A French Wedding

by Hannah Tunnicliffe

  ‘Something to stop me just saying what I’m thinking.’

  Juliette laughs. ‘Oh. Maybe that’s not so bad.’

  ‘I don’t know. Anyway, I don’t mean to be rude about Helen. She’s the best person in my family. It’s a rip-off that she’s not actually family. Not technically.’

  ‘Ah well, what’s “technically”?’ Juliette asks, more forcefully than she means to. ‘Does it matter? She still counts.’

  Soleil presses her lips together. ‘I guess so.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, Juliette catches someone waving at her and turns to see Max gesturing at her beyond the window. He forms a circle with his hand and brings it to his lips. Juliette nods. She moves to the freezer but finds Soleil already in front of it, pulling out an ice tray.

  ‘I’ll take him a drink,’ she says.

  ‘Oh …’

  ‘Which glass does he use?’

  Juliette fetches a crystal tumbler from the cupboard as Soleil waits with ice cubes and the bottle of tonic. ‘Do you want cucumber? Some garnish?’ Juliette asks. Suddenly the word ‘garnish’ seems laughable.

  ‘It’ll just get in the way.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Juliette, feeling superfluous herself. As Soleil heads back outside with the glass, Juliette turns back to the sink and the window. Max is frowning at her. Juliette opens her mouth to explain that Soleil is bringing him a gin and tonic, but of course Max would not be able to hear her.

  *

  When the weather darkens they move into the lounge, drawing closed the big glass doors, which are freckling now with light rain. Max puts on loud music that seems to fill every corner of the huge space. Juliette assesses each guest and hand in the room. Rosie has Nina’s champagne, Max and Soleil hold glasses of gin and tonic, while Lars has come down from his room, grinning and empty-handed; he needs a drink. Helen is on the couch with her finger in a book she isn’t reading – she needs a drink; Eddie and Beth are just coming in now, they need drinks. Juliette fetches glasses and bottles of champagne and wine. She sets up a drink station on the marble-topped table next to the wide leather couches and begins passing out glasses.

  Max settles himself next to Helen on a couch. She leans against him.

  ‘Nina! Remember this?’ Lars calls out.

  ‘Know this song, Soleil?’ Helen asks her sister, who shakes her head.

  Max glances at Soleil, who is perched on the arm of the lounge. ‘You have to know this one. The Cure. You know The Cure.’

  ‘Before my time.’

  Helen laughs. ‘She’s too young, Max.’

  ‘Yeah, but The Cure are classic. Everyone should know The Cure.’

  Eddie points to Beth, saying proudly, ‘Beth knows The Cure.’

  ‘See!’ Max enthuses.

  ‘I’ve been getting an education,’ Beth says, tipping her head towards Eddie.

  ‘Should I know them?’ Soleil asks Helen. ‘You don’t have to know them.’ Rosie mumbles, glancing at Beth.

  ‘Yes!’ Max replies.

  ‘They were pretty big when we were young. A long time ago …’

  ‘Steady on.’

  ‘She’s too young,’ Helen soothes.

  ‘That’s like saying someone is too young for Shakespeare,’ complains Max.

  ‘I’m not that young,’ Soleil mutters.

  Lars changes the subject. ‘What do you do, Soleil? Helen said you were at college.’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘What were you studying?’ Rosie asks, drinking the last of her champagne. Juliette moves to top up her glass.

  ‘Environmental science.’

  ‘Soleil is getting her PhD,’ Helen adds.

  ‘Oh, wow,’ Eddie says.

  ‘Was,’ Soleil corrects.

  ‘You’re not going to finish it?’ Nina asks. She’s on the couch with Lars’s head in her lap, propped up on a cushion. She’s idly pushing her fingers into his hair.

  Soleil shrugs. ‘Seems unlikely.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Helen says.

  ‘University isn’t everything,’ Max says, gesturing around the group. ‘I didn’t finish my studies. Neither did Lars. Those of us that did … Well, does anyone even use their qualifications?’

  ‘I do,’ Nina replies.

  ‘It’s mostly a waste of time,’ Max says, ignoring Nina. ‘And the UK spends a ton of taxes on it. Look at the US, they don’t spend anywhere near as much money on tertiary education.’

  Beth frowns. ‘I don’t know if that’s a good thing –’

  ‘Plus we rush into it. If it cost more we might consider our choices better.’

  ‘Sometimes I think I should have done a gap year,’ Rosie muses. ‘Between high school and college. If anything I was too earnest …’

  ‘Society benefits from having an educated population,’ Soleil asserts.

  ‘I agree,’ Nina says and Helen nods.

  Max looks at Helen and then at Soleil. ‘Yeah, but educated in what?’

  ‘Anything. Keeping the costs low allows people to make choices based on their personal curiosities –’

  ‘Well, that’s ridiculous,’ Max scoffs. Juliette watches him tip inches of gin into his mouth.

  ‘Max …’ Helen murmurs, frowning.

  ‘Which leads to a happier, more diverse society,’ Soleil concludes.

  ‘Imagine winding up with an entire population educated in French art of the Middle Ages –’

  ‘That wouldn’t happen,’ Soleil interrupts.

  ‘Or ceramics.’ Max waves his hand in Lars’s direction.

  ‘Ouch.’ Lars grins lazily. Nina’s fingers are still in his hair.

  ‘Well, come on, it’s a crazy idea. Where does it lead us? We need to be more practical.’

  ‘When did you become so “practical”?’ Rosie asks.

  Max’s expression is irritated, though he is trying to mask it. Juliette hasn’t seen him like this very often. Helen has shifted away from him a little.

  ‘Research clearly shows that the extent of education in a population, especially with regard to the women, affects all sorts of positive outcomes,’ Soleil states.

  ‘Yeah? Like what?’ Max counters.

  ‘Health, particularly that of the children; happiness; gross domestic product. It’s an encouragingly simple equation with few contrary results. Educate people. Make things better.’

  Max laughs into his drink. Helen looks at him, confused. ‘When did you become a Tory?’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Who did you vote for? In the last election?’ Soleil asks.

  ‘That’s private. Besides, I live here. In France.’

  ‘But you still vote, right?’

  Max doesn’t say anything.

  ‘Max!’ Helen cries.

  ‘He shouldn’t get to vote,’ Soleil says.

  ‘Oh yeah, why is that?’ Max says, tersely.

  ‘I’m guessing you don’t pay British taxes. That’s part of the reason you live in France, right?’

  ‘I pay taxes!’ Max is wide-eyed.

  ‘But not as much as you should,’ Soleil retorts.

  Lars laughs. Nina is smiling too. ‘I think you found your match there, Max.’

  ‘I have to pay tax twice,’ Beth says with a sigh.

  Max ignores Beth. ‘I pay my taxes. What I do and where I live is totally valid.’

  Soleil shrugs. ‘I wasn’t suggesting you do anything illegal.’

  ‘Too right I don’t.’

  ‘But there is a difference between a legal obligation and a moral one. If you want to comment on British politics and complain about a political system, including funding for education, then you have to contribute to it.’

  Eddie claps. Juliette presses her lips against a smile that is threatening to rise
up. She focuses on pouring drinks.

  Max straightens. ‘So what, you’d make tertiary education free for everyone? You’d have a population schooled in pottery and renaissance handbags and … origami?’

  ‘That’s an unnecessary leap. But yes, I think tertiary education should be free,’ Soleil replies.

  ‘Do you know how many people would take advantage of that?’

  ‘I hope everyone would.’

  ‘And who would pay for it?’

  ‘Everyone.’

  Juliette watches Soleil’s face. It hasn’t changed a bit. Smooth and unruffled and almost expressionless.

  ‘Spoken like a rich girl,’ Max replies.

  ‘Max. That’s unfair,’ Helen says quickly.

  ‘Didn’t you take advantage of low cost tertiary education?’ Nina asks. ‘Max, you went to arts college. How would you have paid for it if it’d been more expensive? Don’t you think it served you? Even if you didn’t finish it?’

  ‘That’s my point. I have never used it. It was a waste of time.’

  It’s too much for this hour of the day, light still in the sky, not enough alcohol in their systems to take the bitter edge off of it. Max, not completely in control, not being the steady, charming, happy centre. Juliette bites her lip.

  ‘But that’s how you met us,’ Rosie says softly, wounded.

  Max doesn’t reply.

  Lars lifts his head to look at Soleil. ‘If you’re a big advocate of education, how come you won’t be completing your PhD?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Max mutters.

  Soleil glances at Max and Juliette notices the first flash of irritation flit across her face. ‘The university board wouldn’t approve my research.’

  ‘Why?’ Lars asks.

  Soleil clears her throat. ‘The official line was that it didn’t fit within the scope and remit of the Department of Environmental Science and the subject was too broad and unwieldy.’

  ‘Soleil was looking into the effect of organically farmed food on the brains of developing children,’ Helen says, proudly.

  ‘Sort of,’ Soleil replies.

  ‘That sounds interesting,’ Rosie says.

  ‘More helpful than ceramics,’ Lars adds amiably.

  ‘They said it would be too difficult to establish controls, the research period would be too long and too expensive, and that the topic is more aligned with nutritional medicine,’ Soleil explains.

  ‘That’s a real shame,’ Beth says.

  ‘I agree,’ says Helen, nodding.

  ‘What was the unofficial reason?’ Max asks.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You said that was the official reason. What was the unofficial reason?’

  Soleil lifts her chin and faces Max. ‘I fucked my professor.’

  Eddie chokes on his drink and starts coughing.

  ‘And then I stopped fucking him.’

  There is a short silence.

  ‘Where is Sophie?’ Nina murmurs, glancing around.

  Soleil continues, ‘He wasn’t happy about that.’

  ‘Well,’ says Lars, with a trace of admiration in his voice. ‘That’ll do it.’

  ‘I didn’t know about that,’ Helen murmurs.

  The song changes. Max leans forward for the remote and turns up the volume. The conversation breaks up. Like rainwater splitting into streams and puddles. Lars stands up to look for his daughter.

  Max gestures to Juliette with his glass. ‘Can I get another drink?’

  ‘Do you want –’ Juliette starts to ask.

  ‘Not gin,’ he says firmly. As though he’s suddenly formed a distaste for it. When he passes her the glass the condensation wets her fingers. It mists the glass like the rain now dotting and running down the windows.

  *

  Douarnenez, 2000

  Juliette came in with a wet wind that threatened to blow her sideways, one she struggled against in order to close the door. The Jeunet Boulangerie-Patisserie usually had pots by the door and under the windows – plants that flowered in garish pinks and reds – and a vine that climbed up the corner of the stone building; unkempt and bushy, green shoots waving about. But now it was winter and the vine was a mass of dead-looking branches and the pot plants had been taken indoors to survive the cold.

  ‘Juliette!’ Stephanie was wearing a red high-neck top, the same colour as the map of broken capillaries on the apples of her cheeks. She came out from the counter to embrace her and put soft kisses on either side of Juliette’s face.

  ‘Bonjour, Stephanie.’

  ‘You are back.’ She held her at arm’s length and surveyed her. The long dark hair sticking to her pallid face, her jeans loose, her father’s bright yellow rain jacket too long on her. ‘You look wonderful.’

  Juliette shook her head, ignoring the misplaced compliment. ‘It’s good to see you,’ she said awkwardly, though in truth she’d not given Stephanie Jeunet a thought over the last few years. She barely gave anyone in the village a thought. She had been in Paris for almost a decade now, returning this winter when her parents reminded her she’d missed three out of four recent Christmases. She blamed work but really she didn’t mind working over this period; restaurants were busy, bars were festive, there was always a party to go to.

  ‘Bonne Annee, ma cherie.’

  ‘Happy New Year to you too, Stephanie.’

  Stephanie released her and patted her shoulder before heading back behind the glass counters. She smoothed her palms on the cream apron with the red piping that she always wore before pushing back a piece of hair, which was dyed dark, cut short and brushed fluffy, sticking out from her head like a kind of halo.

  ‘What can I get for you, darling? We’ve been busy this morning, despite the weather.’

  Juliette peered into the cabinets, which were more bare than usual.

  ‘It’s been a bitter winter, I’m sure your parents have said. Is it so bad in Paris?’

  Juliette glanced up, Stephanie was smiling at her. She noticed a small glass vase next to the till. It held a tiny bunch of purple violets.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Paris? The weather?’

  ‘Oh yes, yes, it’s been cold.’

  ‘Were you there for the fireworks? Or did you come after?’

  ‘I was here.’ Juliette tried not to sound bitter. The ringing in of a new year, a new millennium, and her parents had her stuck in Douarnenez. They hadn’t forced her to stay, of course, but she’d felt so guilty after the comment about the Christmas absences, after hearing their voices on the end of the phone, practically dripping with sorrow as though she’d abandoned them in a tiny, two-person life raft that was sure to sink, that she had agreed to spend New Year’s Eve with them, agreed to drive down after her Christmas shifts were done. They had paid for the rental car, which she much preferred to train or bus, so she couldn’t be too petty about it all.

  ‘Oh, a shame. We saw them on TV,’ Stephanie gushed. ‘Weren’t they incredible? I cried. My husband says I am so silly about such things but what a time to be French. Did you see them?’

  ‘I watched.’ Juliette had sat on the floor of the lounge, at her parents’ feet, scratching the heads of their two old, blind dogs, feeling the churn of disappointment and entrapment in her stomach.

  ‘And the ones in Australia … and London … Nice, but you know, ours were … Oh, I didn’t mean …’

  ‘The Paris ones were the best,’ Juliette said quickly.

  ‘I always forget you are a bit English, dear.’

  Juliette shrugged. ‘It’s no bother.’ Thinking that she did too. She bent down again and looked into the cabinets.

  ‘How are your parents? It’s been so busy lately I feel as though I have barely spoken to them. You know my niece is helping me these days?’

  There were only the basic things le
ft – a few croissants surrounded by flakey crumbs, a couple of cakes inexpertly decorated (they weren’t Stephanie’s forte, she preferred the breads and traditional pastries), a pan of kouign-amann with only four wedges left, and a big gâteau Breton, intact.

  ‘Carrouselle,’ Stephanie continued, tutting. ‘Oh, I know, the name is dreadful, but her mother is strange. She’s my brother’s child. We call her “Carrou”, not much better but … She’s been helpful. No good in the kitchen but pleasant with the customers so I can be out back. She’s got a head for numbers. Faster giving change than I am.’

  ‘That’s nice …’ Juliette murmured, distracted.

  ‘So your parents are well?’

  ‘Yes, both well.’

  ‘That’s good. It’s been a dreadful winter. What with the accident …’

  Juliette decided on the gâteau Breton. It was her mother’s favourite. She straightened. ‘What accident?’

  ‘On the boat. We’re not used to it, see? But before, in my mother’s day, it wasn’t uncommon at all, of course. It was part of it. The sea takes … It’s part of being from here. My great-uncle –’

  ‘What happened?’ Juliette interrupted.

  Stephanie tipped her head, like the dogs did when they heard a noise outside. They barked even more than usual these days, their voices worn and craggy, because they couldn’t see and they were often anxious.

  ‘Your parents didn’t …?’ Stephanie mumbled. ‘A fishing boat, one of the older ones, was out in the storms. It had a problem making a distress call. The equipment was old and the weather it had been so bad. Still, a shock to many. We have become so used to having our men survive. Besides, not so many fishermen these days, as you know.’

  Juliette frowned. ‘No.’ Le gâteau Breton, s’il vous plaît, had been on her lips and now she couldn’t quite remember what she had wanted.

  ‘Who …?’

  ‘Two souls, thank God, though the young boy … Thanh … did you know him?’

  ‘Thanh?’

  Stephanie shook her head ‘No, you wouldn’t. He was much younger than you and his family have only been in the village for ten years, maybe fifteen. Vietnamese boy. Twenty-one?’

  ‘His parents own the restaurant on Rue Eglise?’

  Juliette couldn’t recall the name of it now, which was odd, it wasn’t like there were many Asian restaurants in Douarnenez. The exterior was painted red, with a gold coloured dragon above the windows.