by Lucy Coleman
Mum smiles at me. ‘This house wanted to be loved and now it’s rewarding us for all our hard work. Wait until you see the inside.’
As we’re about to step over the threshold a van pulls up alongside my car and two men get out. They head off in the direction of the rear garden. One calls out and the other raises his hand in acknowledgement.
‘We’re back. Problem solved.’
Mum waves in return, smiling.
‘I’ll take you out to see Neil and Sam in a bit. I don’t think you’ve actually met Sam, as he was working on another job when you came to visit. Are you hungry?’
‘No. I stopped several times on the way down. I would love a cup of coffee, though.’
We cross paths with Dad in the hallway. ‘You show Anna around, Viv, and I’ll sort things in the kitchen.’
My eyes are taking in every little detail now that the house is dressed and the first handful of guests have come through the doors. My first visit here was when most of the interior work had been done and the new en-suite bathrooms were being fitted out. But at that point there was little by way of furnishings. The plumbing saga was a protracted one, and ran on long after my visit, according to Mum’s updates.
‘I love this light fitting.’ Mum and I gaze up at the intricate metalwork of the large lantern gracing the hallway.
‘We’ve spent quite a bit of time travelling to flea markets and vide grenier sales, the French equivalent of a car boot sale, for miles around. There’s enough to make it feel furnished, but it’s still very much a work in progress. The problem we have is that now we have paying guests it’s not quite so easy to take a day off to go in search of new treasures. We’re still only offering breakfast and not an evening meal but it doesn’t seem to have put anyone off. They’re all out for the day and probably won’t return until this evening. Naturally, a lot of guests will head to the coast for a day at the beach. La Baule is a very popular resort with eight kilometres of sandy beach. We prefer Pornic, which is a delightful little fishing village and is about the same distance away. You probably remember it from your childhood, Anna. Or they head inland to explore some of the surrounding towns. Angers, Nantes, Rennes and Chateaubriant of course, and the markets at Cande and Pouance are nearby, as you know.’
Suddenly, I hear a loud meow that sounds uncannily like ‘now’, as a little cinnamon and brown ball of fur comes running in our direction and literally launches herself into my arms. I’m almost bowled over by the force with which we collide and hold onto her tightly while I regain my balance.
‘You missed me then?’ I whisper into her fur.
Now Bengals are known for being very vocal indeed, but Ziggy’s response is a long one that seems to go on and on. I imagine it’s along the lines of ‘Where have you been? No one does a tummy tickle quite like you and it’s unfair to make me wait so long.’ Or maybe she’s just complaining that she’s hungry and telling me off for not heading straight into the kitchen.
I’ve missed her so much, but Karl is allergic to cats and it was yet another moment in my life when Mum and Dad saved the day and took Ziggy to France with them. It was a huge wrench, as she’s my little star, but at two years old I figured she was young enough to cope with the upheaval. And I was right, because according to Mum she spends most of her time exploring the neighbouring fields and is a diligent mouser: frequently leaving presents outside the back door.
How ironic that Karl is now firmly in my past and yet it would be unfair of me to expect my darling girl to be uprooted again. At the time, he couldn’t understand how upset I was to be parted from her.
‘She’s just a cat. Animals re-adjust very quickly. She’ll soon forget you and learn to love whichever hand feeds her.’ His comment had stung. I remember thinking that this was a man who wasn’t brought up with animals. They never forget someone who has shown them love – ever. Suddenly I feel a sense of peace washing over me – I’m home and yet this has never been my home, as such.
As we mount the stairs I love the creaks as the well trodden wood beneath our feet gives a little at every step. There’s a sense of comfort and homeliness, despite the small scale grandeur of this house. I notice that Ziggy follows us for a while, then disappears having found a suitably cool place to hide away.
We can only tour four of the eight guest bedrooms, as the others are currently occupied. The rooms are light and airy, the bedding crisp and white. The original dark oak floors are well preserved for their age; wide boards that you just don’t see any more and every dent and ding is a little testament to the long history of this house. Together with the matching architrave set against white walls, it’s a perfect backdrop for some beautiful old pieces of furniture.
‘Most of the beds were very dark wood, so Dad and I bought a paint sprayer. It didn’t take much work to do a quick sand, spray on a few coats and then get the distressed look.’
Shabby chic looks so good in this setting and I can tell that Mum is enjoying every aspect of her new life here.
‘And how do you feel now that you have a steady flow of paying guests?’
I search her face, wondering whether now that the dream has become a reality it’s as good as they’d both hoped. Her eyes crinkle up in a warm smile, the soft brown glow from her lightly tanned skin making her look younger than her fifty-one years.
‘I feel that every single moment has been worth it. The times when our muscles ached so much we groaned as we climbed into bed, this was why we kept going. And we now have a proper bed, not just a mattress on the floor. In fact, we have ten proper beds!’ She grins back at me and I reach out to pat her arm, thrilled that it’s everything they’d hoped it would be.
As Mum swings open the door to the first of the attic bedrooms, I step inside and feel that I’m in an advert I saw on TV many years ago. Long white voiles at the window waft gently in the breeze, casting intermittent shadows and dappled sunlight onto the stripped oak floorboards.
The wall behind the bed is covered in silver grey and white wallpaper depicting trees and birds with a subtle hint of blue. The same blue that is picked up in the scatter cushions, the fabric on the chaise longue and the chair in front of the dressing table.
‘Mum, this is simply beautiful.’
‘A beautiful room for a beautiful daughter.’
As if on cue, Dad enters with two of my suitcases.
‘Do you like it?’ His eyes are filled with pride and happiness.
‘I love it! You guys are amazing. I’m so proud of you both and what you’ve achieved. Dare I look at the en-suite?’
‘Please do.’ Dad swings open the door and my hands instinctively fly up to my face.
‘A slipper bath! It must be antique – I love the lion heads on the claw feet.’
‘A special find. Only a few of the baths are reconditioned originals, as we ran out of time to source them. Still we’ve had a lot of fun, haven’t we, Viv?’
Dad sidles up to Mum and slips his arm around her waist.
‘We did. And off season we’ll be visiting all of our favourite little places again in the hope of finding a few more bargains.’
‘Anyway, coffee is waiting, ladies. Then I’ll take Anna out to inspect the gîtes and look at the pool now it’s back in working order. It’s so good to have you here, Anna. The three musketeers are reunited!’
Dad’s reference harks back to my childhood. Whenever I had a problem we’d put our heads together and just like the three musketeers I’d watch on TV, we always came up with a solution.
‘It feels like coming home, how silly is that?’
Mum and Dad look at each other, smiling, and I know that when it’s time for me to head back to the UK the parting will be difficult. But there are a lot of memories to be made in the meantime and this is one summer I know we’re all going to remember forever.
Getting Down and Dirty
By the time I’ve had a tour of the garden Neil and his son have already finished for the day. Mum informs us that dinner will be re
ady in an hour and leaves Dad and me admiring the pool. With a brand new cover and the fencing around it replaced, an eyesore has been turned into an asset.
‘You’ve done a great job getting it back up and running, Dad. Is it all compliant, now? And how are the solar panels working out? Was it worth the investment?’
I knew Mum had her doubts about it as there were so many demands on their budget but a pool is quite an asset and it was in good condition. It just hadn’t been in operation for a few years. The soft blue tiles give the water a lovely colour and it does look inviting. It would have been a headache to fill it in if they’d decided to give up on it.
‘Yes. A friend of Neil’s came over and talked me through the current safety regulations. I think it will be worth the investment we’ve put in to it and I like to think your mother feels the same way, too. Obviously, it will take a couple of years for us to recoup the initial outlay. If it continues to run without a hitch then maybe we’ll look at the feasibility of installing more solar panels to supply the electricity for the house as well.’
‘It’s been a real journey for you both and a steep learning curve, that’s for sure!’
I’m rewarded with a tender smile and we turn to make our way back up to the house. I am beginning to wilt a little, but the excitement of being here rules out any thoughts of a pre-dinner nap. Instead I run a relaxing bubble bath. As I slip into the heavenly scented water, hints of geranium, lavender and rose fill the air around me.
I stare up at the vaulted ceiling, which is probably only about nine feet above me as I’m literally in the eaves of the house. The old beams are original and they take their shape from the tree, rather than the modern equivalents which are uniformly cut. I’m lying here thinking that everything feels distinctly surreal. I think about the office and going home after a hard day’s work. Instead I’m here, as if by some sort of magic. All it took was one single decision to change everything and make this break happen. Is life really this simple? It feels as if I’ve stepped off the treadmill and I wonder if there’s a lesson to be learned here. If every day becomes an uphill climb then you are doing something wrong and it’s time for a change.
Lazily drifting off, the bath water is still warm when I reopen my eyes, but it’s enough to take the edge off my tiredness. When I reappear in the kitchen Dad is busy laying the old pine table.
‘We usually only have our breakfast in here on rainy days, but it’s been a long day for you, so Viv thought a simple dinner would be more relaxing. We’ll make up for it on Saturday night.’
I’d forgotten what it was like to have family fussing over me and I lower myself rather gratefully into one of the old, shabby chic chairs. As hard as I’m trying to fight the tiredness, it’s now coming over me in waves after that warm bath. When my phone buzzes I’m almost tempted not to dive into my bag to retrieve it, but I’m conscious it might be Lizzie with a question from the tenant who moved in yesterday.
I’m sorry – things have been hectic. I was heartless. I can see that now. I called round to your house but a stranger told me you’d gone away. Where are you? Please get in touch. I miss you. x
My heart slows to a dull thud in my chest for a moment, before returning to its normal beat. As I look up, Mum is gazing down at me.
‘Problems?’
‘No. Everything is just fine.’ I switch off my phone without a moment’s hesitation. Too little, too late.
*
‘Morning, Geoff.’
The guy repointing the back wall of the gîte stops work to rub his hand on his trousers, cleaning it off so he can extend it towards Dad. They shake hands warmly.
‘Sam, this is my daughter, Anna. She’s here until the end of the summer and she’s going to be helping out.’
He nods and I note the firm, albeit dust covered, hand shake. His eyes flick over me, as if he’s weighing up how useful I’m going to be.
‘Nice to meet you, Sam. You’re doing a great job there.’
‘Thanks. Repointing is painstaking, but it’s going to add a lot of charm to the inside of this rustic little building.’
I stand back in the centre of the open space, sizing it up. What was once a home for a few sheep is going to make a perfect little holiday cottage. There’s nothing inside yet apart from coils of wire here and there, and the bare bones of the pipework in situ for the plumbing.
‘It’s only that back wall being tidied up so it can be left exposed. Sam will plasterboard the rest and then the space will be partitioned. There’s going to be one double bedroom, a small kitchen area, a shower room and a sitting room with a sofa bed. It will sleep four, maximum.’
I rub my foot on the dusty concrete floor. Sam looks down, watching the aimless movement.
‘It will be tiled,’ he confirms. ‘It was originally a dirt floor.’
‘How long will it take?’
‘Well, now my dad is on another job, twice as long as we’d hoped.’ He shrugs his shoulders.
‘Neil and Sarah will be coming to dinner tomorrow night to help us celebrate your arrival,’ Dad informs me.
I feel myself blushing as two pairs of eyes stare back at me with interest.
‘Dad… it will be lovely to meet people, but it’s not a celebration.’ I laugh, feeling more than a little self-conscious.
‘Well, if it means I have some help with this place, then that’s cause enough to celebrate,’ Sam throws into the conversation. ‘I know the pressure is on to get both gîtes up and running as quickly as possible. I’m off on holiday on the tenth of July and so this place has to be finished before then. I wish I could say the Côte D’Azur wasn’t calling me, but it is and I’m in need of a break.’
He smiles at me, a lop-sided sort of grin that suits his guy next door face. His hair is extremely short on the back and sides, but worn a little longer on the top. He’s probably only a couple of inches taller than me, with a typical builder’s physique. Strong legs and arms; you know the sort.
‘We appreciate everything you’re doing for us, Sam. There’s quite a waiting list already and I can’t pretend the additional income won’t be very welcome. Anyway, the introductions are over. I’m off to repair the fence at the end of the garden to stop those damned sheep getting into the vegetable garden again. I’ll see you at lunch.’
‘Thanks, Dad. Catch you later.’
I’m left to survey Sam’s back as he returns to the job in hand. Now this feels awkward. Obviously, I don’t have any building skills whatsoever, although I did help Dad when he was renovating their last house in the UK. But that was mostly general redecoration after he’d taken down two walls.
‘Watch what I’m doing and then you can take over, if you like. Ever worked with mortar before?’
I shake my head. Paint, filler and a drill, yes, but mortar, no.
‘This tool here is a hawk. You can only mix up one bucket of muck, as it’s referred to, at a time. It takes a while to start going off but once it’s on the wall it dries much quicker, of course, because it’s spread more thinly.’
He works quickly, making it look effortless. Using a trowel to slide the grey mortar off the hawk, with a few deft sweeps of his hand it sits nicely in the joint between the stones. He repeats the process and then goes back to his first infill to tidy it up.
‘I like to use this little tool. It’s part of an old bucket handle and if you drag it lightly across the surface of the mortar once it starts to harden a little, it will give it a nice curved effect.’ He demonstrates on a row of stones above where he’s working and I can see how easily the slightly drier mortar responds.
‘Then you take this brush here and gently flick the bristles over the entire face of the stonework to remove the excess mortar that forms on the edges. There’s nothing to it, really. If it gets a little dry when you’re working on an area you can moisten it with a wet brush. Everything you need is on the tarpaulin.’
I swallow hard. This guy makes it look easy because he has the knack.
�
�Great. I’ll… um… make a start, then.’
‘There are some overalls over there and some gloves. This stuff will ruin your hands unless your skin is already like leather. I can start putting up the studding ready for the plasterboard on the other walls. I’ll be in and out measuring and setting up the circular saw outside to cut the timber, if you get stuck.’
That must surely be the shortest lesson ever. He takes a notebook from one of his tool boxes and the pencil from behind his ear. I appear to have been dismissed, and by the time I’ve pulled the overalls up over my leggings and donned some heavy duty gloves, I’m rather glad he’s nowhere to be seen. I feel like I’m about to weld something.
Oh dear, even lifting the hawk in these thick gloves is difficult. It’s a very heavy tool even before I begin ladling on the mortar. Then the stiffness of the gloves makes it extremely difficult to use the trowel with any degree of accuracy. I seem to be getting a lot of mortar on the front of the stones and very little in the actual joints. I work in silence, the effort and concentration making me break into a sweat.
‘Arrgghh, this is stupid!’ I mutter, wiping my arm across my forehead to mop up some of the sweat. In the process, it sends dollops of grey mortar in all directions. I throw the hawk down on the tarpaulin and yank off the gloves. Then I slip out of the overalls and head into the kitchen.
‘You look a bit hot and bothered.’ Mum looks me up and down and I realise the mortar went even further than I’d thought.
‘Do you have a plastic knife and a spoon, by any chance? And I’m looking for something oblong, like the top of a sweet tin. Metal if possible, so it’s durable. Oh, and some thin, disposable gloves if you have them.’
Mum’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘I thought you were having a go at repointing?’
‘I am. Just humour me.’
Mum disappears into the pantry and returns, a warm smile on her face. ‘Here you go.’
‘I might end up working my way through the whole box of gloves,’ I warn and can’t resist a chuckle. I leave her standing there with a distinctly puzzled look on her face.