by Jody Klaire
“You were efficient beyond words. Anything I wanted, you got. Now you act like you cannot do a thing.” Babs put her hands on her hips. Even in tiny red shorts, a blue tank top, and bright yellow floatation vest, she still looked fashionable. I wasn’t sure how she did it.
“I was young then, fearless. I have obligations now.”
She flapped her vest out of the way, looking like detectives stood on TV. “What fills you with fear so?”
It was a relief that she was more curious than angry. “Losing her . . . losing me . . . waking up years from now regretting everything.”
I shoved more baguette into my mouth. Why had I gone and said that?
“What would you regret more, spending your life with the woman you adore?” She smiled at me, motioning over to Berne who sat soaking up the sun, head hung back exposing her long neck. “And do not tell me that you do not.”
I cleared my throat. She had me there.
“Or,” she leaned in, a frown wrinkling her perfect brow, “spending your life with a man you do not love?”
“Or,” I said around my mouthful, “I could leave him, alienate everyone who loves me, move over here only for Berne to find out that I’m not such a wonderful person, and end up penniless, alone, and cleaning toilets on a campsite.”
Sucking in the breath after my diatribe, I again wanted to take back my words. I’d said too much. I’d kept everything in when I was in London and now look at me? I was like one of those crazy women on chat shows.
Next thing Rebecca would storm over and tell me she was my mother’s sister, or something along those lines. I watched far too much daytime television.
Babs cocked her head. “Your family would turn away from you?”
“Oh yeah.” I shoved more bread in my mouth. Stop talking, woman, shut it.
“And if they loved her, how would your fears be then?”
They wouldn’t love her ever. I knew that. She was a woman and she was a lesbian and she was not in any way part of a golf club. I doubted my mother would even like a man who wasn’t part of the golf club. What was it with golf? “Babs, I love you, please know that, but Berne spent one year with me when I was a carefree teenager. She thinks she loves me but I’m not eighteen and I’m not carefree.”
“Non,” Babs said. “You are thirty-one and you are lost.”
I had no idea why she was bothering to tell me that, I knew that already. “I have no redeemable features that make it worth her while.” I put my hands over Babs’s lips. “Listen to me. I adore her and that’s unconditional.” The truth of that sunk in with my words and stung. “Loving her like that means that I want what will make her life the happiest.”
Babs nodded at me like I was a dense child. “Being with you.”
I shook my head. “No, being with me means that she won’t get to live the high life in Marseille with Vivienne or join the gendarmerie when her father sells the business.” Not feeling quite as hungry now, I wrapped the baguette back up. “Being with me means that she’ll spend her whole life trying to take care of me as I’m useless.”
“Where has this loathing come from?” Babs’s frown made my already churning stomach roll.
I turned to walk back towards the others who were chatting over the boat-bar. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Babs touched my hand. “When you are ready, you know where to find me.”
I offered her a smile. I doubted it showed in my eyes though, I felt miserable. I was up and down like an emotional yo-yo.
“So, you ready for the nuddies?” Rebecca asked, flashing a cocky grin my way. At least someone was having a whale of a time.
“We aren’t joining them,” I said. “Beached lobster is unbecoming.”
“Ouch,” Rebecca muttered. “Who sizzled your stew?”
I rolled my eyes.
“You did not worry before.”
Everyone turned to Berne and her cheeky smile. Wonderful. I wondered how long it would take her to fill Rebecca in on that one.
“She’s just being funny.” I glared Berne’s way. “Aren’t you?”
Berne’s smile slid up one side, her eyes twinkling. “You were the one who wanted to try it back then, non?”
“Nope.” I tried to look for something to do.
Could I wade down a river the whole way? If I started now, I could make it to Saint Martin by the time the blush wore off.
“Pippa Saunders!” Rebecca’s mouth hung open.
“Fine. It was part of the experience.” I fiddled with the zip on my float-vest. “I was with Berne. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen me naked before.”
Even saying the word naked sounded wrong on my tongue.
“Oui, and someone had to protect you from the admirers, non?”
“More like the other way round.”
Rebecca looked from me to Berne like she was watching a Wimbledon match. “There were admirers?”
“Not the naturists.” I zipped and unzipped my vest for something to do. “The boys in the boats floating past.”
“I’ll say!” Rebecca looked at Babs who smiled. “You really did know another woman.”
Berne lifted her chin as if she was proud of it. “She still lurks inside.”
“Good luck finding her,” I mumbled and felt the sudden sting of tears. I turned and walked down to the river’s edge. How had I lost that life, that energy? Where had that young adventurer gone?
“I already see her,” Berne whispered to me as she carried the boat back to the river. “She is more beautiful than her surroundings. Perhaps it is just knowing where to look.”
My heart responded to her tone, her love, her gentle words of support. “What is it about me that makes you so blind, hmmm?”
Berne held out her hand to help me into the boat. “Not blind, awake.”
THE AFTERNOON PASSED by with me deep in thought. Every moment since I had left Berne replayed in my mind. The reason why, the real reason, tormented me with a blow by blow account. Over and over I ran the pivotal moments in my life as though somehow it would resolve my issues, change my choices, make the howlers go away.
Why did a mind do that? Why did it dig out regrets, embarrassments, broken dreams? What was the point in torturing me with them now?
I’d not even paid attention to the naturist beach. Rebecca was quite disappointed that the only people there had been of pension age. What she’d been expecting, I had no idea. I’d just paddled, recriminated myself, paddled some more, brooded and . . . well . . . paddled.
“I think we will stop for the evening soon,” Berne said to me. She had been observing my sullen mood in silence, letting me have peace to think. I had felt her watching me. “I would like to initiate Rebecca first though, oui?”
“Init—” I grinned, my mood lifted at the thought. “Oh, she’ll love that!”
Berne nodded and banged her paddle on the side of the boat, alerting Babs. “We have a newcomer to the river, non?”
Babs face lit up and she paddled them over to us. “She will need to pass the test, oui?”
Rebecca screwed up her face. “What are you two oui-ing and non-ing about now?”
Feigning seriousness, I kept my voice deadpan. “You need to be introduced to the Chamonix family tradition.”
“What does that mean?” Rebecca looked from Babs to Berne. “What are you going to do to me? If it involves traffic cones, I would like to warn you that I have form—”
“Calm, my little English éclair.” Babs got to her feet, the boat wobbled ever so slightly. She launched into a raucous version of a camping song that Berne’s forefathers had passed down.
“Karaoke?” Rebecca raised her eyebrows at me.
Berne got to her feet without causing the slightest movement and sang out, with gusto, the required response. Rebecca’s face was a picture. In all fairness the song sounded more like a tribal challenge of some sort.
“You!” Berne said, pointing to me. “Do you love the Ardèche?”
I
got to my feet, the boat wobbling until I remembered how to keep my balance. “Oui, mon capitan!”
“Do you love France?” Her voice bounced back off the cliff faces, drawing looks from a few kayakers paddling by.
“Oui, mon capitan!” I remembered that I had to salute.
“Prove it!”
I stood on the lip of the boat with my feet, remembering not to close my eyes. Keep my balance, core strength, focus on Berne.
With a grin, I bellowed out “LaMarseillaise.”At least the first verse and chorus that I knew. It didn’t matter that I was singing about invaders and what the French army wanted to do to them.
As I got to the chorus, I gave it everything I had. It made me feel giddy and light, like I had back then, just turned nineteen and hopelessly in love. It was the same sensation of freedom.
I finished with gusto and got a hearty applause from the nearby paddlers. I saluted them with a wink.
“What do you think, Babs?” Berne said. She looked as impressed as she had that day on the train. Her eyes hungry. “Does she pass?”
Babs grinned, clapping. I could have sworn she had a tear in her eye. “She could not fail with that one, non?”
Berne nodded solemnly. “Very well, you pass.”
“Merci, mon capitan!” I carefully sat back down and looked at Rebecca’s astonished expression.
“Wow, Pip. Where did that come from?”
Laughing, I leaned over and squeezed her shoulder. “Experience. You’ll understand in a minute.”
Berne and Babs, who were still standing, motioned at Rebecca.
“Up . . . Up!”
Babs rocked the boat, making Rebecca grip on.
“Okay, okay already,” she muttered, pulling herself to her feet.
“Do you love the Ardèche?”
Rebecca looked at me and I nodded in encouragement.
“Oh yeah!”
Bless her.
“Pardon?” Babs said, putting her hand to her ear.
I saluted to try and help her.
“Right,” Rebecca said. “Oh yeah . . . er . . . mon capitan?”
Berne and Babs looked at each other.
Oh dear, poor Rebecca.
Babs dipped her leg. Rebecca lurched to the side.
Splash.
“What d’you do that for?” Rebecca spluttered out the river water as Babs gave her a hand back into the kayak.
“Perhaps you will do better with the next question, oui?”
Rebecca flicked water at Babs but I could see the twinkle in her eyes. The hint of challenge sparked between them.
“You betcha.” Rebecca got to her feet once more, the boat wobbling.
“Do you love France?”
“Oui, mon capitan!”
Impressive, she sounded like a soldier. Babs looked impressed too. I made another saluting gesture, and Rebecca managed to get it in before the French court threw her overboard.
“Prove it.”
“I don’t know the anthem,” Rebecca hissed at me.
“It’s okay, you can sing anything.”
“Right,” Rebecca mumbled. “On the lip right?”
I nodded. “Bonne chance.”
The boat wobbled and swayed as she tried to stay upright. Eventually she steadied herself. It had taken me a few tries when I’d done it first but Rebecca was more talented in sporty things.
“Okay, well, we had France. Now I got to do my own thing.”
I laughed. Rebecca was a patriot through and through so out came “God Save Our Queen” at the top of her lungs. She didn’t need encouraging, she sang it with such feeling that I had a lump in my throat. The woman had the St. George cross tattooed on her heart, I swore.
“What was that?” Babs asked, even though she had clearly enjoyed it as had Berne.
I looked at the paddlers who clapped in respect for Rebecca’s verve.
Berne and Babs sighed heavily in unison.
“That does not prove that you love France,” Babs said.
“Course it does,” Rebecca shot back. “I love it enough to share my own heart with it.”
Ooh, nicely played.
That stumped them. They looked at the audience.
“Dip or dry?” Babs asked.
The young boy in the front cheered for the dip while his father gave a reprieve. The mother in the second boat was with her son but the little girl was on Rebecca’s side.
“It is a tie. What do you think, Bebe?” Babs asked.
It was a high tension moment. To dip or dry was a very important question.
Berne looked Rebecca up and down. “Well, she has a good voice, but her choice is awful. It is up to you.”
Babs grinned. Rebecca grabbed for her. Pulled her over. The kayak tipped.
Splash.
Both of them were dunked.
It was so funny that I had to hold onto my aching sides. The family cheered as Rebecca surfaced.
“That’ll teach you,” she shot at Babs, splashing water at her.
Babs swam over and dunked her under. More cheers from the family.
“I think she is holding her own,” Berne whispered to me.
“I think Babs is smitten.”
Rebecca had a way about her that made women adore her. She was cheeky, cocky, confident but sweet. Babs was the kind of woman who could make women do almost anything for her. She was dashing, vivacious, curvaceous, and exuded confidence but right now, she looked a little doe-eyed.
“You are too quick to decide, Rebecca looks captivated herself, non?”
Rebecca was chuckling, her helmet on the wonk, her vest hanging open with sunblock dribbling down her nose. Her eyes were locked on Babs, eyes that glinted with joy. Berne was right, Rebecca looked smitten too.
“Good thing you saved the kayak tipping completely,” I said. “Looks like someone lost their tent.”
Berne looked at the bobbing cover and smiled. “Babs, I believe someone is sharing a tent tonight, non?”
Babs swam over to the tent.
Uh oh, I recognised that patch . . .
“It seems that Mademoiselle may need some shelter for the night.” Babs nudged Rebecca who nodded. “She will need a roof over her head, oui.”
“Guess so, she’ll probably sleep with m—”
“It is only right that Berne offers a place to stay, non?” Babs said, her hand clamped over Rebecca’s mouth.
Rebecca went to shake her head but Babs dunked her. “Bebe, you are the guide, you are the one who helps.”
Berne met my eyes. “Oui. We would not wish Rebecca to lose sleep.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” I said. “I sleep with her all the time.”
Rebecca, who had surfaced, shrugged at the two glaring French women. “She does . . . and before you both start, I had no clue she was gay.” She shook her head. “I mean . . . glaringly obvious, right?”
“I am not.” I folded my arms, hoping that the family, who were now paddling away, hadn’t heard her. “I’m not.”
“No offence, Pip,” Rebecca said, clambering back into the boat. “But you sooo are.”
“Am not!”
Babs and Berne started to row us over to the beach as I splashed water in Rebecca’s direction. I wasn’t gay. I didn’t have a problem with her being gay or anyone else but I wasn’t. I didn’t run after gorgeous women, neither did I go to clubs or march in parades. They’d never let me in.
I was me, I was . . . sort of . . . with Doug. He was a man. I wouldn’t feel anything for him if I was gay? Would I? Nope.
Rebecca was wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
“Pip,” Rebecca said as we got to the beach. “Is that where this is coming from?”
“You lost me.”
Berne let go of the boat and pulled the supplies and equipment out with Babs assisting.
“Is that why you’re so worried?” Rebecca took the front end of the boat. We lifted it and carried it up the beach. “Because you haven’t come to terms with i
t?”
“I don’t need to come to terms with anything. I’m just not gay.”
“Pip, you slept with a woman.” Rebecca huffed as we placed the boat down. “You are in love, and I mean epically in love, with a woman.” We trudged back down the beach to the other boat. “You want to be with another woman . . .” She pulled her helmet up as it fell over her eyes. “That’s kinda gay.”
I hoisted up the back end of the boat as Rebecca again took the front.
“It’s Berne. That’s all. I don’t feel that way about any other women.” We clomped the boat down. “The receptionist thought the same.”
“Who?”
“The receptionist in Paris thought I was gay too.”
Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “The receptionist? What kind of check-in service did they have there?”
I poked my tongue out and wandered over to my tent bag. We were in a makeshift campsite less than a minute’s walk from the river. I checked around in case there were any more streams. Not that it mattered. There was no way I was using that again this trip. The patch had been to try and keep the cover as waterproof as possible but it had failed spectacularly. Served me right for not buying a new tent.
“I asked her if she thought I looked right with Doug and she pointed out that I’d asked her of all people.”
I ignored Rebecca hovering next to my shoulder as I pulled out the sodden tent.
“And why was that important?”
I shrugged and laid the tent out over the ground. It wouldn’t dry tonight in time but at least it would be dry in the morning. “She said something about being happy to have shown me had her girlfriend not been working.”
“Hah,” Rebecca said, and Babs wandered over to us. “Apparently she’s picking up receptionists now. Every time she goes to France alone, she causes chaos I tell you.”
“She has seduced someone else?” Babs folded her arms as if she really believed I could have managed anything of the sort.
There was no way they were dragging me into this teasing match. I wandered over to Berne and carried the little gas canister for her.
“You want this up and running?”