amazing soul-searing
joy wasn’t an illusion or a one-off sensation never to be repeated. I honestly never believed it could be this good. That it could be so much more than a meeting of bodies. But there’s an undeniable sense of energy mixing in the air between us, encircling us and carrying us up to dizzying heights.
Our bodies are just playing catch up to that fantastic phenomenon.
I lean forward so Cal’s mouth can reach my breasts while his hands slide up beneath my skirt, cupping my sex and bottom and making me catch my breath again. My knickers are made of the same sheer lace as the matching bra so don’t provide much of a barrier. If anything they increase the sensation.
I bite my lower lip, arousal pulsing between my thighs, urgent and powerful.
‘I missed you.’ I lean forward and kiss Cal’s neck. ‘I want you so much.’
‘God, I missed you too,’ Cal virtually growls. ‘And as for wanting you I don’t think you can have any doubt about that.’
He pulls one of my hands across to feel his extremely hard erection, straining against his shorts. I place my hand over it and squeeze, making Cal groan. He tugs at my knickers and I move my legs to facilitate their speedy removal. I’m so intensely aroused I honestly don’t care what happens to them. When I straddle him again his fingers penetrate me and I can feel how wet I am, my arousal soaking his fingers.
I reach out for Cal’s cock, desperate to have him inside me, fumbling with his fly and tugging at his trunks. Then I’m finally able to take his erection in my hands. I barely need to touch him to get him ready and within seconds I’m lowering myself down onto his cock and riding him. One of Cal’s hands is beneath my bottom, the other on my opposite hip. With their grip he controls my pace and rhythm. It feels so good, so perfect to have him inside me again. As though I were made for him.
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