Summer in Provence

by Coleman, Lucy

  ‘Oh, Kellie. You are so full of empathy, compassion and love, it’s breathtaking at times. How can you not know that? You are an inspiration and your maturity and patience is well beyond your years because you are a survivor. I hope you’ve noticed the change in Taylor, recently, because that’s down to you. And Bastien, too, is so much more sociable because you’ve taken the time to include him whenever you can.’

  ‘We are a bit of an odd team, though, aren’t we? The Three Musketeers,’ she chuckles, hoarsely, then coughs to clear her throat. ‘The bad news is that my dad wants me back where he can keep a close eye on me, as he puts it. He said this is a cult and I’m being brainwashed.’

  My eyes spring open wide. ‘He said what?’

  ‘His words. Literally. If Nico says yes, then could you ring my dad, please? I mean, I’ll be next to you, but you’ll know what to say when he starts kicking off.’

  I shake my head, unable to understand her father’s reaction. That’s an outrageous accusation to make. ‘Of course. I’ll do everything and anything I can to help, Kellie. I’ll talk to Nico tonight. He was singing your praises only the other day, actually.’

  A little smile of satisfaction twitches around her lips for a moment. ‘That’s nice to know, Fern, thank you. Okay, so now the awkward bit.’

  She looks down at her feet, scuffing them along the compacted dirt floor of the barn. That’s not a good sign, avoiding eye contact.

  ‘When your sister, Hannah, was here, she asked me if you were having an affair with Nico.’

  My mouth goes dry and I have to swallow hard to force out some words.

  ‘Why would she think that?’ I wonder, letting out a low groan of disappointment.

  Kellie shrugs her shoulders, uncomfortably. ‘Because you two are close and he’s your mentor; that’s rather special. We all know it’s a working relationship, but Hannah was… shocked – maybe surprised is a better word. It was in confidence, Fern, but if I were in your shoes, I’d want to know so I could set my sister straight.’ The way she looks at me, I wonder if it’s a question Kellie is posing, too.

  ‘I really appreciate that, Kellie, and of course I will do that in a way where she won’t realise we’ve spoken about it. I’m horrified she thinks that, though, and it’s not fair on Nico, either.’

  She nods. ‘I guessed as much. But I owe you, Fern, and Hannah is stressing over it.’

  I flounder for something to say to change the subject to ease the air of tension. ‘How’s Patricia?’

  ‘Darn it. I still haven’t told you! Doh – I keep forgetting, my head’s so full of stuff at the moment. She’s going to be popping in to say hello. She’ll be on her way to a holiday cottage her and her husband own, about twenty kilometres further south, I think.’

  ‘When?’ I ask, excitedly. ‘It will be so good to see her again.’

  ‘The twenty-third of December, but I’m waiting on Patricia to confirm that date. She wanted to surprise you, but I didn’t want you making plans and missing her visit as it’s a Sunday.’

  ‘You two are very special to me. You arrived on my first official day here as a volunteer.’

  Kellie grimaces. ‘You were thrown in at the deep end, then.’

  ‘And look how far we’ve come. Anyway, let’s head back and get warm. I can’t actually feel my toes!’ I exclaim.

  ‘Me, neither. I think this calls for Margot’s special hot chocolate.’

  ‘Definitely.’

  * * *

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Fern, it’s me. Just a quick call, I needed to hear your voice, that’s all. Nothing’s wrong.’

  I hear Aiden’s words, but I don’t believe him. His general demeanour is odd, so I know something has happened but not why he won’t share it with me.

  ‘Oh. Right. That’s unusual for you, darling.’

  Why ring if he doesn’t want to discuss whatever is unsettling him? I can’t help feeling a little cross; we’ve always shared everything.

  I can sense that he’s already regretting making the call and my stomach begins to churn. He says nothing, just sits there not even looking at me but fiddling with some papers next to his laptop.

  ‘I had a chatty email from your mum, and Hannah texted to say she had a long chat with you. Have you heard from Owen?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes, to both. Guess it made me a bit homesick. They both said how well you looked and how content. France suits you, it seems.’

  Oh, so this is what… regret? Or mistrust because I should be miserable without him? A little nerve at the side of my eye begins to twitch, as feeling mildly cross begins to turn into full-on annoyance.

  ‘God, there are moments I wish I’d never started this,’ he admits, his words coming out in a rush. ‘Sorry, Fern, I’ve had a bad day, that’s all. And with Owen heading off on his first deployment abroad, I know your parents are anxious. If we were still at home, you’d be there to—’

  He comes to an abrupt halt. I feel like returning a quick retort about making one’s bed and lying in it, but that would be mean. I know my anger is irrational and I’m shocked at the strength of my reaction, but I don’t know why we can’t simply talk through whatever has happened. I decide, instead, to change the subject. ‘How are the plans for Thailand coming along? Any news?’

  He sighs, a tired edge to his voice indicating that maybe he’s been overdoing it and now my guilt begins to kick in. He must witness a lot of the harsher realities of life on a daily basis, things I can’t even begin to understand. He’s not holidaying but helping a community where everyday problems can quickly escalate out of control. It’s even tougher when kids are involved, and I know that will be hard on him. Whatever he’s witnessed, he’s taken it to heart.

  ‘Good. It’s all coming together, and the flights have now been booked,’ he confirms. Flights? As in several legs to the journey, or more than one person flying?

  ‘That’s great.’ Well, maybe it is; or maybe it’s not.

  ‘You know, Fern, one thing I’ve realised is that you’ve always been there to smooth things over for me. Even through the rough times, you just stepped up. You know, when it all went wrong, and I lost us everything we had. And a year later, when your sister died in that tragic accident, I didn’t know how to handle it. Now I wonder whether you ever felt that I didn’t man up, that I let you down on both occasions?’

  My stomach tightens, and my throat constricts a little. He’s raking over the past, the things we haven’t referred to in years. Why now?

  ‘We got through it and that’s all that matters, Aiden. That was over eight years ago, so why are you bringing this up now?’ I’m not challenging him but the timing of this conversation. ‘I’ve only ever done what I felt was right for us all. It wasn’t your fault the business went bust, but the downturn in the economy at the time. You always did everything you could within your power, no one could have asked for more than that.’

  He pauses for a moment. ‘I should have acknowledged how amazing you were during those tough times, though, before now. I’m sorry I didn’t. Anyway, I have to go, I’m afraid. Duty calls. Hannah said it’s busy at the retreat. Well, she said you were really caught up with this painting thing.’

  Painting thing? If you took the time to ask me about it, I’d tell you everything, but you’ve switched off, Aiden, and I don’t know why. ‘Yes,’ I admit. ‘It’s all good, though. I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

  There’s a pause that stretches out across the seconds, awkwardly.

  ‘Right. Um. Anyway, next Saturday on Skype?’

  ‘Yes. Speak then.’

  ‘Miss you, babe, love you,’ he adds, emphatically. ‘And thank you.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For being there for me every single day of our married life.’

  And then I realise what day it is, and I berate myself.

  ‘Happy anniversary, darling. Miss and love you, too.’

  As the line goes dead, I can’t believe I forgot. Eight years ago to
day, we tied the knot with a simple ceremony at the local registry office. The wedding party consisted of thirty people and afterwards we headed to a local hotel for a slap-up meal. Then back home to the house we’d been renovating for almost a year but which had been on hold since the death of my sister some four months prior.

  It was our first day living there together, as unfinished as it was, but it marked the start of our future. Before Rachel’s death, the anticipation was like experiencing a dozen Christmases all at once and it filled us both with a sense of exhilaration. But in the aftermath of what happened, it was hard to celebrate, knowing that she should have been there and feeling angry that she’d been taken from us.

  When Aiden and I parted for our break, though, we agreed not to dwell on being apart for special occasions during this year. Instead, we’d make next year’s celebrations more memorable. Bigger parties, bigger gatherings. But I should have remembered our anniversary. The fact that Aiden appeared maudlin means something has lowered his spirits. Maybe because he’s never had to cope on his own with the fallout from any major upset, that’s what triggered his call. And the fact that I’m not there to fold my arms around him feels wrong, very wrong.

  I sigh. I need to talk to Hannah about Nico, next. I don’t suppose she unwittingly said anything in conversation with Aiden that added to his worries? I touch the blank screen with my thumb, tempted to call him back. But what would I say? Instead, I text him.

  If you need me any time – night, or day – just call. I’m always here for you. x

  * * *

  ‘That’s good, Fern. Are you pleased with how it’s going?’

  Nico appears at my shoulder, watching as I sweep the brush upwards in a gentle curve.

  ‘I think I am. I’m going to call it Solitude, I think.’

  He continues to study the canvas, tilting the angle of his head and then leaning in to inspect the brushstrokes up close.

  ‘Good choice. My initial thoughts were along the lines of Separation, or Loneliness,’ he replies softly, straightening to look at me. ‘The way you’ve portrayed the light working out from the centre gives it a feeling of depth. This here represents a person?’ He indicates to the shape in the centre of the mass of colour.

  ‘Yes. It’s the soul. The layers are like veils, which need to be peeled away if one wants to connect with one’s true self.’

  ‘Hmm,’ he nods his head.

  Then I begin laughing. ‘On the other hand, it could just be a very yellow smattering of paint that would brighten a wall and be a conversation piece.’

  He chuckles. ‘It certainly draws the eye, and the longer you look, the more you see. Cleverly done and not easy when you’re working with such a limited range of tones. That’s impressive.’

  It’s hard not to feel pleased with myself, hearing his words of endorsement. I’ve enjoyed every single brushstroke. I think the colour alone has brightened my spirits, despite the fact that it hasn’t been a particularly easy day.

  ‘Do you know, Fern, having you here and seeing you so engrossed in what you’re doing has been very satisfying for me. It’s been a long time since I had the pleasure of mentoring someone over a prolonged period of time. It’s a humbling experience because it reminds me of my own early years.’

  I swish my brush around in the clean water pot and dab it on the rag.

  ‘I wondered if it was actually rather frustrating, watching someone and wanting to constantly correct them. Even now, I look back just a couple of months and I can’t believe how much I’ve learnt in that time.’

  ‘You’re a good student. And you watch and learn, too. But what’s important is that you take away with you what works best for your personal style. No two artists are the same. That’s what makes each painting unique. Are you packing up, already?’ he asks, as I swish another brush in the water.

  ‘I think so. I want this swathe to dry before I add a little shimmer of white. Just to give it the illusion of a curve.’

  Nico raises an eyebrow then edges back a couple of feet. ‘Stand here. The perspective opens up the further back I go. It’s almost like that soul is inside the sun; as if it’s being swallowed, encapsulated.’

  I join him, and he’s right.

  He raises both eyebrows this time. ‘And it is very yellow. Time for a glass of wine?’

  I nod.

  As Nico disappears into the workroom to do the honours, I dim the lights and walk down towards the glass doors. The wind tugs at the leafless skeleton bushes and shrubs. The evergreens are swaying gently, their denseness allowing them to fight back.

  ‘I bet that’s a bitingly cold wind,’ Nico says, sidling up to hand me a glass.

  ‘Yes. Sometimes winter just seems to go on and on.’

  I watch as he sinks down to the floor, leaning his back against the wall. Following suit, I sit facing him as we both gaze out over the garden. The low-level lighting creates a backdrop of shadows, which move as the plants and bushes sway in the breeze.

  ‘It’s funny how as a child you look out and you see something quite different. Simple shapes become looming monsters that turn darkness into a frightening place,’ I reflect.

  ‘Hmm. I was thinking the same thing. Even as an adult, the mind can play tricks. My father and I went out with a group of locals truffling on a night like this, once. Black diamonds, they call them. We ventured deep into the woods with only lanterns to light our way.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you could harvest truffles in winter.’

  ‘June to August, and November through to March, are when you often hear the baying of the hounds late at night.’

  I swirl the red liquid around gently in my glass, releasing the flavours before sniffing and then taking a sip. ‘At night, in the dark? Wouldn’t it be easier in daylight?’

  ‘Yes, but there are secret locations, you see. The tubers grow just a few inches below the surface, which protects them from frost and snow. It’s slow-going if the ground is a little hard, though.’

  It’s the first time he’s mentioned doing anything at all with his father, so it must be a very special memory.

  ‘It was freezing, with a wind as biting as the one tonight. He was reasonably sober that night, not wanting to let himself down in front of the other men. It was when he was still functioning, on his good days, that is. As we headed out, he started to talk about the past for some reason. When I was a small boy, he often took me out exploring and it was strange, hearing him talk about that with a genuine fondness. I realised then that he harboured a real sense of regret for what might have been. The life he could have had, I suppose, if he’d gotten his demons under control.’

  Nico lays his head back against the wall, one leg out straight in front of him and the other bent. His arm rests on his knee, holding his wine glass. He’s deep in thought, and not wishing to disturb him I say nothing but turn my head, looking up towards the heavens.

  And then I see it.

  ‘A shooting star!’ I yell, and he jumps, spilling wine down the leg of his jeans and laughing at me. ‘Did you see it, too?’ I ask, hoping he did.

  His smile is broad. ‘I caught it. Make a wish, quickly – but don’t tell me what it is.’

  I smile, nodding. The words were on my lips the moment I first saw that little flash of light making a perfect arc against the almost pitch-black sky. Keep everyone safe and take us where we are meant to be.

  ‘I’m not sure I believe in that,’ I admit. ‘But you never know, I suppose.’

  ‘Do wishes ever come true? For most of my childhood and teenage life, all I longed for was that my mother would feel a sense of peace. When my father died, I thought her life would be easier, but she crumbled, a lonely and disappointed woman who felt an acute sense of having failed. Looking after him had become the driving factor which kept her going; it was all about getting through each day as best she could. Suddenly, there was this emptiness, a void she told me. I thought that was the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. How can you miss someone who
was so selfish and abusive? Someone who stole her life, like a thief.’

  It’s incredible to think a parent would put their child through something like that, let alone a partner.

  ‘You must have missed her when she returned to Spain,’ I remark. My voice is low as I monitor Nico’s reaction. He wrinkles his brow, staring down into his glass.

  ‘I knew her time was running out, but I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t want my mother to go, but it was the right thing for her. She spent her last summer surrounded by those who knew her in happier times and that was a blessing for which I was grateful.’

  I can’t even begin to imagine what it must have been like for Nico at that time. Alone, grieving and having to piece together a new life for himself.

  ‘And that’s how the retreat began,’ I find myself saying out loud.

  He nods. ‘Loneliness is an awful thing. For a while I didn’t think I could stay here, but Margot convinced me to offer bed and breakfast. She stepped in to sort me out after my mother left, fearing I’d starve.’ He looks suitably embarrassed.

  ‘But you can cook, I’ve seen that for myself.’

  His laugh is throaty. ‘Only what Margot has taught me over the years. She became my housekeeper at first, sorting the breakfasts when I had guests here. Bastien was one of the first to arrive and we just hit it off. I needed someone to repair some fences and he was looking for some temporary work. Within a year everything seemed to fall into place, so I can’t really take any credit for it. It was fate.’

  Fate. And fate brought me here, too. What purpose am I supposed to fulfil in Nico’s life? I wonder. It seems out of kilter with the path I’m following, like a detour. But Aiden created this little deviation to the plan and our life back in the UK has nothing at all to do with Provence, or Nico. I’m feeling confused and trying hard to keep any emotion and empathy I feel for a troubled artist, a man I’ve grown to respect, in check. All I can offer is words of comfort, even when it’s clear how much he’s hurting and how deep his wounds go.