Chapter 3
3
Ellie propped the bicycle against the wooden door of the shed and stood there for a long moment, admiring it. Then she took a photo with her phone, texted it to Laura and added a message to tell her that she was the best sister ever.
The response was instant.
You’re welcome. Chose the colour to match your hair. Don’t forget to stay on the right side of the road!!!
The boost to Ellie’s morale carried her back into the house. Into the kitchen, where she spotted a baguette sitting on the recently scrubbed wooden breadboard. Her stomach growled a reminder that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so she broke off a large chunk of baguette and prised it open. She folded in a slice of the juicy ham Laura had chosen from the supermarket delicatessen and added some wedges of a soft Camembert. As a final touch, she spread a generous amount of Dijon mustard, squashed the roll a little flatter and then took her first bite.
Oh, wow .
There was nothing like hunger to make something astonishingly delicious. The bone-deep weariness from a long day of physical labour sprinkled with dollops of some rather intense emotions seemed to add another condiment. Or perhaps it was that the flavours were so quintessentially French and she was eating it looking out onto that incredible view that could only be the south of France. A view that was now tinged with the first colours of what promised to be a long and gentle sunset.
There was only one thing that could make this experience even better. A glass of rosé. Oh, and maybe sitting down to eat it. Not inside, though. Right now, that terrace wasn’t looking like a trap to suck someone into a vortex of loneliness. It looked like the perfect place to watch a sunset paint its magic onto an endless sky.
It wasn’t that lonely, either, Ellie decided some time later. Having swallowed the last mouthful of her sandwich and chased it down with the rest of the wine, she went back inside to refill her glass.
Such a pretty pale pink. Like that first flush of the sunset that was now deepening into a much more intense colour, with streaks of gold that might become orange very soon. She took the glass with her as she wandered outside again, towards the lemon orchard this time, as if she wanted to step closer to the rapidly darkening silhouette of the nearest mountain.
No. It wasn’t lonely.
It was… peaceful.
So peaceful it felt like nothing she had ever experienced before. The warmth of the air around her was as comforting as a snuggly blanket on a freezing winter’s night. The light was gentle on her eyes, and the silence, only occasionally broken by the call of a bird, was utterly different to the silences she had been living with for so long.
It wasn’t punishing her with what was missing from her life.
It felt as if it was soothing her with the promise of a new beginning.
The sun was low enough now to give the air the soft, misty quality Ellie had noticed yesterday and made her think of classes back at art school, exploring paintings by some of the masters, like Matisse or Chagall.
Of course it did. There’d been a good reason why so many famous artists had lived and worked in this part of France, and it probably had a lot to do with this light. And the landscape. She took another long moment to soak in the postcard-perfect scene. Not that she’d ever try to capture it on a canvas herself. Ellie’s focus had always been on smaller details – like that lemon she could see nestled amongst the glossy foliage of the nearest tree in the small orchard.
She walked closer. Close enough to touch the skin of the lemon. To bend her head and inhale the sharp, clean scent as she cupped the fruit in her hand. Overripe, the lemon fell from the tree at her touch, so she stooped to pick it up. She spotted another lemon not far away, so she picked that one up as well.
A couple of steps and there were more – still firm enough to be good. With her wine glass still in her other hand, Ellie couldn’t pick up any more fruit, so she started making a small pile. She would bring a bucket out in the morning to collect them, and maybe she really would make some lemonade.
Ellie finally reached the sagging fence. The shadows were long and deep, but it was still easy to spot the two donkeys – in the same place as yesterday, underneath that olive tree – on either side of the boulder.
Wait…
That boulder hadn’t been there yesterday.
It was an effort to pull her brain back from the peaceful, dreamy space it had embraced. Ellie narrowed her eyes and tried to focus. It wasn’t a boulder. She could see something poking out from the rounded shape because it was pale and almost gleaming as the last rays of the sun touched it. Even so, it took a minute to recognise what she was seeing because it was so unexpected.
A small, human foot.
‘Oh, my God .’ Adrenaline flooded Ellie’s body and her wine glass slipped, unheeded, from her hand.
It was a child. Right between the large bodies of two potentially dangerous animals. Within inches of hooves that could cause serious injuries. Ellie remembered the horrific bruises her sister Fiona had received on one occasion, when she’d been kicked by a horse. Her own unfortunate incident with a pony, as a young child, had instilled enough fear to make Ellie instinctively keep her distance from anything equine.
But she had to do something now.
It wasn’t hard to climb over the fence, which was simply a few strands of smooth wire suspended between what looked like upright tree branches. With her heart in her mouth, Ellie slowly approached the donkeys. As their heads swung in her direction and those long ears pointed forwards, her heart rate increased noticeably. They could turn in an instant, couldn’t they? Getting ready to kick or bite her. Trampling that small child without even noticing.
‘Shhh…’ she said aloud, even though they weren’t making any noise. ‘It’s okay, donkeys. I… just want to… you know…’
Save that child’s life.
She could see a little face now, as well as the foot. A pale face, with a sweep of dark lashes beneath closed eyes and a tumble of dark, curly hair. A toddler, maybe around three years old?
Ellie kept moving. Slowly, so that she didn’t startle the donkeys into making a sudden movement. She didn’t dare make direct eye contact with them, but she could feel them watching her. She was close enough to touch one of them now and, as she leaned down, could feel the brush of air as it flicked its ears.
‘Don’t move,’ she whispered through gritted teeth. ‘ Please , don’t move.’
She touched the child’s shoulder, but he didn’t wake up. Her mouth dried instantly. Had he already been hurt? Was he even alive ? No. She couldn’t let herself sink into that horror or she wouldn’t be able to move at all. Crouching, she slid one hand behind the small body and scooped him into her other arm, drawing him out from between the shaggy bellies of the donkeys. Then she straightened, carefully, and took a step back. And then another. The nearest donkey took a step towards her, and that did it. Ellie turned and fled back to the fence, clambered over it and then stopped. Her breath was coming in short gasps and she was shaking like a leaf, but the child in her arms was still sound asleep. Or was he unconscious?
And then it hit her with far more effect than any kick those donkeys might have delivered.
She was holding a child.
The first time she had done so since her own child had died.
But this little boy – she was sure he was a boy despite those astonishing eyelashes and perfect Cupid’s bow of a mouth – was alive. She could feel the warmth coming from small, bare limbs and the huff of his breath against her neck. It was impossible not to be aware of the dewy softness of his skin or the smell of his hair. Unable to stop herself, Ellie pressed her cheek against the dark curls and closed her eyes as she drew in a long, shaky breath.
The child stirred in her arms, and Ellie jerked her head back in time to see two large, very dark eyes appear. A flash of fear came and then morphed into surprise, and then, to her astonishment, those perfect little lips curved into a smile.
‘ Maman? ’
Oh… that single word, so clear it was like a bell in the silent evening, could have been spoken in any language and it would have pierced her heart like a spear. Ellie couldn’t say anything, but her arms tightened a little around the boy as tears sprang to her eyes.
It became even more heart-rending when two small arms came up to wrap themselves around her neck and that curly head rubbed the space beneath her collarbone to find the most comfortable spot to snuggle into before the little body went limp again.
Oh… God …
The feel of this child… The smell of him…
That small snuffling sound of breathing through a nose that was squashed against her skin.
Ellie had never wanted to hold a child again because she’d known how unbearable it would be.
Because she’d never be able to hold her own baby again.
She couldn’t move.
Couldn’t think.
Where had this child come from? Where was his mother?
Worse… was he even real, or had her mind somehow conjured up a waking fantasy? Or, perhaps, a nightmare? Aye… the sound that now tore the quiet evening apart definitely pushed it into nightmare territory.
‘ Hé! ’ The raw bark of sound was startling enough to make her flinch. ‘C’est quoi ce merdier? Qu’est-ce que vous foutez?’
The voice was male. And furious. A figure was striding through the olive grove, right past the donkeys as if this man had no fear whatsoever of the large animals.
Tall. Dark. Fierce. With a look on his face that made Ellie step back a pace. She heard the crunch of glass under her foot as she stepped on the wine glass she had dropped but there was something much louder happening inside her head.
Words that couldn’t be ignored.
He knew…
Somehow, he knew that she shouldn’t be allowed to hold this child. That she couldn’t be trusted to protect him because she hadn’t been able to protect her own.
No. That was a daft thought, and Ellie needed to cling to reality in what was already an overwhelming situation. This man had never seen her before. He knew nothing about her. They didn’t even speak the same language. He was still shouting at her. In French.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said desperately. ‘Who are you?’
He stopped, just on the other side of the fence, and glared at her. His mouth opened, closed, and then opened again.
‘You’re English ?’ He made it sound like the ultimate insult, much the same way that the bicycle delivery man had managed to do.
‘Erm… Scottish, actually.’ Was it possible this tension could be diffused by tapping into centuries worth of rivalry and animosity between Scotland and England?
He ignored her. ‘What are you doing with my son?’ The French accent was stronger than Noah’s had been, but his words were perfectly clear. ‘Give him to me at once.’
It was such a relief to hear someone speak her own language that Ellie smiled at him, despite his obvious fury.
‘He’s your son? Oh, thank goodness. I had no idea how I was going to find out where he belonged.’ She knew she was babbling as she stepped closer to the fence. It wasn’t just relief at being able to communicate, she was being absolved of having to make decisions when her brain had been totally fried by the shock of what had just happened. ‘I just found him… asleep. Right beside those donkeys… At least I think he was only asleep…’
Strong arms were wrenching the child from her arms.
‘ Theo? ’
The little boy woke up again. And stared up at his father. ‘ Papa …’
A stream of incomprehensible French followed, but it was clear that this man was checking to see if his son was uninjured. Ellie could sense the intensity of the scrutiny being given. She could still feel his anger but, curiously, it was at complete odds with how gentle his hands were as he ran them over the small, chubby limbs right down to each little finger and toe.
He looked very different to the sort of men Ellie was used to seeing. His features were clearer somehow. More defined. Especially that nose. He looked… French but had neither the groomed, sophisticated elegance so often associated with both French men and women nor the kind of rock star, scruffy chic that Noah portrayed. This man was a craggier version of the sophisticated end of the spectrum. A bit more tousled and casual but still with that indefinable sense of style. In the very short amount of time she’d been with him, Ellie had also detected an even stronger whiff of something like aloofness, or even arrogance, that told her she was intruding into a world where she definitely wasn’t welcome.
Ellie was uncomfortably aware that she must look a right mess with the corkscrew curls of her hair escaping her braid, and her filthy clothes. Good grief… she probably smelt awful, too. She edged back as she heard from the man the expulsion of a breath that was redolent with relief, and she knew exactly how he must be feeling. She was about to ask whether everything was all right and express her own relief when the stranger simply wrapped his arms around his son and turned away. After two paces, however, he turned back.
‘Fix your fences,’ he snapped. ‘They are unacceptable.’
Ellie’s jaw dropped. He was blaming her for his son having been in danger when she had risked her own life to rescue him? Where the hell had he been?
‘He wasn’t on my property,’ she told him defensively. ‘He was where you are now.’ Within touching distance of those donkeys, but, again, he didn’t seem to even notice them.
He was still glaring at her. ‘You are the new owner of that house?’
‘Erm… yes… I just moved in today.’
‘This is your property, then. Your fence. Your fence on the other side, too, where it joins my property, and that is in the same state of shameful repair.’
Oh, help… this wasn’t the best way to be meeting her first neighbour, was it? Ellie could understand why he might be so angry.
‘I’m sorry… I didn’t know.’
‘ Donc … now you do.’
He turned away again and kept going, but Ellie was still processing what he’d said and she could feel a new, sinking sensation in her stomach.
‘Excuse me,’ she called.
He either didn’t hear or was choosing to ignore her, but she had to try again.
‘The donkeys,’ she shouted. ‘They’re yours, yes?’
He still didn’t pause, but she could hear his response floating back through the olive trees.
‘Of course not. They are also yours.’ The hand that appeared in the air gave a very Gallic gesture of exasperation. ‘Now you can finally start taking care of them yourself. J’en ai marre .’
He vanished into the lengthening shadows on the far side of the olive grove.
Very slowly, Ellie shifted her gaze to something closer.
Disconcertingly close now. As if underlining the information that had just been delivered, the donkeys had moved closer while she’d been watching the man and child retreat. They were almost within touching distance on the other side of that inadequate fence. Standing very still again, as if they were all in the middle of a game of Fairy Footsteps, a game she remembered from her primary school playground that involved sneaking up behind the back of whoever was ‘in’ and trying not to get caught moving as that person turned around. They were staring at her, their ears pricked forwards.
It had to be her imagination, but Ellie had the distinct impression that they were both amused by her new predicament. Smiling, even.
The potential malevolence of smirking donkeys, along with the echoes of that angry male voice, followed Ellie back into the house, but the ache in her chest that was making it difficult to breathe was due to the muscle memory of holding that small boy in her arms, and she was afraid that that ache was going to escalate into the kind of pain she’d actually hoped was becoming part of the past.
But there were other things to worry about now.
Like what she was supposed to do about the two wild donkeys that had apparently come with this house.
And the fact that it was dark. What did those bats do once night fell? Wake up and fly around the house? Bite people and give them rabies?
Ellie’s first instinct was to call her mother. Or one of her sisters. She picked up her phone, but her fingers fumbled the swipe and the screen remained blank. She still felt shaky, she realised. And if she heard a comforting voice, she would probably burst into tears, and she could just imagine the flurry of calls or texts that would ping between members of her family after that. If Fi hadn’t already been informed of developments, she’d be dragged into the situation now, and Ellie could almost hear snatches of the conversations.
I knew she wouldn’t be able to cope.
It’s hardly a surprise, is it? She’s barely been coping for months and now she’s alone in a foreign country.
Who would have thought there’d be a wee bairn next door, though? Poor Ellie… that’s just cruel.
But what are we going to do?
I suppose I’ll have to organise a ticket for her to get home. Oh… I wonder if I can get a refund on that bike?
I really thought that this might be the answer…
Well, it isn’t, is it? Look at the mess she’s in already. She’s too scared to even go upstairs because of the cot and the bats and now she’s had a stooshie with a neighbour.
What’s the big deal with a couple of donkeys, anyway? If she wasn’t so pathetic, she’d pull herself together and get on with it.
Don’t be so mean. She can’t help it…
Ellie scowled at her phone and then dropped it onto the kitchen bench beside the half empty bottle of rosé. Maybe she was pathetic, but she didn’t need people talking about it behind her back. Even imaginary conversations. She didn’t want her mother lying awake tonight and fretting about her, either. She’d probably talk to one of the doctors at the medical centre she worked in about getting her an appointment with someone who could dish out antidepressants.
She didn’t want to go home with a cloud of failure hanging over her.
She didn’t want to ask for her job at the care home back when she’d only just resigned. Or to go back to her flat to help with the clean up when so many unhappy memories had seeped into the walls there.
The only thing Ellie really wanted right now was the escape that sleep could bring. It would only take one more glass of wine and she’d be out like a light if she curled up on the sofa again. But she did need a blanket – something that she could pull over her head if the bats came visiting. She eyed the staircase. There were blankets in the bedrooms.
It took even more courage to get up that staircase than it had to approach the donkeys to rescue that child. Ellie remembered the fierce expression on her new neighbour’s face as she hesitated. That dose of contempt when he’d realised she wasn’t French. If he could see her now, he’d think she was pathetic as well as being a scruffy and unwelcome foreigner.
Did she care what he thought of her?
Not at all.
But maybe it was time she should start caring what she thought of herself again.
Ellie took a deep breath, lifted her chin and started climbing. She hurriedly slammed the door shut on the bedroom where the bats – and that cot – were and went into the other room to pull the cover and a pillow from the bed. Her heart was still thumping when she got back downstairs, but there was something else cutting through the disaster that her evening had turned into.
It was pride, she realised. It might have been a small thing, but she had done it, so she wasn’t entirely pathetic. And the bats were trapped behind the door, so she wouldn’t have nightmares about waking up to find them tangled in her hair.
The kaleidoscope of her day had images chasing themselves through her head, too fast to catch and keep, as she lay down a short time later and pulled the light cover over herself. Endless pots of hot water, including the last one that she had used to wash herself as best she could and rinse out her underwear. Dirt and dust. Hearing someone actually say oh, là là and the promise of freedom that gleamed like the paintwork on that bicycle. The taste of the fresh baguette and the sweet softness of the sunset. The intensity of that man’s glare and the shape of that small body in her arms.
The precious feel of a living child…
Oddly, as Ellie drifted into sleep, she realised that the ache hadn’t become any worse after all.
It hadn’t even made her cry.