A Grand Old Time

by Judy Leigh

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  It had been a steaming day in Spain, the soil cracking beneath their feet in the foothills. They bought more bottled water in the little shops as they crossed the border on the way back. It was cooler up in the mountains, surrounded by mist and smudges of cloud which hung and shifted and disappeared. The peaks rose like crowding giants, watching over the sunken lakes and dipping green valleys. The red sports car stopped outside a little white house which nuzzled in the crook of a hill purpled with heather. Jean-Luc turned a key and they went inside, carrying bags of shopping. Evie touched the wooden table and the white-plastered walls, and she peered into the tiny kitchen while Jean-Luc knelt by the fire and coaxed the sticks to catch light, sending sparks flying up the chimney. She put her shopping on the table and he found a bottle of dark liquid in a glass cabinet and uncorked it, pouring them each a small glass. Evie took a sip and held it in her mouth: it was warm and sweet and strong. She closed her eyes for a moment.

  ‘Pacherán: it is an honest French liqueur. To good health.’ Jean-Luc spoke as he unpacked, putting bread and cheese and fruit in the kitchen. She sat down in the armchair and felt the warmth of the fire flare from the grate, the shadows flickering high on white stone walls.

  ‘I love this cosy little cottage.’ She sank back into cushions and closed heavy lids. For a moment, she and Jean-Luc were back in the market in Spain, holding hands, tasting cheese and buying bread. They were inside the cool museum, looking at Dalí’s installation of Mae West from the steps, excited by the colours, the painted eyes and the sofa-shaped lips and the coiled curtains of hair. Evie was eating paella in a street café and buying colourful pottery for their home. She must have drifted off to sleep, her head crammed with their day together, when she felt the pressure of his hand on hers. She smiled and snuggled into the armchair, and the air hung with the aroma of brewing coffee.

  She drifted in and out of sleep. She could hear him playing the guitar, his soft resonant voice. She breathed out and imagined him in the cottage as a younger man with Hélène: it had been Hélène’s cottage and now it was his. Evie hoped they had spent good times together, that his life with Hélène had been as fulfilling as hers was now with him. The logs crackled and spattered in the hearth. She thought of the mountains outside, their protective bulk, and the little cottage in their shelter, and she yawned.

  ‘I don’t want to go back tomorrow.’

  He was beside her. ‘Then we will stay here, Evie. Just us two. For as long as you wish.’

  Hours passed and she snoozed again and woke and nibbled at bread and cheese and drank two little cups of coffee and now she was wide awake. Jean-Luc was strumming his guitar and humming a song that she recognised as one by Simon & Garfunkel. She pushed herself out of her seat and grabbed his arm. He put the guitar down.

  ‘Let’s go outside, Jean-Luc.’

  He asked no questions, but reached for his jacket and one for her and they closed the door behind them.

  It was dark outside but for the stars. The hills loomed like distant shadows and the air made them shiver. The moon was a silver coin, which slid behind a cloud and out again. He put his arm around her and they were quiet for a while. In the distance an animal called, a soft yelp to a mate or a pup. Jean-Luc put his face against her hair and his voice was low. ‘Mon amour.’

  The moment was heavy with emotion and it was Evie’s instinct to lighten it. She put her finger on his lips. ‘You French men are the limit, Jean-Luc. A bit of French and a sexy voice and we women are putty in your hands.’

  He did not speak for a moment, but wrapped his arms around her and brought her close to his body. She breathed the warmth, leaned her head back against his chest and felt the vibrations as he spoke.

  ‘Aimons donc, aimons donc! de l’heure fugitive,

  Hâtons-nous, jouissons;

  L’homme n’a point de port, le temps n’a point de rive;

  Il coule, et nous passons!

  Temps jaloux, se peut-il que ces moments d’ivresse,

  Où l’amour à longs flots nous verse le bonheur,

  S’envolent loin de nous de la même vitesse

  Que les jours de malheur?’

  She closed her eyes. ‘That was lovely, Jean-Luc. Is it a poem? Tell me what it means.’

  They turned to look up at the stars. She could not see him as he moved to stand behind her, but she felt his arms tighten. ‘Alphonse de Lamartine. He lived in the 1800s. A great French poet. His words are very sad.’

  ‘What is he saying?’

  ‘That we must love while we can today, sometimes our love overflows, but we do not love for long, because time is jealous of our happiness.’

  ‘That is depressing,’ she said and for that moment she felt miserable. They were both quiet. Then she said, ‘Your Lamartine’s full of shite.’

  She heard him chuckle. ‘Why so?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘I want to tell you something.’

  He was waiting.

  ‘I spent over half my life married to Jim and that was all right. I don’t regret it, but it was all about doing the right thing for someone else. I used to make his dinner and iron his shirts but I never did it because of love, I did it for duty or because it was the proper thing to do. I wanted a big family. I had a lot of love going spare, Jean-Luc, and Brendan was the only child I could have and I gave most of my love to him, I probably smothered him with it, hoping he would have a good life. Then, when I was on my own, I realised I didn’t even know myself, let alone have any love for myself. Now I have come to France and met you, I am where I should be. Here, with you. And I don’t care what your Albert or Alfred de Lamartine says, each moment should be happy and fun and filled with love – we shouldn’t hang around worrying about what is going to happen next.’ She heard him exhale. ‘Especially at our age.’

  She knew that he was smiling. She turned and saw the curve of his lips.

  ‘You are right, chérie. I think you are right about everything.’

  She looked over his head at the canopy of stars. ‘We are so small.’

  He gazed up and she knew he shared her thoughts. His words were spoken close to her ear. ‘But love is big and powerful and perhaps it can be infinite, Evie. Perhaps it can last for ever for us?’

  She nodded and he kissed her. He took her hand in his and she noticed how small it was compared to his large palm. He brought her fingers to his lips. ‘You have my heart in this little hand.’ She put her hand on his chest and he covered it with his own.

  Her eyes were steady. ‘I will keep it safe.’

  He pulled her close and she leaned against him. The moon dipped behind the shreds of a cloud. In the distance, an owl hooted and another replied.

  She awoke and the room was yellow with sunlight. She had slept in one of his enormous T-shirts and as she sat up she smiled to see ‘Red Hot Chilli Peppers’ emblazoned across her chest. She blinked her eyes and saw him, his hair damp from the shower, his back to her as he looked through the window. He did not know she was awake and now she filled the moment looking at him, his wide shoulders and a back still muscled from work. Her eyes took in buttocks, long legs, buttocks again and she slithered out of the bed and tiptoed behind him, the T-shirt baggy below her thighs. She enclosed him in her arms, resting her head between his shoulder blades. Evie heard him make a long, deep sound, a rumble of contentment, and she hugged him closer, breathing his warm skin.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Brendan wanted to have a shave but she was in the bathroom, taking up all the space in front of the little washbasin. He knew that he was wrong to blame Maura but somehow he wanted it to be her fault; Evie had not been there yesterday and the yellow-haired boy refused to speak to them. He and Maura would have breakfast and then go back to Cave Bonheur and wait outside all morning if necessary. A dark mood squatted on his shoulders. Maura bent over the basin, cleaning her teeth. Spittle and toothpaste were dangling in an elastic line from her mouth and she was staring into t
he mirror, her face pallid and fretful.

  ‘Come on, hurry up. I need to get to the mirror and have a shave. It’s nearly eight thirty.’ He could not believe he had spoken to her so brusquely, so he added, ‘Please, Maura, come on, love.’ He heard her spit hard and turn on the tap and he glanced back into the bathroom. Her eyes moved wildly, like a beaten animal’s. He turned away.

  They spent the morning sitting in the Panda. He was reading a new book on coastal walks in the south of France and she was looking at the pictures in a French magazine and trying to puzzle out a few words which were the same as English. Brendan glanced at the front cover. A celebrity actress had just broken up with her husband and she was in therapy and a TV presenter was talking about how weight-gain and depression can affect a marriage. It was hot inside the car, even with the windows down. Maura grabbed a bottle of water from her bag and took a few gulps, then replaced the cap and put it back in her bag. She would usually have offered him a drink, carefully wiping the top first. Things were changing.

  He stretched his legs out of the car door before standing up and passing the teetering sign near the office, where he walked up and down for several minutes. The campervan had not been moved. He walked towards the vines, but he could not see the blond boy. The place was deserted. He went back to the car. By two thirty, Maura was asking for something to eat and Brendan started the engine. They would drive to a supermarket and buy a snack, perhaps come back later, when it was cooler.

  Evie made a pot of tea; Jean-Luc wasn’t a tea drinker but she insisted that it was the only thing to have after their long journey. It would help them cool down and, besides, this was green tea, so it would be good for him. Jean-Luc looked at the pale liquid in the cup and sat back in the armchair, taking a tentative sip. They could unpack their cases later, and put the cheese in the fridge and the bottles of pacherán in the cupboard. Evie thought she would make a simple meal of bread and cheese and fruit. Jean-Luc decided to check the grapes later that evening. Evie was puzzled.

  ‘So when do you normally harvest the grapes and make the wine? I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘You will enjoy the harvest, Evie. It is a special time. There are some people from Saint-Girons who come here each year to help and Benji is expert now about the fermentation and filtration. I love watching grapes become wine in the big vats. And we can work on that too, you and I. It will be magical.’

  ‘When do we start, Jean-Luc?’

  ‘Anytime in the next month or two. When the grapes are ready.’

  Evie frowned. ‘What makes them ready?’

  ‘The seeds change from green to yellow. They are not so bitter.’

  ‘But is it because of the sunshine?’

  ‘The sunshine, yes, always, and the weather.’ He laughed. ‘Or the will of God.’

  She looked up sharply. ‘Do you believe in God, Jean-Luc?’

  ‘I am, I suppose, a pantheist.’

  Evie pulled a face. ‘You believe in that little fellow with horns and the pipes?’

  ‘No, for me God is in nature, all around in the mountains and the skies and the seas. In nature and the universe. I do not think there is an anthropomorphic God.’

  For a few seconds she was stunned. ‘I never thought of it that way. I have a lot of things to learn.’

  ‘Who is he, then, your God, Evie?’

  She stuck out her bottom lip. ‘I went to a Catholic school, St Aloysius. The nuns weren’t afraid to give you a good slap. I learned that I wasn’t much use for anything and I suppose God wasn’t much use to me either, but I believed in him because we were told we had to.’

  ‘And now, what do you believe? You are a Catholic?’

  ‘I don’t really think about it much.’ She put on her thoughtful face. ‘And when I do think about it, I think it might just be a load of bollocks. God only comes out for weddings and funerals or when you want to ask for something. But then there’s a lot of goodness in people, isn’t there, so maybe that’s because of God? I’m not sure. I believe there’s something out there which guides us – God, luck, happiness – and it’s important to live a good life.’

  His expression became brooding. She wondered if she had offended him. ‘I might become a Panty-ist, or whatever you just said you were. It sounds like more fun, living in the mountains and going to the coast and just enjoying nature as it comes to us.’

  His eyes crinkled. ‘I think nature has a lot of answers. We come from the earth and then we go back to it. I no longer believe in the Bible I was raised with, but when it speaks of grapevines and vineyards, that I understand. So I suppose that my religion now is found in grapes, Evie. Every year they grow on the vines and give us good wine and we can rely on them to be there for us again the next year.’

  Maura leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.

  ‘You still feel unwell?’ Brendan’s eyes were on the road ahead. She nodded. ‘Nearly there now. Do you think she’ll be in?’

  Maura sighed. ‘You should have phoned her first.’

  Brendan’s hand squeezed the steering wheel. His knuckles were white. ‘She’ll be pleased to see us, Maura.’

  She made a soft puffing noise through her lips and Brendan felt his heart thud in his throat. He had come all this way and he had no idea how his mother would react.

  He pulled the car in at the opening to the vineyard, where the sign slanted precariously, and he parked the Panda next to an old red sports car.

  Evie finished her tea. She thought about giving Jean-Luc a kiss and she rose steadily from the armchair, but the door banged open and Benji ran in. He stopped abruptly, looking at Evie then at Jean-Luc. He moved his hands in front of him, stammering. Jean-Luc spoke to him quietly. Evie understood the words ‘calme’ and ‘doucement’. Benji breathed in, and then began to say something between deep breaths – a man, a woman, she heard her own name. Benji ran over to Evie and put his arms around her protectively; her hand was instinctive, she threaded it through his bright hair and over his warm brow. Jean-Luc turned to her.

  ‘Benji said a woman and a man have been here looking for you. He says they are here again, they are outside. Do you want me to go out and speak to them?’

  Evie frowned.

  ‘Evie, do you know who they might be?’

  ‘No idea.’ She put her arm round Benji. ‘I’m intrigued. Come on – let’s all go together, shall we?’

  There was an abrupt knock at the door. Benji opened wild eyes, but Evie laughed. ‘It’s fine. The police aren’t after me. Unless it was the speed cops who stopped me for going through a red light but that was weeks ago.’

  She opened the door and stood still: Brendan was staring at her, Maura just behind his shoulder. Evie grabbed her son and hugged him, her body a flurry of emotion. She seized Maura and pulled her close, Maura’s eyes popping with surprise. She clutched Brendan again and squeezed him in her arms, kissing his cheeks.

  ‘Come in. Come in. Oh, what a lovely surprise.’ They were in the hallway, not yet into the living room, and she stopped and turned to Jean-Luc. ‘Oh, I don’t believe it – Jean-Luc, this is my son, Brendan, and this is his wife, Maura. Brendan, this is my – this is Jean-Luc and Benji, who works here with us. Benji, voici mon fils.’

  Benji’s face relaxed and everyone else was smiling. Brendan could not take in what was happening: his mother was blonde now and tanned and speaking French and a tall man was shaking his hand. Maura’s eyes protruded as the tall man then kissed her on both cheeks and she beamed at him as he said, ‘Bonjour, enchanté.’ Her face happy, like a child’s at Christmas.

  Evie led the way. ‘This is our lounge so you can sit down and put your feet up – oh, and the kitchen is through there. Brendan, why on earth didn’t you ring me, tell me you were here? We have a lovely big range; it’s grand to cook on. I’ll show you round in a bit. And you’ll have to come and see outside. Oh, you could do a wine-tasting. Unless you want a cup of tea. No. Stay for dinner. Are you on holiday? You should have told me. Why no
t stay for a few days, stay here with us? That would be OK, wouldn’t it, Jean-Luc?’

  He squeezed her shoulder in his hand, and she knew he was happy for her. Brendan was still mystified. Maura tried to help out. ‘It was really hard to find you, Mother, but here we are now.’

  Evie turned to her and laid a hand on her arm: her eyes shone. ‘Let’s get this straight, Maura. Call me Evie. Would that be all right?’ Maura nodded, glancing at Brendan nervously. Evie thought she looked smaller than she remembered, more anxious, and in their house she seemed unsure of her surroundings; she had the demeanour of a rabbit ready to run.

  Brendan opened his mouth to speak but no words came. He thought of his journey and was about to explain how far they had come, but he decided it would be best to talk about it later. He smiled at Evie and she hugged him again and laughed and said, ‘Oh, I am so pleased to see you.’

  Benji said his goodbyes and left for home on his bike. Jean-Luc was upstairs, bumping about in the spare room, making a bed for Brendan and Maura, and Evie set the table with fruit and nuts: olives, tomatoes, apricots, fresh figs, walnuts, grapes and strawberries. She laid out baguettes and cheeses, plates and knives and she poured red wine into glasses. The four of them ate together, Evie talking about her journey in the campervan. Maura was amazed that she had won so much money on a horse called Lucky Jim and Brendan was quiet, chewing his bread thoughtfully.

  Maura smiled. ‘We had a real escapade ourselves on the way here. Brendan and I were riding a tand—’ He shot her a troubled look and she winced and thought again. She mentioned quickly they had visited some caves nearby, saying how stunning they were.

  Jean-Luc spoke for the first time. ‘Rivière souterraine de Labouiche. We must go there, Evie. You will love it.’

  Evie thought a moment. ‘Jean-Luc, why is this place called a cave?’

  ‘Cave means wine cellar, chérie.’ A deep chuckle. ‘But there is no wine in the underground caves, just a blue river. We can go there together and drink the beauty of nature.’