The Chateau

by Catherine Cooper

  Nick reaches over me and turns out the light. I turn my back on him so that we can spoon. It’s nice – I feel cosy and protected. ‘We can always ask them to leave,’ he suggests softly. ‘I know we’ve signed a contract, but I’m sure there must be some way of getting out of it.’

  Nick’s never wanted them here. But he’s not going to get his way that easily.

  ‘No,’ I counter. ‘The programme will be amazing publicity for the chambres d’hôtes. I want the crew here for now at least, but if things carry on this way, we might have to reconsider.’

  18

  September, Mozène

  Aura

  The next day while we are having lunch the Astrid makes a strange ‘bong’ sound. I brace myself for a burst of loud music, but nothing happens.

  ‘Why does it make that noise?’ I ask the table in general. I’m still on edge and jittery from all the stuff that happened last night. I barely got any sleep at all. I couldn’t get Sorrel’s words out of my head: ‘Mummy be scared’. Because the problem is, I am scared. Rationally, what Nick says must be right – it’s hardly the first time Sol’s had a nightmare and he’s a very imaginative little boy – but it’s been going round and round in my head. Why would anyone want me to be scared? They wouldn’t. Sorrel had a nightmare. But then so much has happened lately that it can’t all simply be coincidence, can it?

  ‘That noise means someone’s dropped in,’ Helen says.

  ‘Dropped in? You mean it’s the doorbell?’ I look at the device where there’s a green light zipping around the top. ‘That thing’s linked to the doorbell now?’ I ask.

  ‘No, it means that someone’s dropped into the system so they can talk or listen.’

  ‘What? Who? Why?’

  ‘Don’t know. Nick maybe? He could do it from the garden on his phone. Nick, is that you?’ Helen says towards the device.

  Silence. The light on its top goes out.

  ‘Do you want me to have a look at your app for you?’ she offers. ‘I might be able to tell from that. I have an Astrid at home and love it. In fact, I have them in several rooms, I find them so useful. Did you know you could use it as a baby monitor if you got an Elsie too – it’s like a smaller version of the Astrid? You could listen out for the boys when they’re asleep and, when they’re bigger, tell them when it’s time to come down for meals or whatever.’

  ‘Really?’ I say, but I’m not remotely interested. ‘I hate that thing. It’s been nothing but trouble. I’m tempted to unplug it and have done with it,’ I say, tears springing to my eyes again. I desperately need to get some proper sleep, maybe then I wouldn’t feel so on edge. ‘I certainly don’t think I’d want another one any time soon.’

  ‘Hmm – only seems to be your account attached to the device from what I can see,’ Helen says as she moves her finger up and down the screen on my phone. ‘Maybe you dropped in accidentally yourself – it can happen. Or it could be a glitch. Like the one with the music the other night.’ She hands the phone back. ‘Thinking about it, if the internet trips out for a second, which I imagine is hardly unheard of somewhere like here, these devices have a tendency to go haywire when they first come back to life. I wouldn’t worry about it.’

  I look at the device again, which is still black with no lights on. But I decide to unplug it anyway to be on the safe side.

  19

  October, Mozène

  Aura

  Over the next few weeks, we settle into a routine – Helen looks after the boys in the morning while I work on the house with Nick. Nick and I are getting on better than ever and we’ve even had sex a couple more times, so he’s in a better mood. Mid-afternoon I take charge of the boys again and we bake, go for walks, pick flowers and the like. Sometimes I take them over to Tiggy’s and we sit on her terrace by the pool or let the boys splash about on the steps on warmer days. When it’s cooler we chat in the kitchen while the boys play with her children’s old toys in a massive playroom just off it. Our chateau is slowly coming together too. Though it’s a very long way off being ready, I am starting to be able to imagine how it will look, and we’re hoping to be able to open at least one or two guest rooms for next summer.

  It’s finally starting to feel like the life I came here in search of. The days are gradually getting colder, but it’s still warm enough that the boys can spend most of their time outside. Thanks to Helen, I have the time to myself I always dreamed of, even if it is mainly spent clearing junk out of rooms, scrubbing old tiles and walls, endless trips to brocantes and Mr Bricolage, supervising the workmen who come and go to do the various tasks we can’t do ourselves, paying bills and generally organizing things.

  I’ve also had time to get used to the film crew hanging around all the time. They have become so much a part of the furniture that I self-edit a lot less than I used to when they were first here; if I want to have a go at Nick about something, then I will, whether or not they are listening. Not that it happens as much nowadays; we’re getting on brilliantly most of the time.

  Frank is still helping me out with my website and also with general grunt work around the house, but mindful of what Tiggy said, I am careful not to be too reliant on him. I’ve also asked him to call me before he comes round, giving the excuse that at the moment I am so often out buying things we need for the house. He said: ‘Of course, of course!’ and tried to pretend he wasn’t offended, but I could see he was, so I immediately felt sorry for him and invited him for lunch the next day.

  The only ongoing problem is Sorrel, who is waking up almost every night screaming and saying there are voices in his room, telling him that I should be scared. I’ve begged Nick to let him sleep with us again, even temporarily, but he won’t have it. He says that once Sorrel’s back in our bed he won’t want to get out again. Though it breaks my heart, I know he’s right. Sorrel already has Helen’s horrible dreamcatcher and we’ve tried everything else we can think of – night lights, homeopathic sleep remedies, whale music, white noise, different teddy bears to ‘guard’ him – but nothing works. I’ve spent ages on the various Facebook parenting groups I’m a member of, looking for a solution but so far, no joy. Nick insists Sorrel will grow out of it and I guess he probably will. I only hope it’s soon – we’re both exhausted. At least, Sorrel and I are – Nick always sleeps through all the crying and shouting.

  We haven’t seen Thea again; I guess she decided that we (or rather, I) weren’t her sort of people. Tiggy has been to a couple more dinner parties at Amaryllis, she tells me about what went on when I see her. She gets a bit wistful when she talks about Celia. She also tells me about her marriage; Bertie is apparently sleeping with his parliamentary researcher. Tiggy shows me a picture of her; whore-face, as Tiggy calls her, is very young and pretty. God knows what the researcher sees in Bertie. I guess she thinks he might be good for her career.

  ‘But don’t you mind?’ I ask. My relationship with Nick may be far from perfect, but theirs makes us look like Romeo and Juliet.

  She shrugs. ‘Not really. Bertie provides for me and the girls well and he’s a good dad. He puts up with me and Celia, as long as he gets to join in sometimes, and in turn I tolerate him being with whore-face in London. Somehow it works.’

  In spite of what she says, it sounds to me like she does mind. I wonder whether it’s time to open up to her about all the stuff that went on before we came here, but decide I’m not ready yet. We came here to get away from all that and it’s nice being a totally different person and having a clean slate. I’m no longer ‘the woman who’ blah di blah.

  ‘It suits us both,’ she continues. ‘I guess when the children are older we’ll discreetly split and go our separate ways. But Bertie says it would kill his career to do it now – it’s always better for MPs in his party to be married. The only issue would be if it came out in the press. But, given where we live, and as long as he and whore-face are as discreet as he claims they are, I think that’s fairly unlikely, especially post-Leveson.’ She waves her hand d
ismissively. ‘Anyway, enough about me and my dysfunctional marriage. Much more importantly, have you got your costume sorted for tonight?’

  Tonight is Thea’s Hallowe’en party and I have to admit I’m excited about it. We haven’t been out at all since the dinner party – there’s pretty much nowhere to go here, we have the boys and we don’t know anyone anyway. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go, but Tiggy assures me that the Hallowe’en extravaganza will be nothing like the dinner party.

  ‘This is a totally different thing,’ she says. ‘You’ll love it – everyone brings their kids and Thea gets people in to entertain them. Her Hallowe’en parties are her way of showing off her wealth to as many people as possible. Champagne flows but there’s a strict no-drugs policy – she likes to look squeaky-clean outside of her inner circle. She puts on a great bash – you’ll adore it. So will your kids. Mine are coming too – they’re home from school for the holidays. Me and the girls are going as the three blind mice.’

  I laugh. ‘That sounds fun! I haven’t given any thought to costumes, to be honest – I’ll have to see what we can cobble together at home.’ This isn’t true – I got straight on to Amazon and ordered for all of us as soon as the creamy card invitation covered in classy silver cobwebs arrived through the post. I wasn’t going to be shown up again by wearing the wrong thing like the last time.

  20

  October, Mozène

  Aura

  I am very pleased with how I look in my witch’s outfit. I have lost weight since we arrived in France; probably from dragging large pieces of ancient stuff out of the house and being forever on the go. The dress is an old black one which now clings in all the right places and shows just enough cleavage. I’ve also got a hat from eBay, an old-fashioned witch’s broom which I found here during one of my clear-outs, and a plush toy cat someone gave the boys at some point which I’ve tethered to the end of the broom. I think I look sexy without being slutty, as well as fun and inventive. Exactly the kind of image I want to portray in my new life out here. This party will be the first time we meet a lot of people who could potentially become our friends (assuming they’re not all like the awful Thea), so it’s important we give the right impression.

  Bay is simply adorable dressed as a pumpkin – I try not to think about the poor kid who must have slaved over his costume in some godforsaken sweatshop, but sometimes needs must. Sorrel is in a Spiderman outfit he was given by a friend of Nick’s who I don’t like very much. I never buy the boys gendered toys or outfits of any sort, but Sorrel would wear his Spiderman costume every day, given the chance (which he isn’t – special occasions only. Or when Nick lets him and I don’t notice till too late).

  I knew Nick wouldn’t bother to find a costume himself and wouldn’t want to make himself look too stupid or like he’d gone to too much effort either, so I bought him a huge black cloak and a plastic scythe – he can go as Death but wear his own clothes underneath.

  Thea has also invited the film crew and Helen this time, which is a relief as, if she’s happy to have them filming, it backs up Tiggy’s assurance that this evening’s party will be distinctly PG-rated. The only condition is that they’d have to dress up like everyone else, so I put in an order for costumes for them along with my own. Helen is a zombie nurse, Chloe a cat (in a skin-tight PVC suit which I wouldn’t want any daughter of mine to wear, but whatever, she chose it) and Seb is a devil. Even if I say so myself, we make a good-looking group.

  Seb says he has to stay sober during filming for insurance purposes and so he may as well be the designated driver and take us all to the party in the van. I wonder about taking our car too in case the boys find it overwhelming and one of us (i.e. me) needs to come back early with them, but Nick tells me to stop being so fretful. I don’t want to spoil the evening before it’s begun so I try to push the thought out of my mind and leave the car at home.

  The chateau is looking even more spectacular than last time we were here, all candlelit and decked out in Hallowe’en decorations. With Helen, I take the boys to the designated children’s area to check that it looks safe; their eyes light up at the sight of the huge piles of sweets, the bouncy castle and other toys. A zombie Mary Poppins shows me the darkened area for sleeping and assures me that no child will be left unattended at any point. There are five nannies to look after twenty children, most of whom are older than ours. She also tells me that I’m welcome to come and check on the boys at any time and promises that someone will come and find me if there is a problem. Sorrel is already flinging himself around the haunted house bouncy castle and I put Bay down in the ball pit, which is full of large plastic eyeballs and mini pumpkins, kissing his head as I leave.

  Back in the main marquee I take a glass of champagne from one of the zombie waiters. I find Tiggy, who introduces me to her two tween girls. They are beautiful, like miniature versions of her, and are decked out in little ears, short black tulle skirts with dark glasses and canes exactly like Tiggy. They have that polite self-confidence which only seems to come from being public-school educated and I feel a sudden pang of doubt about our move to France – did we do the right thing? Would the boys have been better off being educated in the UK?

  No, I tell myself. No sterile, loveless boarding school for them – not that we could ever have afforded it anyway. They will grow up bilingual, with two parents and with nature all around them. I’m actually keen to home school them – I just need to persuade Nick.

  Frank comes over and does the bise with us all – he is also dressed as Death, like several of the men here, including Bertie. Celia and Tristram arrive – Celia looks stunning as Elsa from Frozen and Tristram is dressed as a skeleton, his paunch excruciatingly pronounced in the skin-tight suit.

  Thea sweeps up to us and kisses everyone exuberantly. She is dressed as evil fairy godmother Maleficent and she looks amazing. Like last time, despite having been delighted with my costume when I left the house, the sight of her immediately makes me feel dowdy.

  ‘Wow, Thea, you look incredible,’ Frank says, his eyes unashamedly flicking up and down her body. ‘What a great costume!’

  She smiles smugly. ‘Isn’t it beautiful? It’s one of the originals worn by Angelina Jolie in the film. I sent someone out to LA to bid for it especially – since I saw the film I simply had to have one. After tonight I’m going to re-auction it for charity though – it’s not as if I can wear it more than once, is it?’

  Tiggy rolls her eyes at me. ‘Anyway, I hope you all have a wonderful evening,’ Thea continues. ‘I do appreciate you all coming along. Hallowe’en is my favourite night of the year. So pagan and wildly erotic, don’t you think?’

  She sashays off, all the men looking at her pert little arse, for fuck’s sake. I rein in my thoughts and remind myself that I am now tolerant and reasonable Aura, not fly-off-the-handle-and-harass-Nick-for-his-many-shortcomings Aura.

  Given that last time I saw many of these people they were kissing or groping each other and Bertie had his penis in his hand, I’m struggling to get the various images out of my head and am a little stuck for conversation. I opt instead to talk to the tweens about their boarding school while Nick and the two men talk renovation and workmen nightmares. Celia and Tiggy chat quietly to each other, standing close. I wonder what they are saying. I reach out and stroke Nick’s arm. Our relationship is far from perfect, but it could be a lot worse.

  After an hour or so of champagne and watching the aerialists and roaming demonic fire-eaters, dinner is served. In many ways, though it’s way less formal, this evening’s event is more lavish than the dinner party – all gargantuan roasts, elaborate vegetable food sculptures and classy yet over-the-top decoration and entertainment wherever you look. By the end of dinner, thanks to the circulating zombie waiters who seem to constantly top up drinks, along with everyone else I am more than a little drunk. I’ve checked on Sorrel and Bay a couple of times during the evening – they were having such a great time in the playroom with the nannies that although they
spotted me coming in, they barely gave me a second glance. I feel a pang; they are growing up so quickly. How long will it be before I am no longer the centre of their world?

  After dinner the nannies bring the kids out to the garden and the performers put on an impressive show on a stage which has been erected for the evening – it’s a medley of songs from musicals such as Little Shop of Horrors and the Rocky Horror Show (with any unsuitable lyrics suitably sanitized, thankfully) alongside more fire-eating and acrobatics. Afterwards the kids are taken back to their playroom and one of the nannies tells me the children are going to watch a film while they relax on colourful FatBoy cushions with babyccinos and popcorn. There will be plenty of blankets on hand to keep them cosy as they drop off to sleep, which they surely will. We can pick them up whenever we are ready to go home, but there is no rush – the nannies are here for the whole evening.

  Before dinner I was keeping an eye on Nick, generally staying close to him or at the very least watching out for who he was flirting with, but he seemed to be behaving himself. Thea appears to have lost interest in him, and there’s no Hervé character for her to flirt with; instead she’s playing the bountiful hostess to perfection, circulating, talking to everyone, making sure we’re all happy.

  After dinner and all the wine and champagne I feel emboldened and decide I’m going to meet some more people – I don’t need to watch Nick all the time. I latch on to various groups via Tiggy and Celia, occasionally even introducing myself to strangers all by myself, telling them I’m new to the area. No one minds. Some of the people I meet are dull and pompous, but others are interesting – everyone seems to have a very different story around how they arrived in the area. I find it fascinating. Who would have thought there would be such a variety of people in a place as rural as this?