“It is doing me good, despite the fact that it’s practically undrinkable.”
“Well, why not see if you can get your Arrogant Frog in here? Never miss a business opportunity, that’s what I say.”
I smile.
“Oh, I almost got a laugh then,” says Nick. “Let’s see. Have you heard the one about the two Irishmen out drinking? One says to the other: ‘I can never sneak into the house after I’ve been drinking. I’ve tried everything. I turn the headlights off before I go up the drive. I shut off the engine and coast into the garage. I take my shoes off and creep upstairs. I get undressed in the bathroom. I do everything, but then my wife still wakes up and yells at me for staying out late.’ His friend replies: ‘Do what I do. I screech into the driveway, slam the front door, storm up the steps, throw my shoes into the closet, jump into bed, slap my wife’s bottom and say, ‘How about a blow job?’ She always pretends she’s asleep.’”
I can’t help but laugh. “Oh the shame of it,” I say. “That would have worked with me anyway.”
“Why is it that wives go off sex?” says Nick.
“Has Cécile gone off sex already?” I ask, not really sure I want to know the answer.
“Well, let’s just say she’s not as gung-ho as she used to be, and you went right off it after the little man arrived.”
We both look at our little man. He is breathing peacefully.
“I know, there’s no excuse really. I was just always tired, and for some reason I think my libido died in childbirth.” I pause before going on. “I just stopped fancying you really. I mean I loved you, but I lost that urge to rip your clothes off.”
Nick looks down at the ground. “Yeah, well, I guess that’s the difference between men and women. I never stopped fancying you.”
“It seems so stupid,” I say. “I mean there was nothing really wrong, was there? And who knows, maybe all the lust would have come back?”
He looks up at me. I look into those eyes I have looked into a million times. They are familiar but there is also something different about him. This is my Nick, but my Nick as I used to see him before the children were born. My Nick as a man, a lover, an attractive guy, not my Nick the husband, the worker, the person who irritates me with the way he sticks his knife in the butter. Finally, after all these years, I can see beyond all that.
“What’s wrong, Soph? What are you thinking?”
Just the sound of his voice makes me feel weak. Fucking hell, this is ridiculous. I can’t be in love with my ex-husband; he’s married to someone else for God’s sake. Maybe it’s just the emotions of today. I have been sent over the edge with worry, angst and pain. This is just a manifestation of the fact that our son could have died today. It’s the relief that he didn’t, mixed with the continued panic that something might still be wrong.
“Soph,” Nick puts his hand on my arm. “Talk to me. I know it’s been a hell of a day, but what is it? You look strange.”
“Good strange or bad strange?” I ask.
Nick laughs. “Just flipping strange. Although it’s hardly surprising after what’s happened.”
“It hasn’t been the best of days, that’s for sure. In fact I can safely say that it’s been the worst day of my life.”
Nick hugs me. I decide not to tell him about my feelings. He has just got married, for goodness sake. Why on earth would he be interested in me now?
Nick lends me a T-shirt to sleep in as I have nothing with me. We get into our separate beds. My mind is racing. Next to me lies my little boy and next to him my ex-husband, whom I now, inexplicably, find faintly attractive. I am convinced I won’t sleep a wink but I must have dozed off because the next thing I know I hear a voice.
“Hey Mummy.”
I sit up in bed. I think I must be dreaming, but then I look at him in the bright moonlight and his eyes are open and he is smiling.
“Hey baby,” I say. “How are you?”
“Why are you sleeping in my bedroom?”
I look around in panic for any obvious signs of brain haemorrhaging. Will there be lights flashing? Should I call the doctor? But I have to keep him calm.
“Hey, little man,” Nick has woken up. “You had a nasty bump on the head, I’m just going to get the doctor to make sure you’re okay.”
He puts on the bedside light and goes out.
“I’m hungry,” says Edward.
“I love you,” I say. “I love you so so so much.”
“Why am I here?”
“You got run over.”
“Phew, I didn’t die,” he says.
I want to squeeze him to me but am scared to disturb any of the tubes attached to him. I focus on not crying, I don’t want to scare him.
The surgeon comes in and puts the main light on.
“Ca va?” he asks, looking into Edward’s eyes with a small torch.
“Oui,” says Edward. “J’ai faim.”
“A good sign,” smiles the surgeon. “We will get you some food, jeune homme. You had us all worried.” He turns to me. “How long has he been awake?”
“A few minutes. Is he going to be okay?”
“Yes, it looks like he’s fine Madame Reed, totally fine. He will need a lot of rest but there seems to be no sign of any untoward activity and if he’s hungry it is a sign that all is well.”
I have never felt so grateful to anyone in all my life. “Thank you,” I say. “Thank you so very much.”
We feed Edward a bowl of soup and some bread and cheese. He is still quite weak after the operation but I can see his strength returning with every mouthful. After his dinner he is tired and falls asleep quickly.
“Soph, stop looking at him as if he’s never going to wake up,” says Nick, smiling at me. “He’s going to be fine, you heard the man.”
“I know, I can’t believe how lucky we are, when I think about the despair I was in a few hours ago. I would have given anything to have had the news we have now.”
“So you’re happy, Soph? In spite of everything?”
I blush when I remember my feelings for Nick last night.
“Yes,” I say, looking at Edward. “I’m extremely happy.”
Rule 27
Know what you want from the affair before you pick your lover
The French Art of Having Affairs
“I did something truly terrible,” I tell Audrey when she comes over for a cup of tea.
It is almost two weeks since the accident. Edward has been at home for two days. It is so lovely to have him back in his own bed. I was nervous driving him home from hospital, worried that any jolt might damage him, or that we would end up in a crash and back in hospital. It was like the feeling of vulnerablity when I left hospital with the twins, these two tiny people totally dependent on me; I was convinced every car on the road was going to crash into us.
I spent ten days in hospital, the doctors wanted to be completely sure everything was all right before they let us come home. Nick went to Sainte Claire to look after the girls. He left just before Edward and I got back, we met at the airport to say goodbye.
When we got back to the house, I was surprised to see Jean-Claude there, I thought Agnès was looking after the twins. He was playing boules with the girls along the track outside the cave, Jean-Claude was showing Emily how to aim the ball. Charlotte was laughing because Emily kept totally missing.
I stopped the car and got out; the girls came running towards me and hugged me. Then they spotted Edward. They were so happy to see their little brother I almost cried. I noticed Emily wasn’t wearing her cat’s ears.
“I lost them the day of the accident,” she told me. “But Jean-Claude says they went to look after Edward to make sure he got better. And now he is better, we don’t need them any more.”
I looked up to acknowledge Jean-Claude but he had already slunk away, like a fox in the night.
Two days on and we are back in a routine; Edward is back at school, everyone is very impressed with his near-death experience and ext
remely happy to see him. I am feeling more settled than ever before, life feels good, it can’t fail to when I remember how desperate I was by that hospital bedside. I have vowed I will never grumble or be grumpy about anything ever again, although I’m not sure it will last more than a week.
Talking of grumbling I have two weeks’ of post to go through. I put the bank statement to one side and tackle the rest, there’s only so much reality a girl can stand.
There are two letters from Jean-Claude, written in his beautiful sloping handwriting. The one just after the accident talks a lot about Edward and how he hopes all will be well. “I love him like my own son,” he ends. The second letter was written after we had the all-clear; it is full of relief and hope for the future and more apologies. I sigh and put them back in their envelopes. Maybe I have been harsh, but after Nick’s behaviour I can hardly be blamed for taking deception badly.
There is another letter that stands out as more interesting than the other usual dross. It is from the Guide Hachette. I take a deep breath. Of course I would love for it to be good news, but frankly I can stand just about any disappointment after what I’ve just been through.
I open the envelope and take out the letter; it’s all in French but the message is clear: my Cabernet Sauvignon has been chosen as one of their coups de Coeur for 2012. Sainte Claire is on the wine-map of France. After only a year.
I look at the letter again in disbelief. I am longing to tell someone. Daisy the cat walks into the room, she’s no use, she’s never even heard of the Guide Hachette. I call Calypso who is thrilled.
“That’s amazing news, we must celebrate, how about a picnic this weekend? Tim has gone off to London to see Carla but the kids and I are here.”
They seem to have an open marriage since the party, which works for them. At least he hasn’t tried to shoot her recently.
*
“I have done something truly dreadful,” I tell Audrey who has come over for a cup of tea.
“I doubt that very much,” she says, sipping her tea and refusing to eat any shortbread biscuits. Typical selfish French woman. How am I supposed to eat one if she won’t? For some reason I think the calories I consume will have less of an effect if she eats one too; it’s hardly rational, but then where does rationality fit in with women and food?
“What is it?” she asks.
I sigh. “At the hospital, just before he left, I put my bra in Nick’s bag.”
Audrey looks confused. “Why? Didn’t you like it?”
“No, well, actually it wasn’t one of my favourites. But the point was to cause him problems with Cécile. I thought, for some reason, that I wanted him back, and so I thought about how to get him back and thought I would try her method of strategically placed underwear.”
“And has it worked?”
I finally give in to temptation and grab a biscuit. “Well, the thing is, I think my sudden desire to get my ex-husband back might have had something to do with Edward’s accident and how stressed I was. The minute I got home and I saw Sainte Claire and the girls…”
“And Jean-Claude?” Audrey interrupts.
I blush. “No, not him! But I mean as soon as I got back to my home, I realised my life with Nick was really over. And I regretted putting my bra in his bag, and now I am thinking that I will have to call Cécile and tell her I put it there, or he just might end up divorced. Again.”
Audrey laughs.
“It’s not funny,” I protest. “For the first time in my life I do something my inner French woman would be proud of and I feel wretched.”
“You’ve done lots your inner French woman would be proud of,” says Audrey, taking my hand. “You’ve lost at least ten kilos in a year, you now know how crucial exfoliators are, and you carry a lip gloss with you at all times.”
I laugh, lean across the table towards her and reach out to hold her other hand. Despite her apparent aloofness, Audrey always manages to make me feel happy and is more affectionate than her cool exterior lets on.
“Are you two lesbians?” Charlotte is at the door.
We spring apart. “No, we’re just friends,” I splutter. “And anyway, how do you know what a lesbian is?”
“Calypso told Cloud, and she told us. I know what triplets is too,” she goes on.
“Really? What is it?”
“It’s when three people kiss on the lips. It happens a lot in New York. We saw it on that DVD you hid.”
Audrey raises an eyebrow.
“Which DVD? Oh, you mean Sex and the City? You shouldn’t be watching that. That’s why I hid it.”
“Oh Mummy,” says Charlotte, walking out of the kitchen. “It’s only sex.”
“Now there’s a girl who’s in touch with her inner French woman,” says Audrey admiringly.
Once she has gone I decide to do the grown-up thing and text Nick. Maybe it’s not really the grown-up thing, but I can’t face calling him.
“Sorry I left my bra in your bag,” I write. “It was childish of me and wrong.” Then I hit send. Almost immediately my mobile rings. It’s Nick. And he’s laughing.
“I haven’t unpacked yet, but I will now! Soph, I’m flattered. Did you want me back, now?”
“No, I did not. I just had a minor blip, it was all the Edward thing, you know?”
“I understand. I am flattered you even considered it, though. Are the kids there? How is the little man? Can I talk to them?”
“He’s fine, they’re all fine. Emily’s lost her cat’s ears.”
“Noooo! How can she hear anything? Amazing. I imagined she would be wearing them aged fifty. How is she coping?”
“Really well. She never even talks about them. It’s incredible. I wasn’t here when she lost them; it was while we were with Edward. Jean-Claude spun her some yarn about Edward needing them to look after him, and she fell for it.”
“Is she the only one who has fallen for the handsome Frenchman?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say. “He tried to burn the vineyard down. Well, his brother did.”
I tell him the whole story.
“Well, you’ve got to admire that kind of passion. The French and their crazy sense of family values, I don’t think they can help themselves. And it was a good effort of his to put the damn thing out.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say, and I don’t. I pass the phone to the kids so Nick will stop bothering me about Jean-Claude.
I walk outside to breathe in the fresh air. It is now early October, and the weather is still gorgeous. That oppressive heat has gone and the days are comfortingly warm; it’s the seasonal equivalent of a balmy evening in high summer.
I stand on the steps of Sainte Claire and survey my vineyards. Kamal, now a full-time employee, much to Sarah’s delight, is pruning the Viognier. The frenetic action of the harvest is over and now we start steadily building up to next year’s. But this time we have some money in the bank, sales are looking extremely promising, and I now know that mildew isn’t some rather dodgy girl’s name. With Kamal’s help, next year’s vintage could be even better.
I think forward to next year. By then we will have been here almost two years and this really will be our home. What do I want to achieve by then? I want the children to stay safe – that’s the first question, as Charlotte would say. And I want the business to grow and prosper.
I hope I will stay in touch with my inner French woman enough to remain the shape I am now and always recognise the importance of carrying a lip-gloss.
I started the year off with one husband. Then I had two lovers, albeit briefly. Now I have neither husband, nor lover. Am I going to stay single? Should I re-think the Johnny option? No, I belong here. Although maybe there’s no harm in rekindling an old flame, if he happens to be in the neighbourhood.
I look across at Château de Boujan. As I do so, Charlotte comes running out with the phone.
“It’s Jean-Claude,” she says. “I called him and asked him to come and play boules. He said I had to
ask you, but it’s all right isn’t it, Mummy? He’s so good at boules.” She interrupts her own pleading to tell him to attendez before carrying on. “Please, Mummy? He says I have to ask you.” She passes me the phone.
I take it, unsure of how to handle this. I’m not sure I’m ready to talk to him yet.
“Hello?”
“Sophie,” I can hear him catching his breath. “I… Welcome home.”
“Thank you,” I say, trying to sound a lot calmer than I feel. My heart is racing. What’s wrong with me? This is boules we’re talking about for heaven’s sake. Charlotte looks up at me with expectant eyes.
“I would truly love to join you and the children for boules,” he goes on, rather tentatively.
“But I understand if you don’t ever want to see me again. I tried to explain in my letters. I know how stupid I was. I have no excuses.”
“No, you don’t.”
The other two have arrived and Charlotte explains what’s going on. Edward does his ‘cat from Shrek’ face and Emily puts her hands together in prayer and does a little jig.
“Can I at least see you? I think maybe if you saw me, you would realise how sorry I am, and how I feel about you.”
I look over at his château and imagine him pacing around his kitchen with the phone. I wonder if he’s wearing my favourite aftershave. I also wonder if I can ever trust him again. I guess there’s only one way to find out.
“Come on over,” I say. “Girls against boys. But don’t expect an easy ride.”
The Sophie Cunningham
lose your husband and your midriff diet (and find your inner French woman)
Ingredients
One faithless husband (optional)
Time and dedication to do yoga
Lip-gloss (several shades)
Matching underwear (as above)
A string of lovers
Method – Yoga routine for trimming in preparation for la guerre
1. Set aside at least twenty minutes a day for your yoga routine; if you can only manage ten then reduce the amount of sun salutations. Remember to BREATHE throughout, only through the nose.
Love in a Warm Climate Page 29