The Chateau

by Catherine Cooper

  He waves his hand dismissively. ‘Honestly, don’t mention it. Keeps me out of trouble. People were kind to me and helped me out when I arrived – I like to pay it forward where I can. Everything working OK? Lights on? Internet?’

  ‘Yes – the internet is a little slow but, given where we are, I think that’s to be expected, isn’t it. Tea?’

  Frank isn’t at all what I’d imagined. He’s probably in his late fifties and his profile picture must have been taken at a very flattering angle and with some kind of filter. He’s overweight, a little sweaty, and wheezes when he moves. His belt holding up his unfashionable jeans is straining and his thin T-shirt has ridden up, exposing his flabby white tummy.

  This man has been very kind and helpful to you, I tell myself. Be nice. He doesn’t talk about himself a lot online, but from memory, I think he’s divorced, with grown-up children back in the UK, and owns a couple of small properties in France which he rents out.

  ‘I see they’ve started work on the pool already?’ he says.

  ‘Yes, very exciting. Nick’s out there keeping an eye on what they’re doing.’

  ‘Your husband? And how is he finding it here so far?’

  ‘I think he’s slightly overwhelmed by it all. Like me!’ I laugh, trying to make light of it, but suddenly I do feel overwhelmed. There’s so much to take on board.

  Frank nods. ‘I’m sure you’ll both settle in quickly. There’s a lot to get used to at the beginning and it can feel like a lot to get your head round. Plus, I think with most couples, there’s usually one who has led the move and one who follows, so it’s often harder for one than the other.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right. In this case, it was me who led. I manifested it.’

  Frank looks confused. ‘Manifested?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, struggling to keep the sigh out of my voice. I get so bored of trying to explain manifestation to sceptics. ‘It’s basically when you bring something into your life through belief. Though obviously it’s not quite as simple as that.’

  He nods. ‘I see. So in other words, you wanted to move to France more than your husband did?’

  ‘Yep,’ I agree, for simplicity’s sake.

  To be honest, even ‘led’ is understating it. Though I wanted us to stay together, I pretty much gave Nick an ultimatum – it was my way or no way. We would move out of London as a family, or I would take the boys and leave him. After everything that had happened, we needed to start again somewhere totally new and different. Where no one knew who we were. Where I didn’t feel like people were pointing and whispering every time we went out. It didn’t have to be France, but in many ways, it made the most sense.

  I bring the tea over to the table and sit down. Frank sits in the chair next to me instead of opposite me, which feels weird. I shift away a little.

  ‘So, remind me of your plans?’ he says, helping himself to a biscuit from the plate I’ve put out. I wish there was cake. I had visions of myself as some kind of domestic goddess in our new life in France, but so far I haven’t done any baking at all. It’s been impossible to find the time and, apart from the Aga, the kitchen isn’t particularly inviting in its current state. However much I wipe and mop, it never really feels clean.

  I pour myself some tea from the blue-and-white-striped pot. At least I’ve made a pot rather than simply putting teabags in the mugs. And it’s only thanks to Frank that, before we left London, I loaded up the removals van with so many teabags; it isn’t something that would have occurred to me to do.

  ‘We’re hoping to run a chambres d’hôtes,’ I say, though we’ve talked about this already at length online, ‘but obviously we need to renovate first. In the meantime I’m hoping to find some counselling clients among the expats, and we thought maybe Nick could do a bit of English teaching – he was a teacher back in the UK. But to start with, I think we’ll mainly be busy with the renovating.’

  He nods and takes a noisy gulp of his tea. ‘And you’re going on that TV programme, aren’t you?’

  ‘French Fancy. Yep. The crew arrived yesterday – I’m not sure where they are at the moment. Maybe seeing what’s happening at the pool, or following the kids around with Helen. The deal is they’re here 24/7 and they can film what they like. Nick isn’t keen, but it’ll be amazing publicity for the chambres d’hôtes once we open, don’t you think?’

  I take another sip of the tea. Even though the teabags are from home, the drink tastes weird because of the UHT milk and different water, and I feel a pang of loss for what we have left behind.

  ‘Yes, all publicity is good publicity, don’t they say?’ he agrees.

  At that moment the back door bursts open and Sorrel barrels in, sobbing. He launches himself at me and buries his face in my lap.

  ‘Sol?’ I ask with a stab of alarm, stroking his hair. ‘What is it?’

  He lifts his head and wails ‘Bunny!!!!!!!’ before burying his head back in my lap. He is sobbing so hard I can feel his little body shaking.

  ‘Shhh, Sol,’ I soothe. ‘What bunny?’

  Helen rushes in carrying Bay, who is also screaming his head off, followed by Seb and Chloe, filming. Bay reaches his arms out towards me and I take him from Helen, edging Sorrel over a little so as to accommodate the two boys. ‘What happened?’ I ask. Even Helen looks pale and shocked, though maybe it’s just because of all the screaming.

  Helen sits down at the table and I pour her a mug of tea. Her hands shake slightly as she lifts it to her lips.

  ‘Thank you,’ she says, as she sets the mug back down. The boys’ cries have subsided now into gentle sobs and Sorrel’s tears, snot and dribble have soaked my jeans. ‘We were looking for twigs and feathers for the dreamcatcher and I’m afraid we came across a dead rabbit under a bush. It was bloody and crawling with maggots and …’ She shudders.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she continues. ‘I feel terrible that the boys saw it, but they ran into the bushes ahead of me and … obviously I had no idea it was there. But I can’t apologize enough.’

  I pat her arm. ‘Don’t be silly – it wasn’t your fault. These things happen. They’ll get over it.’

  ‘And they’ll have to get used to seeing that sort of thing now they’re living in the countryside,’ Frank chips in, somewhat unhelpfully. I flash him a look.

  ‘Tell you what,’ he adds, getting up, ‘if Helen can point me in the right direction, why don’t I go and dispose of the bunny before it can upset the boys again? Where can I find a dustpan and a bin bag?’

  I feel a whoosh of relief – as a semi-vegetarian I don’t think I could cope with getting rid of a dead rabbit. ‘Would you, Frank? That would be such a help, thank you. You’ll find everything you need under the sink there.’

  Sorrel sits up and wipes his eyes. ‘Poor bunny,’ he says, wistfully.

  I kiss the top of his head. ‘I know, Sol. Poor bunny. You need to remember that he probably had a very nice life though, hopping around in the fields eating lovely green grass. Try to think of him like that.’

  He gives out a little sob, sticks his finger in his mouth and leans his head against my chest. Seb moves in closer with the camera and I feel a flash of irritation.

  ‘Who was that guy who came round earlier?’ Nick asks over dinner. It’s about 9 p.m., the boys are finally asleep (for now at least) and Helen has made a tartiflette which she’s served with green salad. It’s very good.

  For once Seb and Chloe aren’t filming – I guess even TV crews have working time directives and while they insist on access 24/7, they can’t actually film all of the time. Tonight they are having dinner with us, and clearly can’t eat and film simultaneously. They have their own little kitchen upstairs where they can make their own food if they want, but I make a mental note to invite them to dinner often. Probably worth trying to keep on the right side of them, after all.

  ‘Frank?’ I reply. ‘I met him on that expat Facebook site. He’s been great about helping me sort out loads of boring admin things. Without him,
we probably wouldn’t have had electricity or internet when we arrived, and possibly not even water.’

  ‘Hmm. Don’t you think it’s a bit weird though?’

  ‘No. Weird how?’

  I notice Seb and Chloe glance at each other and then carry on eating. I don’t want to start a row even though they’re not filming because I don’t want them deciding that this little discussion might make a ‘storyline’ for them.

  ‘Well, we don’t know him at all and yet he’s piling over almost the same second we arrive. What does he want?’

  ‘Want? I don’t think he wants anything. He said that people helped him when he got here and he wants to pay it forward. Nothing wrong with that, is there? In fact, he’s coming over again tomorrow to help me with my website.’

  Nick takes a forkful of salad, saying nothing. I think he’s being ridiculous – he can hardly be jealous of someone like Frank.

  ‘I think he’s probably lonely, to be honest,’ I add, which is true. ‘But he’s been a massive help and the Facebook page is great – the expats really help each other out. There’s the odd row, certainly, but even those are rather entertaining.’

  He shrugs and goes back to eating. ‘Rather you than me,’ he says. ‘Those Facebook groups seem to be full of egotistic losers, from what I can see. It’s beyond me why you spend so much time on them.’

  5

  September, Mozène

  Aura

  Frank turns up as promised on the dot of 11 a.m. again, this time with a USB stick and a very glamorous woman. ‘I bumped into my good friend Thea at the boulangerie this morning and brought her along to say hello,’ he explains. Thea smiles blandly at me and then casts her eye around the kitchen with an obvious look of disdain.

  ‘I thought it might be nice for you to meet,’ Frank continues. ‘Thea lives in a chateau too. It could be useful for you to have a chat about artisans for the renovation and the like.’

  ‘Lovely to meet you,’ I say, extending my hand, though I can already tell we are not going to be friends. Thea takes my hand gingerly as if it’s a smelly fish, and shakes it at arm’s length. ‘You too, I’m sure,’ she says. She’d struggle to sound less sincere if she tried.

  ‘How are you settling in?’ she asks.

  ‘Oh, you know, it’s exciting to be here but there’s an awful lot to do!’ I reply. ‘It’s so daunting. What’s your place like? I’m sure there’s always something that needs fixing, don’t they say? That owning a chateau is like painting the Golden Gate Bridge? As soon as it’s finished, you have to start all over again?’

  She sniffs. ‘Not really. I had Amaryllis renovated before I moved in – I can’t bear dust – and now I have Graham, who lives in the cottage and does jobs around the place as and when they need doing in lieu of rent. Easier all round that way.’

  ‘Gosh! Well, we have Helen here helping us out with the boys with a similar arrangement, but I’m not sure she’ll want to stay long term. And we don’t have a cottage, or at least not one that’s remotely habitable so …’ I realize I’m babbling but there’s something about Thea that makes me nervous. ‘We’re planning a chambres d’hôtes once we’re up and running. Do you rent your place out at all?’

  ‘No. Well, very occasionally as a location for photographic or film shoots, but that’s it. I’m not interested in being a landlady.’

  She says landlady as disdainfully and incredulously as if she might have said streetwalker and I feel my dislike for the woman growing. I’m looking forward to welcoming guests and I don’t care what she thinks.

  The door opens and Nick comes in from the garden, treading mud all over the floor I’ve just mopped. I bite my tongue; I’m not going to tell him off in front of Thea or the film crew.

  ‘Thea, Frank, this is Nick, my husband,’ I say, emphasizing husband in light of the way Thea’s demeanour totally changes the moment Nick enters the room. She visibly preens, and then leans in to kiss him on both cheeks while holding his shoulders. ‘Nick!’ she cries. ‘So lovely to meet you. And what a delightful place you have here – so much character!’

  Character. So patronizing. I mentally compare Thea to myself. She has immaculate auburn hair topped with designer sunglasses and is dressed in what look like Louboutins, skinny jeans and a crisp Ralph Lauren shirt. I haven’t ironed a single thing since we got here. I am wearing ancient cut-off jeans, a manky old T-shirt with a baby food logo on, which I was given as a freebie, and Birkenstocks. I haven’t washed my hair this morning and I’m still wearing my gym headband which I put on to keep my hair off my face when I was mopping. I hastily pull it off and wrap it around my wrist.

  ‘Anyway,’ Thea continues, ‘I should get on and leave you and Frank to sort out your little website. But I wonder if you’d like to come to dinner this Saturday? I’m having a few friends over and it would be lovely for you to meet some of the other people in the area?’ she asks, looking directly at Nick.

  ‘Oh, that’s very kind, Thea, but I don’t think we can. We don’t have anyone to look after the boys,’ I say quickly, before Nick can respond. It’s a reflex reaction – the truth is I don’t want to go. There’s totally negative energy coming from Thea and I don’t like it. That, or the way she’s looking at Nick.

  ‘What about the woman you have helping you – Helen, I think you said? Can’t she do it?’ Thea asks, not bothering to hide her somewhat exasperated tone.

  ‘Helen?’ I bluster. ‘Oh. Yes, maybe. I’ll ask her. I don’t want to take liberties, especially as she’s not long arrived and she’s not expected to work weekends, but … can I check with her and get back to you?’

  She nods. ‘Of course. But it would mean a lot to me if you both came. And I think you’d enjoy it. Frank can give you my number – if you could let me know by Thursday at the latest? I’ll need to let the caterers know how many we’ll be.’

  Caterers! I was imagining she was suggesting having a few friends round for a kitchen supper. Clearly not.

  ‘We’d love to come,’ Nick says, ‘I’m sure Helen will be fine about it. We can always pay her like a babysitter if need be.’

  ‘But we’ll call to confirm once we’ve spoken to her,’ I add, furious with Nick for speaking for me. How dare he? ‘But many thanks for the invitation; we’ll look forward to it. If it turns out we can make it, that is.’

  Frank had pretty much set up my website for me even before he arrived. I sent him the wording I wanted a while back and a few ideas about the kinds of things I was after design-wise, and I have to say, he’s got it spot-on. He’s even done a French version. I can’t speak French, so there’s no way I can take on French clients, but he thinks it makes the whole thing look more professional.

  ‘Wow, Frank, it’s amazing!’ I say. ‘How did you learn to do all this stuff?’ He’s a far cry from the 25-year-old bearded hipster I imagine a typical web designer to be, but obviously I don’t say this.

  He shrugs. ‘It’s pretty easy – they make all the website builder sites so user-friendly these days. You don’t need HTML or anything like you did in the old days. You could do it easily yourself if you put your mind to it, I’m sure. It’s not difficult.’

  ‘I’m sure I couldn’t. I only use tech at all because I have to – I barely even know how to use my phone properly! You must let me pay you for your time, Frank. How much do I owe you?’

  He shakes his head and holds up his hand, still looking at the screen. ‘Nothing. Honestly, if it weren’t for doing these little jobs for people, I’d be a bored old bloke sitting on my own with next to nothing to occupy me. I’m happy to help. It hasn’t cost me anything other than my time and I have more than enough of that, so please don’t worry.’

  ‘Well, that’s very kind, Frank. I owe you one,’ I say.

  ‘And how are you finding the Astrid I set up for you?’ he asks. ‘Are you using it much?’

  ‘Astrid?’

  ‘The virtual assistant,’ he says, pointing at a black object close to the kettle which I had
totally forgotten about.

  ‘Oh! Astrid. Um, no, I’m not using it much,’ I say. By not much, I actually mean not at all. ‘I’m not all that sure what to do with it,’ I add.

  ‘Aura! I’m shocked. You must give it a go,’ he says. ‘It’s great once you get used to it. Astrid does loads of things. Changed my life at home. Let me show you … I know, what do you need shopping-wise at the moment?’

  ‘It does the shopping?’ I ask, incredulous.

  He laughs. ‘No! Sadly not. But look: “Astrid, add potatoes to the shopping list.”’

  A blue ring lights up on the top of the device and a disembodied voice I’ve never heard before says: ‘I added potatoes to your shopping list.’

  ‘What list?’ I ask. I still don’t see the point.

  ‘Every time you realize you’ve run out of something, you tell Astrid and she makes a list. Then when you go shopping, there’s a list in your app.’

  ‘What app? It all sounds very complicated.’

  ‘It’s not complicated at all – it’s very simple. But you need to download the app – do you want me to do it for you?’

  I hand over my phone. ‘Great, thank you.’

  ‘You can ask it to play music,’ he adds, as he swipes and jabs at the screen, ‘the kids can make it tell jokes – there’s all sorts of things it can do. The internet company was offering it as a freebie when I got you set up, so I thought I might as well sort this out for you too – I did mention it at the time, but perhaps you don’t remember?’

  I shake my head. I don’t, but there was always so much to think about during the move that I’m not surprised I’ve forgotten.

  ‘If you don’t like it, you can ignore it or get rid of it, obviously,’ he adds. ‘I think they take a little getting used to, but I find mine invaluable. There’ – he hands back my phone – ‘all set up. So when you want to go shopping, you go into lists here’ – he scrolls and jabs – ‘and the list will be there ready for you.’