Twenty-six
A ll the way to the hospital, Emma had hardly dared believe that the news was as good as the doctor had told them. Rationally, she knew they wouldn’t say Mattie was okay if she wasn’t. But a nagging worry persisted in her, so seeing a smiling Mattie sitting up in bed, looking so much better, with just one canula attached to her, had been a wonderful relief. After kissing her and depositing their gifts—a box of handmade chocolates and a bag of fresh cherries—on the bedside table, Emma asked if there was any more news from the doctor.
Mattie shrugged, ‘The tests didn’t show anything sinister, but I’m going to need a pacemaker before they let me leave. Such a nuisance!’
‘Now then, Mattie, you know your doctor’s been advising that for a while,’ Marc-Antoine said smiling.
‘Yes, I know. I’m a stubborn old woman,’ she said, cheerfully, ‘but I suppose this time I’d better listen.’
She looked from one to the other with a mischievous smile and said, ‘And now, my dears, I think you may have news for me .’
‘Don’t be coy, dearest Mattie,’ Marc-Antoine said, putting an arm around a blushing Emma. ‘You’ve known it from the moment we walked in.’
‘Well, it’s written all over your lovely faces,’ said Mattie, biting into a chocolate. ‘I’m simply a bit surprised it took you that long to fall into each other’s arms.’
‘Mattie!’ they said, in slightly shocked unison, and she laughed.
‘I’m not so old that I can’t see when two people have that spark between them, even if they won’t admit it at first.’ Her tone changed, and she said, with a smile that lit up her whole face, ‘I can’t even begin to describe how happy this makes me.’
They stayed by her side for over an hour, talking, eating cherries and chocolates, and posing for Mattie, who had declared she wanted to draw them, to mark the occasion. So they sat together on one of the armchairs, a little shy at first, but soon at ease under the gentle patter that Mattie kept up throughout, and which Emma had come to realise was her way of making sure her subjects didn’t feel awkward. When a nurse appeared and exclaimed, with a disapproving glance at the sketchbook, and a frown at Emma and Marc-Antoine, that Madame Lenoir really shouldn’t tire herself, Mattie said sweetly, ‘This is the best rest I could have because nothing soothes me like drawing.’
The nurse harrumphed, but after checking Mattie’s blood pressure and pulse, she pronounced them satisfactory. ‘You will still have to rest in the usual way, Madame Lenoir,’ she said tartly, as she turned to go out. ‘We want you to be in good shape tomorrow for the pacemaker fitting, don’t forget.’
After a while, Mattie did start to look tired, and Emma and Marc-Antoine left, promising to come back the next day. Picking up a Moroccan takeaway for lunch, they went straight back to Mattie’s house.
Back home they only managed to close the front door behind them and stumble to the living room, arms around each other, kissing passionately, before falling onto the sofa, hands all over one another, so frantic to touch that next thing they knew, they were actually falling off the sofa and onto the floor, laughing. Marc-Antoine sat up then, his back against the sofa, and pulled her onto his lap. Emma leaned into him, breathing hard, wrapping her legs around him as he moved into her, and it was so fast and hot that very soon she was crying out and he was too. Afterwards, Emma nestled in his arms, as he said, a smile in his voice, ‘Just as well these old walls are thick, hey?’
‘Or we’d scandalise the neighbours,’ she said.
‘This is France,’ he replied. ‘They’d be more likely to cheer us on. Or be jealous.’
‘Well, those stickybeaks do have something to cheer and be jealous about, cher Monsieur Hugo .’
He kissed her, encircling her again in his arms. ‘I do so agree, dear Ms Taylor.’
After a time, they got up, recovered their discarded clothes, straightened the sofa and made their way to the kitchen where Marc-Antoine heated up the takeaway lamb tagine and set out plates and cutlery while Emma poured them both tall glasses of Breton cider from a bottle she’d found in the fridge. They toasted each other and Mattie, and Emma thought she had never been so happy in her whole life. She couldn’t stop smiling, looking at him, so beautiful, so outrageously desirable. He saw her expression and said, with a catch in his voice, ‘Hey, we really do need to eat, so stop looking at me like that!’
‘Like how exactly?’ she replied teasingly, and he laughed and caught her up into his arms, and they kissed so deeply that she felt almost dizzy with it.
‘Now sit,’ he said, disengaging himself with an obvious effort, ‘let’s have this tagine, and then …’
‘And then what?’ she breathed, watching his every move as he took the tagine off the stove and dished up the meal.
He kissed her playfully on the top of her head before sitting down, ‘Then we’ll see, won’t we?’
The tagine was as delicious as it smelled, and Emma wolfed down a large plateful, washed down with cider. They followed that up with a couple of cornes de gazelle , traditional Maghreb almond paste and orange flower pastries. Emma had never had them before, but Marc-Antoine’s mother had been very fond of them, he said, and he’d tried to learn how to make them. ‘But I wasn’t very successful.’ He smiled. ‘But Maman still said mine were the best she’d ever tasted. Not that I really believed her. Mothers tend to praise their children, don’t they?’
‘ My mother would probably have said I needed to try harder,’ Emma said. ‘She could be tough sometimes, and didn’t always find it easy to give praise, but when she did, you knew she really meant it. And that made it all the more precious.’ Her eyes prickled with sudden tears. She tried to blink them back. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to …’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ he said, taking her hand across the table. ‘I still miss my mother, and she’s been gone for two and a half years. But for you, it’s still so very raw.’
She nodded, unable to speak for a moment. He had spoken with such understanding and empathy, and that almost made the tears fall. Finally, she managed to say, in a rush, ‘My mother kept so much back from me, Marc-Antoine. Sometimes, I feel angry about it; sometimes I feel sad. But mostly, I miss her, you know? Yes, she could be tough, but she was a lovely mother, too. And she could be so much fun! I remember her making up such good games when I was little, teaching me songs, making me costumes for the school concert, and introducing me to Tintin and Asterix in French. And after I left home, she was always so happy when I came back for visits … I loved her dearly and I know she loved me too, deeply. I just wish she’d opened up to me more about herself, about her past, before it was too late. And I really hoped I would begin to understand her, coming here. But—’
‘But it hasn’t happened yet,’ he said, his hand warm on hers, his eyes never leaving her face.
‘Seeing Mattie’s face light up when we walked into that ward made me think how Maman could have made her parents happy, too, like she made Paddy and me. But she chose not to.’
‘I’m not sure if she chose it,’ he replied. ‘Maybe she didn’t know how to make things better.’
Emma looked at him. ‘That’s what Paddy says. He says she just froze up. But that can be an excuse for not trying.’
‘That kind of emotional paralysis can be so deep-seated that it’s almost impossible for people to move beyond it,’ he said gently. ‘Your mother was complicated, that’s very clear—but you, Paddy and Mattie all loved her, and I know Alain did too. And that, to me, means she was someone worth loving.’
Her heart swelled. ‘You are so right! She absolutely was. But I wish she could have seen how much happier she might have been, if she’d trusted more.’ She looked at him. ‘Oh, Marc-Antoine, I hope we can always be as open with each other as we are now. I can’t possibly live like my mother, with secrets and silences and frozen feelings.’
‘And neither can I, darling Emma,’ he whispered, picking up her hand and kissing it.
At that moment, the door buzzer sounded, making them both jump. ‘Are you in, Emma?’ came Charlotte’s voice, over the speaker. ‘I have some news and I think you are really going to want to hear it.’