I smiled to myself and thought of Julien. That was how I felt when he called. That wonderful warm, fuzzy feeling you get when you are in love.
'Come on girl, gee up!' Chummy's braying voice cut through my daydreams. 'Doc's on now. It's the Texas Two Step.'
I looked up to see a young man in very tight jeans taking the floor while Céline, the instructor, looked on smugly.
'It's her husband,' whispered Chummy loudly. 'Who'd have thought eh? She's no spring chicken either.'
Céline clapped her hands to call the room to order. I couldn't quite catch what she was saying in full but the word 'mari', which I knew meant husband, kept cropping up with alarming regularity. Probably just making sure that we all know he's taken, I thought. Mind you, if I were a middle-aged woman with a hot young husband, I'd probably be the same.
'Hey guys, I'm Doc. Nice to meet y'all,' he shouted with a heavy southern American twang. 'Y'all ready for some line dancing?' He pronounced 'line' like 'laaaaahn'. The French looked foxed.
'Sorry guys, I meant la danse country.' Country came out like 'coon tree'.
'OK, I want y'all to laahn up behind me.'
He turned round and presented a very well constructed rear to the class. I was sure I caught him smiling as a bunfight, so to speak, developed among the femmes d'un certain age who were all pushing and shoving each other to get the prime spot directly behind him.
The music started and Doc slowly went through the steps, taking it in good spirits when he was called from the front to give a bit of personal attention to one of the women who 'simply can't seem to get it right.'
Across the room, Jo smiled at me and rolled her eyes.
'Cougars,' I mouthed back to her and she laughed.
It was the most bizarre sight. Suddenly, all these matrons had become giggling schoolgirls in the presence of a taut bum in tight jeans, fiddling with their hair and making some fairly overt double entendres.
I stumbled my way through the last few routines and breathed a sigh of relief when the clock hit eight and it was time to finish.
'Blimey, I'm so unfit,' puffed Tracey, red in the face and breathless. 'I'm just going outside for a bit of fresh air. Back in a mo.'
'OK, I'll go and get the licence forms we need to fill in.' The French government had recently decreed, in its wisdom, that line dancing was a sport and as such, you needed to have a licence to two-step and the instructors had to be registered. The French really could take bureaucracy to a whole new level.
'Never mind a licence, you should come with a health warning – "Line dancing next to this person can seriously damage your ankles", I'll be bruised for weeks!'
I gave her a comedy glare. 'Seriously, forget singing and go for stand-up. You'd be a riot. Or cause one at least. Go on, I'll catch you in a minute.'
'Bloody marvellous fun, eh?' boomed Chummy, doing an impromptu little dance in front of me.
'Well I wasn't sure at first but in the end, actually it was, even if I was totally crap at it. Thanks for making me come along.'
'Don't worry gal, I've been at this for nearly five years now and only just starting to put my hooves in the right place. Well, must dash. Rodders is waiting for me up at the bar in Rocamour. Fancy a snifter?'
'Maybe. I'll see what Tracey wants to do.' It was harvest season and I had barely seen Julien, who seemed to spend all of his time out on the combine. He told me there were a few more weeks to go and then life would be back to normal. I was really missing him so it was good to have something else to focus on, even if it was only line dancing.
Standing in line, waiting to collect the forms, I watched Céline and Doc. Despite the age difference and everything else, they were clearly in love. As he chatted to everyone, he would inadvertently touch her back or rub her arm and she just oozed adoration. When I got to the head of the queue, I couldn't help myself. 'So, how did you two meet then?' I asked Doc.
'Well, ah was working on detachment at the US Embassy in Paris. Ahm from the Midwest so we just lurve to lahn dance and ah found a bar that had dancin' every week. It was a liddle diff'rent from back home…' 'You mean the Achy Breaky thing,' I laughed.
'Yeah, you noticed then. The French think that Billy Ray Cyrus is the only country singer to come out of the US. Ah had to re-educate them. Céline was the teacher so ah got to know her real well and we just sorta fell in love really. When it was time to go home ah couldn't leave her so ah bought mah way out of the military and we got married. Got two lil' ones now as well.'
'That's a lovely story. You're both very lucky people.'
'Ah think so too.'
I wished him goodnight then went to collect my bag and Tracey's jacket. Céline and Doc had obviously found their soul mates and I wondered if I had too.
I had hoped to catch up with Jo at the end of the class but she had left pretty quickly. I was just about to leave the hall when Tracey rushed in looking flustered and uncomfortable. She grabbed my arm, pulling me back inside.
'Right, let's get this licence thing sorted now shall we? Strike while the iron's hot and all that.'
'No, it's fine. We can bring them back next week.'
'Nah, come on. I know what a lazy cow I am. If we don't do it now we'll be back to our old ways, eating too much and necking Cristal, and your new man will be leaving you for a thinner model.'
I unconsciously pulled in my stomach. 'Well, if you really want to. Are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost.'
'Nah, I'm fine. Still a bit puffed. That's all.'
With the forms duly filled in and handed back to Doc and Céline, who were pleased at our enthusiasm, we left the hall and decided to go to the bar for a quick drink.
As we walked to Tracey's car, I couldn't help but notice her glancing around nervously. 'Are you sure you're all right?'
'Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry. Let's go and get a drink. I think I need one.'
After a quick drink up at the bar with Chummy and Rodders, I arrived home and went straight to lay on a sun lounger in the garden to gaze at the stars and mull over the evening's events. Despite my initial reservations, they were both turning out to be really good fun. Rodders had tried to ply us with rosé but Tracey had still been a bit distracted and didn't want to stay long. I wondered what had happened to upset her, but whatever it was, she wasn't telling. The phone dinged to let me know a text had come in.
'Chérie, I miss you so much. Can I see you tonight? I won't finish until late, maybe after midnight. Can I come over then? Xxx'
I texted back.
'Yes, yes, yes, any time, day or night. I miss you.'
I lay back on the sun lounger and continued my stargazing. It had been a fun night in the end and I was glad I had given line dancing a go. It amused me to think that for all this time, I had carried around that defective line dancing gene and it just needed a move to south west France to set it free. I got up and went inside to get ready for Julien's arrival. It was the perfect end to my day.
Chapter Twenty-four
The long, hot summer slipped seamlessly into a rich, blue-skied autumn with a definite nip in the air. My morning coffee and croissant, a habit I just hadn't managed to ditch, was still taken on the terrace but in a warm jumper rather than a summer top. Around me, the landscape changed as the fields were ploughed ready for winter crops and the leaves on the trees turned from greens to red, burnt umber and gold. I never tired of the view from my terrace. Julien was still in the midst of harvesting and ploughing and time together was rare and precious – and more often than not, in the middle of the night. The lot of a farmer's partner was a hard one, I thought to myself.
'Coucou, you out there?' called Tracey, who had taken to using the French version of 'coo-eee', the nearest she had ever quite managed to integration – if you don't count line dancing.
'On the terrace. Grab yourself a coffee. It's in the pot.'
A few minutes later, she sat down next to me, hands wrapped round a streaming mug. 'Bloody brassic out here today. Is it
nearly summer again?'
'I wish. We've got winter to get through yet. Mind you, loads of people have told me that you can eat Christmas dinner in your shorts here, so maybe it won't be so bad.'
'Yeah well, you could eat Christmas dinner in your shorts in Siberia too. It just might kill you.'
I smiled. It was a fair comment. Quite a lot of what I had been told about life in France had proved to be a figment of someone's overactive imagination, or one too many glasses of rosé.
We sat in silence, lost in our own thoughts, gazing out across the valley. After a few moments, Tracey broke the silence.
'Look, there's something I need to say. Don't interrupt me or I'll lose my nerve.'
I turned to her, a worried feeling growing in my stomach. Tracey had been a bit distant for the past few days, as if something was playing on her mind.
'You know the other night, at line dancing, when I went outside… the thing is…' she struggled to find the right words.
'Come on, Trace, Whatever it is can't be that bad, surely.'
'Don't bet on it,' she muttered. 'OK.'
She took a deep breath but before she had a chance to say what was on her mind, a deafening volley of shots rang out across the valley, followed by shouts and the baying of dogs.
'Bloody effin' hell,' shouted Tracey, flinging herself to the floor. 'Get down!'
She pulled me off my chair and on to the floor next to her. 'Keep down. It must be some loony going on a shooting spree. What? What is it?'
I was convulsed with laughter, tears streaming down my face. I could barely breathe, let alone talk.
'What?'
'La chasse, hunters,' I choked.
'What hunters?'
I pulled myself together, wiping my eyes on the back of my hand.
'It's the hunting season. It starts today. Julien was telling me about it.'
'Hunting what?'
'Boar, deer, partridge, wood pigeon.'
'Wood pigeon? What the bloody hell do they do with a wood pigeon? Is there nothing that these people don't eat?'
I stood up, putting my hand out to pull Tracey up too. From the end of the garden we could see the hunters crossing the valley, the dogs on the scent of some poor, unfortunate animal.
'Don't worry Trace, it only goes on until February.'
'You're kidding. We have to put up with this bloody racket for five months?'
'Apparently it's mainly weekends and they still take the long French lunch break,' I told her.
'Bleedin' hell! Geezers with guns and a bellyful of red wine. A perfect combination.'
'Julien says we shouldn't go out walking in the woods without a high visibility jacket on.'
'That'll go nicely with me gold platforms.'
I laughed. 'Like you ever go walking in the woods.'
'Yeah, well I might want to one day. You never know.'
'Well, I suppose stranger things have happened. So, what was it you wanted to say?'
She looked uncomfortable. 'Nothing. It's OK.'
'It didn't sound like nothing.'
'Nah, honest. It's fine. Another time, eh?'
I shrugged my shoulders, 'OK, if you don't want to say. Listen, do you fancy coming to Beauville with me? There's a chicken sale on. I fancy getting a few hens for the garden.'
'You?' she exclaimed in disbelief. 'I thought you hated them.'
'Well, that was before I knew any,' I said, smiling. 'Did you see the henhouse that Julien brought round for me when you came in?'
'Er, no, can't say I did but then I wasn't really looking, to be fair.'
'So, will you?'
'Oh, go on then. I haven't got anything else to do. Let me go and get my bag.'
I downed my coffee and picked up her empty mug to take back to the kitchen.
'See you in a few minutes. We'll take my car.'
'Too right. You're not putting any filthy birds in my Merc.'
Whilst I waited for Tracey to come back, I went to have a look at the place I had chosen to put my chickens. It was a perfect corner, too shady for anything to grow and with some good strong fencing on two sides. With Julien's help, I had managed to fence the other two sides and a gate had been fashioned out of an old pallet. The henhouse was a higgledy-piggledy affair, cobbled together out of some old tongue-and-groove cladding, but quite adequate. I had painted it a fetching shade of yellow but resisted the urge to put curtains up at the little windows, built to allow air and light into it. Julien had rolled his eyes when I suggested it.
Martine had told me to make sure I got laying birds and not table ones and had lent me an old cardboard pet carrier to bring them home in. To be honest, I had no idea how I would even know the difference between layers and table birds but at least I could ask now. My French lessons were going well and I enjoyed the hours I spent with Martine, getting a little slice of real French life.
'You coming?' Tracey was standing by the car, ready to go.
'Yes, I'm ready. Let's go.'
'Good grief, it's like a scene from Deliverance,' I whispered as we drove down the hill from St Amans de Pierrepoint.
'Just keep driving. Don't look at them.' Tracey was sitting bolt upright in the passenger side, staring straight ahead.
On either side of the road, white vans were parked a few hundred metres apart. Some had dogs in the back, barking to be let out, but each one had a man with a gun lounging against it. As we drove past, heads swivelled and followed us. The men were all dressed in camouflage gear set off with fluorescent orange caps. 'You'd think the hats would scare the wildlife off, wouldn't you?' I said.
'To be honest, I don't care. Just get me out of here. It's like the hood in LA but with less smog and uglier dogs.'
'Said the girl from Essex.' Under my breath, I started to hum the beginning of 'Duelling Banjos'. Tracey punched me hard on the arm.
'Oh come on, you townie,' I said. 'They're just out enjoying a pleasant day shooting small, furry animals.'
No sooner had I spoken than one of the hunters stepped out into the road in front of us, holding up his hand. 'Oh shit,' squealed Tracey, 'this is it. We're going to be executed.'
Recognising the round, smiling face of Monsieur Gautier, the baker from Bussières, and one of the most unthreatening people you could ever hope to meet, I stopped and wound down the window. 'Bonjour monsieur.'
In slow, precise French, Monsieur Gautier explained that the hunters had found a large number of boar in the woods and were in the process of flushing them out towards the road – so would we mind just waiting for a few minutes?
'Bien sûr!' I agreed and pulled over.
'Oooh, get you, talking like a native!'
I looked smug. 'I know. I'm getting pretty good now. Having a French boyfriend helps.'
'Yeah, but I don't suppose you're learning the sort of things you could use in polite conversation though!'
The sound of howling dogs and hunting horns broke the silence, and something crashed down the hill through the trees. The cacophony got louder and louder until suddenly three large boar broke cover and charged across the road in front of the car, quickly followed by a gaggle of piglets and some more adults. I counted about twenty-three of them. Not far behind were a ragged assortment of dogs and following them, more hunters. Orders were shouted as the boar made for the woods on the other side of the valley. I found myself caught up in the adrenalin rush of the hunt. 'Come on little pigs, come on, you can make it.' 'Blimey, don't let them hear you or they will use you for target practice.'
Gunshots rang out all around us as the hunters took aim and started shooting. The boar carried on galloping across the fields for the safety of the woods.
'Come on, faster,' I urged them.
The gunfire got more intense, as did the shouting and howling of the dogs. It was completely feral. Still the boar continued, seemingly unharmed by the bullets that whistled around them.
'Barn door and twenty paces springs to mind. This lot couldn't hit the Titanic if it floated past,
' commented Tracey.
I was still too wrapped up in the hunt to answer. The first boar were nearly at the edge of the woods. 'Good piggies!' I shouted excitedly as the last of the herd reached the safety of the woods. 'You made it!'
Around them the hunters started to regroup, talking and gesticulating wildly as they worked out a new plan of action.
Meanwhile the dogs milled around yelping and howling, not quite sure what to do next. Monsieur Gautier waved us through.
'Wow, that was exciting!' I exclaimed breathlessly.
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