Hand On Heart: Sequel to Head Over Heels

by Downing, Sara

  ‘It’s brilliant, darling, really it is. Hey, I think we’ve still got something sparkly in the wine rack from the days before babies, I’ll shove it in the freezer quick. It’s only Cava I think but we have to celebrate once these two have gone to bed.’

  Grace would miss having Tom at Cropley School when she returned to work, but his moving on at some point had only been a matter of time and the right opportunity coming along. His career was on a steep upwards path and the move into private education would give them considerably more income and a better standard of living. He had promised her a cleaner if the job came off. That would be an absolute lifesaver at the moment, she thought, looking around the room at the piles of laundry on every available surface.

  Two hours later and the pair of lovebirds were snoring on the sofa, empty pasta bowls and half-empty glasses of Cava abandoned on the coffee table. They’d managed just a few celebratory sips of alcohol each before the need for sleep had overcome them both.

  Tom stirred and nudged his wife. ‘Come on love, bed. I’d love to say I’d whisk you off upstairs for a night of unbridled passion to celebrate, but I just don’t have the energy, sorry.’

  ‘S’OK,’ muttered Grace. ‘Tired. Bed. Now. Sleep. Party animals, aren’t we?’

  ‘Welcome to parenthood, my love.’

  August 2015

  ‘Right, everyone out,’ Tom announced, as they pulled into the service station. Jack unplugged himself from his headphones and gave Lily a shove.

  ‘Hmppphh,’ Lily moaned sleepily, before coming to and giving her brother an equally hard shove. ‘Mummy, Jack just hit me,’ she said in an indignant, whiny voice, hoping Grace wouldn’t notice that she had responded in kind.

  ‘You two…’ Tom began, his voice rising. He didn’t need to say any more for them to know he meant business. Grace spied on them in the vanity mirror, as each stuck their tongue out at the other. She knew they loved each other really, but sibling spats were inevitable, no matter how close they were.

  The service station was chaotic, with cars parked everywhere and their occupants spilling out onto the grass verges, but they could see James and Evie up ahead, leaning against their car, keeping a look out for them. Imogen and Anastasia were nearby, propping up a lamp post and looking bored, as though the idea of being on holiday with, let alone being related to, their parents was a fate worse than hell itself. Looking after two five-year-olds was exhausting, Grace thought, but at least at that age they didn’t come with attitude.

  It was all up front with little ones; if they had a gripe then they dealt with it there and then instead of letting things fester and sulking about it. Whatever had happened to Evie’s two young, sweet daughters? Was it just the inevitable march of puberty that snatched away charming, delightful creatures and replaced them with aliens? It was so unfair after all the effort you had to put in during the early years. She supposed they’d got all that to look forward to in a few years’ time, but for now Grace was unable to imagine her two (generally) adorable children ever skulking around like that.

  ‘We might as well have lunch here,’ Grace said, although where the twins would put any more food, she wasn’t quite sure. Until Lily had nodded off, it felt as if the pair of them hadn’t stopped stuffing their faces since they’d disembarked from the Eurotunnel. And not with anything healthy, unfortunately. It had been a constant stream of carbs and sugar, as they seemed to be the best substances for keeping boredom at bay. Maybe Grace should force-feed them some fruit at this stop.

  ‘How’s it going guys? Nearly there,’ James joked lamely, as the Parry family strolled across to them, stretching their aching limbs. He looked bleary eyed. It was probably still a good two hundred and fifty kilometres to go. ‘’Bout time I let my lovely missus take the strain of the wheel for a bit, me thinks.’

  Evie handed Tom and Grace a still steaming cappuccino each, a couple of baguettes and a packet of sandwiches for the twins.

  ‘Well, this is nice, isn’t it?’ Evie breezed. ‘Whoever would have thought we’d have our first French meal together standing in a service station car park?’ The men made a few Francophobic jokes about bad car park design, bad French driving. And then as they took their first sip, bad coffee.

  ‘What do you have to do to get a decent coffee round here?’ James hooted. ‘Shag a Barista? Must be an open market for Starbucks, surely? Why haven’t they conquered France yet, goodness knows no one else has ever had trouble conquering this country, have they? Now, there’s a business opportunity for someone.’

  Close by there was the rev of an engine followed by: ‘Wahoo!’ The four adults swung round. A bright green VW Camper Van screeched past, so close to them that Tom instinctively flung his free arm out across the two women. A few metres further on, it pulled to an abrupt halt, and a young Frenchman leapt from the passenger seat. He ran across to the group, kissed Evie hard on the cheek and ran back to his companion in the van before they shot off again. He waved out of the window to Evie with a ‘Ah, comme j’adore les filles anglaises!’

  ‘Cheeky bloody sod! What the hell was all that about? Do you know him, Evie?’

  ‘Um, ah, no, of course I don’t!’ she began, still in shock. ‘Never seen him in my life!’ She wasn’t sure if she should feel abused, violated even, that a complete stranger should do that to her – after all, you wouldn’t get away with that back home, would you? But nor could she help the strange feeling of elation that crept over her, alongside the deep crimson blush of excitement that was starting to work its way up her body and was setting her neck on fire. After all, he wasn’t some dirty old Frenchman with a stripy tee shirt, beret and string of onions, this was a prime specimen of French youth and vitality, and for some reason he had chosen her to kiss, out of all the women he could have picked. It was all harmless fun, wasn’t it? And that thing about loving English girls – how did he know she was English? Did she just look English? She was no girl, either, but she certainly felt like one at the moment. She tried to contain the glint in her eye as she glanced across at her two daughters to gauge their reaction; both were tapping away on their iPhones and didn’t look as though it had bothered them too much. Either that or they’d photographed their mother’s embarrassment for posterity, and the whole thing was now doing the rounds of Facebook and Instagram and getting ‘Likes’ galore.

  Grace thought Evie looked like she had quite enjoyed it. Evie was wondering if the man made a habit of that sort of behaviour, or had he simply seen her and been struck by her rare beauty and done the most daring thing he’d ever done. Yeah, right, chances of that were pretty slim. Get real, she thought to herself.

  James was still indignant and ranting and so hadn’t noticed the coy blush on his wife’s cheeks:

  ‘Bloody French and their slack morals. I still blame Sarkozy for the slip in standards, hasn’t been the same here since him and that Carla woman of his…’ Evie felt he was protesting a little too much, but on he droned. She blanked out her grumpy husband and strolled across to the service station shop feeling considerably taller and straighter and with a beaming smile of satisfaction on her face. What made a man do something as impulsive as that? Whatever it was, she thought it was quite charming. She knew that the fact it had wound James up should bother her, but actually it just added to the little frisson of excitement. Why shouldn’t another man find her attractive and act on impulse? It wouldn’t hurt to make him feel he needed to keep his wits about him when it came to his wife. After all, that was what she had had to do only last summer.

  Grace glanced worriedly at her friend, hoping this little turn of events wasn’t going to cause friction in the Brookes’ car for the rest of the journey.

  ‘We’re here! I think.’ Tom shouted. Grace was still in the driving seat and Tom had hardly looked up from the map for the past fifty miles or so. Grace had been happy to put her trust in the Sat-Nav during her stint at the wheel, and it had served them perfectly well, leading them safely and in good time to the Chateau Cardin. As t
hey neared the village, Tom had insisted on reading out the hand-typed instructions from the owner, telling them to how to get from the village to the Chateau itself. It had been unnecessary. Finding this place wasn’t rocket science, and Grace had been managing perfectly well with the help of modern technology.

  ‘Of course we’re here, Tom, you silly thing,’ Grace droned, rolling her eyes. Then: ‘Oh my God, just look at this!’

  They pulled into a huge driveway, marked ‘Chateau Cardin, Propriété Privée’. Well, it was more of an avenue than a driveway, Grace thought. A long, tree-lined avenue. ‘Private, just for us! Oh… My… God… Look at it, it’s beautiful! Kids, look! Turn the film off now, come on, and just have a look at this, this is where we’re staying!’ Grace could hardly contain her excitement. Her eyes wandered from the road as she turned the corner, and the true splendour of the place was revealed to them all. She was breathless with excitement.

  ‘It’s… it’s… I mean… look at this place! Is this really all just for us? It’s huge!’

  It was a magical building, a fairy-tale castle from a little girl’s dreams, only more beautiful, more real, and definitely far better in the flesh than it had looked on the website. In the early evening sun the mellow stone walls glowed a warm welcome to them. There were turrets of all shapes and sizes, arched windows, dove cotes, a wishing well, ivy growing up the walls. It couldn’t look more typically French, grand yet shabby, chic yet casual. How did the French always manage to pull off that style so well?

  Grace was enchanted. She couldn’t remember being this enthralled by a building since an old boyfriend, on an early-twenties holiday in the Loire, had taken her to visit the Chateau de Chambord. As they’d approached, it had gently crept out of the trees at them, before unveiling itself in all its glory, with its renaissance towers and rooftops and its sheer magnificence. She’d been back a decade or so later with Mark, and it had had the same effect on her all over again. Chambord might be on a different scale to this much smaller chateau, but in this one they were to stay! A whole two weeks here! This was going to be some holiday, Grace thought, smiling inside and out. Who could fail to have a great holiday somewhere like this? They pulled up on the gravelled forecourt, undid the twins’ seatbelts and almost fell upon the owner, a jolly looking elderly Frenchman, who had come out of his half of the chateau to greet them.

  Released from their car seats like coiled springs, Lily and Jack powered off like a pair of bullets from a double-barrelled shotgun. They ran around the courtyard, screeching and caterwauling, whilst Grace apologised to the owner – who had since introduced himself as Henri – in her best schoolgirl French, which wasn’t terribly extensive. When words failed her, she shrugged her shoulders in what she considered to be a Gallic way and smiled indulgently at her offspring, hoping her actions would convey what she was trying to say better than her lips could.

  ‘Bienvenue à tous-le-monde au Chateau Cardin,’ Henri exclaimed, shaking Grace and Tom’s hands enthusiastically. ‘J’espère que vous passerez de très bons vacances chez nous.’

  Grace understood enough French to know that Henri was wishing them a good stay here, but knew they would be relying quite heavily on James, who spoke the language fluently, for any more complex forms of communication. The Brookes’ car was already parked up, so clearly they were all inside, settling themselves in.

  Evie emerged from the chateau, showered and changed and ready to begin her holiday. James followed hot on her heels. He managed to dismiss Henri with some polite-sounding expression, offering to give their friends the tour of the chateau, as Henri had already done it for them. Grace was relieved not to have to resort to any more of her pidgin French for the time being.

  ‘Wow, Evie, I think you chose well,’ Grace said as the two women strolled arm in arm back towards the chateau. ‘This place is amazing! Is this all really for us?’

  ‘Well, Henri and his wife live in that half over there, but it’s not really a half, all those windows in that bit belong to our wing, too. It’s huge, come inside and have a look.’

  ‘But first, champagne,’ James insisted, handing Grace and Tom a ready-poured flute.

  ‘Hang on a sec, where are my kids?’ Grace inquired, but then she heard the squeals coming from outside. Beyond the huge double doors that led to the patio and pool, she could hear the twins shrieking in delight. Naked as the day they were born, the pair of them were preparing to jump into the pool – where Imogen and Anastasia were waiting to catch them, thankfully.

  ‘How sweet,’ Evie laughed. ‘Couldn’t even wait to unpack their cossies. Oh the innocence of youth!’

  ‘Sorry,’ Grace began, then realised there wasn’t really anything to apologise for. No one minded the nakedness of a five-year-old or two; but she and Tom might just wait until they’d unpacked before they sampled the delights of the pool.

  Six - Evie

  August 2015

  After the lunch stop, Imogen and Anastasia sulked in the back seat. Honestly, teenagers, Evie thought to herself. She wouldn’t mind betting that in Grace and Tom’s car, the only strops came when the biscuits ran out. How much simpler life had been in those days when the kids were small…

  Immy hadn’t really wanted to come away with them to France, but she was still too young – and as recent events had proved, too immature – to be left behind for two whole weeks. Not that Evie and James would have left her alone; they’d had an offer from Immy’s best friend’s parents to have her, but at this moment in time Evie still felt her eldest needed keeping an eye on, by her parents, not a third party around whom she could potentially run rings. It wasn’t only that, but Evie was also clinging onto the idyll of the whole family holiday for as long as she could. Only a couple more years and Immy could do what she wanted; once she was eighteen they wouldn’t be able to force her along if she really didn’t want to come.

  Evie thought back to her own teenage years. If her daughter was a chip off the old block, then she’d go all independent, taking herself off on one or two cheap package holidays with her friends, to two-star hotels in inexpensive mass-market resorts, before realising that yes, Ma and Pa could provide a much better standard of holiday. And then they would get the ‘Actually, I’d quite like to come with you guys this year after all,’ kind of comments. And ‘Oh, Mum, would it be OK if my friend came along too?’

  ‘Immy, love, come on, this holiday is going to be great for us all. It’s just what we need, a bit of real family time. You’ll have a lovely time when you get there, you’ll see.’ Evie knew she sounded lame, and that family time was probably the lowest priority for her near adult daughter right now, but she was still reeling from that very unexpected kiss and didn’t have the energy to make up reasons as to why this grumpy child ought to relax and enjoy her holiday, and stop acting like a spoiled brat. As far as she was concerned, it was a holiday, and therefore you enjoyed it. Sun, a pool, the company of good friends, what was there not to like? Quite frankly, Evie couldn’t wait.

  ‘But there’s going to be nothing to do there, Mum,’ Imogen groaned. ‘I can’t see my friends, there’ll be nowhere to go at night, and I bet there’s a bloody lousy internet connection, too. I won’t even be able to Instagram, will I? Get it now?’

  ‘Imogen, do NOT speak to your mother like that,’ James shouted. ‘And do not swear. Especially not in front of your sister.’ Anastasia glanced at her misbehaving older sister with an air of triumph. On a rare occasion like this it was great being the youngest. It wasn’t hard to look like the angel in the family when your sibling was playing up. Tough as it might sometimes be as the youngest, she suspected she would have it easier than Immy when she reached that age. Thank you big sis for breaking them in to all the bad things teenage girls are capable of.

  Immy sat back in her seat with a harrumph. The kind of harrumph that only teenagers can pull off, with maximum attitude and rolling of eyes.

  There was a short moment of silence, then: ‘But that bloke, Mum, what was that all
about?’

  So that’s what is really bothering her, thought Evie. She thought her daughters hadn’t been paying much attention to events at the service station, but clearly they had noticed everything that had happened. ‘Didn’t you know him? You must have done, surely. Why would he do that otherwise?’

  Bless her, underneath all this, she is still a sensitive little girl, Evie thought to herself. She remembered how Imogen had been the worst affected by the events of last summer, had taken everything to heart when she saw her secure world threatening to crumble beneath her, terror-struck that their little family might fall apart. For a while, things had seemed fairly terminal, and it had been scary for them all. Once the worst had passed, she thought she’d done a good job of plastering over the cracks and reassuring the girls that everything was back to normal, but clearly the whole episode had shattered Immy’s sense of security. As a teenager, Immy clearly understood enough about relationships to be concerned that the fault-lines in her parents’ marriage, which had appeared last summer, might have broken through again.

  ‘Course I don’t know him, Immy. How could I? Come on, love, he was just some mad Frenchman showing off to his mates, don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Maybe you wish it was you he’d kissed, Immy?’ said James. ‘Didn’t you like your mum getting all the attention?’

  Evie put her head in her hands in sheer exasperation. Oh, for God’s sake, James. Sometimes he really could be utterly insensitive and clueless. Hadn’t he picked up on the reasons for Imogen’s comments? The fact that she was feeling troubled by the whole thing? Evie glared at him; it was a wholly inappropriate way of dealing with their daughter’s fears.