Chapter 12
12
Perhaps it was the deep breath Julien took before he spoke again that made Ellie’s heart sink so fast. Or the way he gave Theo’s curly hair a reassuring stroke as the little boy turned to wrap his arms around his father’s legs and bury his face.
Theo knew what was coming. Ellie knew what Julien was about to ask of her, and… she couldn’t do it.
She couldn’t believe he would even be thinking of asking her to do it, because… he knew, didn’t he?
She’d been so sure, in those first moments when he had stormed into her life as she was holding Theo in her arms, that somehow, on some level, he’d known as well as she did that she shouldn’t be trusted to keep a child safe. It didn’t matter how many people had told her it wasn’t her fault, there was a part of her soul that refused to believe it.
But Julien’s voice was interrupting the thought even as it formed.
‘My grandmother has had a fall,’ he told her. ‘She’s being taken to a hospital in Nice by ambulance.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope she’s not badly hurt.’
‘We don’t know anything more yet. But I need to be there. My mother needs to be there.’
Ellie swallowed hard. ‘Of course.’
‘I don’t want to take Theo. I know he was too young to remember being taken in to see his mother for the last time but just the smell of a hospital seems to be enough to scare him.’
He was already scared. Ellie didn’t know how much English Theo could speak or understand, but the way he was clinging to Julien’s legs made it seem as if he thought his only remaining parent was about to disappear forever, and it broke her heart.
She couldn’t do this.
But she couldn’t not do it, either. Julien needed her. He was asking for her help.
Ellie pushed a rising bubble of fear down as hard as she could. ‘I’ll look after him.’
This was another of those moments, wasn’t it?
Like the one when she had been caught by the stone mosaic flowers and knew that she needed to stay in France. When she’d opened her heart to caring for a little stray dog. And, only minutes ago, when she’d decided she might be brave enough to learn to drive on the wrong side of the road?
This was another challenge she might look back on as a crossroads that helped define the direction she was capable of taking for the rest of her life, but even though this one was so much bigger than any of the others – or possibly even because of that – Ellie wasn’t about to let herself back down.
‘I’ll keep him safe,’ she added quietly.
It was a promise to herself as well as Julien. She could do this.
The relief in his eyes was as palpable as a physical touch. There was admiration there as well, because he had to know that this wasn’t easy for her. He crouched to talk to Theo, and she could hear reassurance in the soft, rapid stream of French. But Theo’s big brown eyes filled with tears, and his response was all too clear. He didn’t want to be left alone with Ellie.
‘Noo, Papa. Prends-moi aussi, Papa. Prends-moi…’
Julien’s tone in response was firmer this time, and Ellie’s heart broke all over again as she saw the way Theo bravely let go of his father to let him leave and stood there with his head down making no further protest.
‘I’ll get back as soon as I can, but I don’t know how long it will be,’ Julien told her quietly. ‘If it gets late or you need anything, take him back to our house, and he can go to bed. I’ll leave the kitchen door open.’
‘Okay.’
‘And…’ It was obvious Julien wanted to leave as quickly as possible. He’d probably be running as soon as he got to the terrace, to get through the orchard and paddock and back to where his mother was waiting for him, but he hesitated for a heartbeat longer. Long enough to touch Theo’s curls again. And then to touch Ellie’s cheek. A brush of his fingers that was as soft as his words as he turned away.
‘… merci mille fois . Thank you so much.’
So… here she was.
With the small boy who didn’t want to be here with her.
The first child she’d held in her arms since she’d lost her own son, that evening when she believed she was saving him from being trampled by the donkeys. The child who’d called her ‘Maman’ . And, while remembering that deepened the crack in her heart, it also gave Ellie strength, because making comparisons between Theo and Jack wasn’t going to happen. Jack had only been six months old when he died. He’d never called her ‘Mammy’.
He never would…
That sting would have been more than enough to reduce Ellie to a sobbing wreck not so long ago, but, right now, it felt as if she could simply step back from the thought. That she could pull a mental curtain so she wasn’t even tempted to peer through that particular window. She had a small boy in front of her who might be astonishingly brave for his age, but he was still too frightened to lift his head and look at her. Ellie wasn’t about to make this experience any worse for Theo by dissolving into tears herself.
‘Are you hungry, Theo?’
Theo didn’t move. Ellie opened the little fridge. He might not understand what she was saying but, if she showed him some food, perhaps he’d be interested? Pascal was certainly interested. Ellie smiled as her little dog trotted into the kitchen and sat down to watch what she was about to take out of the fridge. She knew he was hoping that cheese might be on the menu.
Theo’s head moved as he looked at Pascal. Pascal looked up at Theo and wagged his tail. He wriggled closer and licked the boy’s hand. Ellie heard Theo’s gasp as he pulled it away, but, watching out of the corner of her eye, she saw him slowly lower his hand a moment later so that Pascal could lick it again. She remembered what Julien had told her when she’d thanked him for looking after the donkeys.
‘Theo was very taken with the animals when we arrived and… and he needed something to be happy about…’
He needed something to be happy about again, didn’t he? Ellie bypassed the cheese in the fridge and took out a couple of carrots.
‘Shall we go and say “hullo” to Coquelicot and Marguerite? And give them a carrot?’
Theo finally looked up at her. His face was still very serious and his eyes wary, but he’d understood something.
‘Coquelicot,’ he said. And nodded. ‘Marguerite.’ He pointed at the carrots. ‘ Ils aiment les carottes .’
Ellie understood something as well. Her French practice today had included things she liked. Like cheese and wine and lemons.
J’aime le fromage.
J’aime le vin.
J’aime les citrons.
She smiled at Theo. ‘ J’aime les carottes ,’ she told him.
He stared at her, still wary.
Ellie changed her intonation into a question. ‘ Theo aime les carottes? ’
He was still staring at her, and he didn’t smile back. But, after a long, long moment, he shook his head. Just one slow shake, but it was enough to delight Ellie. It might be on a very basic level, but they could communicate. That made it easier on more than one level, because it reminded Ellie that Theo was a little boy, not a baby. His hair was dark and curly, so unlike the red-haired genes that were strong in her own family. This was Julien’s child, not her own.
She could do this.
Pascal helped. He came with them to feed carrots to the donkeys and waited while they collected some lemons on the way back. He ate the crust of Theo’s bread that got dropped accidentally on purpose when Ellie offered her unexpected guest a bit of supper, and wagged his tail when Theo put out a tentative finger to touch his ear.
Time ticked on and the light was fading. Ellie wondered if she should take Theo back to his own house and put him to bed but, despite being curious about what it was like, the thought of being alone in Julien’s house was daunting enough to keep her in her own safe space. Besides, she had a pair of dark eyes, remarkably similar to his father’s, watching her carefully with no sign of their owner being tired.
There was no television in the house, but she knew how easy it would be to find something online that might entertain Theo, like a cartoon or a funny animal video. Reaching for her phone, however, she spotted something else. The paper and pencils she’d used to create her limoncello recipe. She put a blank piece of paper on the table in front of Theo, picked up a pencil and began a rapid sketch, leaving some exaggerated ears until last.
The little boy’s eyes widened dramatically. ‘ C’est Coquelicot…’
Ellie nodded, smiling. And kept sketching.
‘ C’est Pascal ,’ she told Theo, as she worked. It was an easy portrait to do, with that distinctive, droopy ear. ‘Yes?’
This time it was Theo who nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said.
Ellie wondered if his mother had spoken English with him. Or maybe Julien was bringing him up to be bilingual. How tragic was it that he’d lost his mother at such an early age. And that Julien had lost the woman he’d loved so much. Ellie tore off another sheet of paper.
‘Your turn,’ she said to Theo. She piled the differently coloured pencils in front of him. ‘What can you draw? Marguerite? Theo? Papa? Or shall I draw something for you, and you can colour it in?’
If Theo understood what she was saying, he gave no sign of it, but he did pick up a pencil and make a mark on the paper that turned into a laboriously drawn circle. Two uneven dots near the top of the circle came next, and then a wobbly line near the bottom. It was, almost, a smiley face.
Theo put his pencil down and looked up at Ellie.
‘ Papa ,’ he said.
‘That’s…’ Ellie searched through the French phrases she was trying to commit to memory. ‘ C’est génial ,’ she told Theo, with sincerity, because it was awesome.
And then Theo smiled at her for the first time, and it went straight to Ellie’s heart and wrapped itself into something so tight it felt like it was cutting too deep, and she had to stand up and turn away.
Maybe she couldn’t do this, after all.
Noticing the book that she’d dropped gave her a reason to move, and Ellie had learned long ago that moving physically was always the best way to get past a disturbing thought. As she picked up the old book, she noticed the corner of a bookmark poking out. It wasn’t a traditional kind of bookmark: it was a rather dog-eared, small envelope that had several photographs inside it. Ellie pulled one of them out – an old black and white photograph of two young boys.
For a moment, Ellie forgot where she was and what she was doing. Was this what she’d both hoped and feared she would find in the shed? A link to the forbidden side of her own family? She turned the photograph over to find faded words written in ink, the date at the end too blurred to decipher.
Jeremy and Gordon. Cornwall.
Ellie sank onto the couch as she stared at the image again. The boys both looked younger than ten years old. They were sitting on a stone wall, grinning at whoever was taking the photograph, holding ice cream cones and looking happy enough to be on a summer holiday in Cornwall. One of those children was her father, but Ellie didn’t know which one. She hadn’t even known he had a brother let alone whether he was older or younger.
And yes… as she’d feared, there were memories trying to surface, along with emotions that held streaks of pain. This was very different to the sore place in her heart that Theo’s smile had just touched. This was so deep that it was like trying to capture a fragment of a dream that was already evaporating. On one level, Ellie didn’t want to catch it at all. On another level, however, it felt like she had no choice.
Because there’d always been an element of something like doubt that Ellie had never even tried to resolve. She didn’t want to remember the man whose violent temper had become increasingly unpredictable or that many people had regarded the disappearance of Gordon Gilchrist as a blessing in disguise. She’d rather remember being held by a gentle man who had loved her as dearly as she’d loved him, but was that just wishful thinking? A fantasy of what it could have been like to have a father?
It seemed like another kind of fantasy as Ellie felt the cushions of the sofa moving and found that a small boy was climbing up to sit beside her. To lean against her arm, even, as he reached to touch the front of the book she had discarded on her lap as she was mesmerised by the photograph. She looked down at the tumble of dark curls on Theo’s head and watched as he used a finger to trace the embossed outline of the yacht on the cover. Exactly the way Ellie loved to touch things, like she had with the carving in the wood of the cupboard doors in the kitchen and the stone flowers in the streets of St Paul de Vence.
Without thinking, she dipped her head to press a kiss onto those dark curls, moving her arm to make a circle around that small body. This was what she needed to think about right now, not any ghosts of her own childhood. She slipped the photograph back into the envelope and slid it inside the back cover of the book as Theo was opening the front cover. He looked at the words on the first page. And then he looked up at Ellie, and no words were needed for this communication. He wanted to be read to, and that made another memory fight its way to the surface of Ellie’s brain. Or maybe it was coming from her heart.
Her father used to read to her. From the newspaper he was reading himself, and it didn’t matter at all that she didn’t understand what it was about, because it was just the sound of his voice that she wanted to hear. Both in her ears and in her body, through the rumble of his chest that she could feel because she was tucked in under his arm. Ellie could almost feel what it had provided enfolding her now – the security of being loved.
Safety.
Comfort.
Still without thinking, simply following instinct, Ellie started reading the book to Theo. And Pascal, who’d jumped onto the sofa to snuggle in as close as he could get to the small boy. It clearly didn’t matter that Theo couldn’t understand, because the sound of the words was weaving a spell that was comforting. She could feel his head getting heavier and heavier as it rested on her arm, and she could feel when he gave in completely to the pull of sleep. Very gently, she took her arm away and laid him flat on the sofa and made a cocoon with the blanket she’d used that first night when she’d slept here, folding part of it to be a pillow and using the rest as a cover. Pascal only moved to let her tuck Theo in and then curled up again to guard the small boy.
Ellie stayed where she was for a long, long moment.
Looking at Theo’s still face and the fans of black lashes against pale cheeks.
So pale.
She stared at the blanket covering him, watching for any tiny movement that would reassure her he was still breathing. He was. Of course he was, but it wasn’t enough to stop that bubble of fear returning now that she had nothing to distract herself with.
Fear that was threatening to spiral into something worse as unwanted thoughts crowded in on her.
What would she do if Theo stopped breathing?
What could she do to make sure it didn’t happen?
What should she have done that might have stopped it happening to wee Jack?
Surely there had been something, however tiny. Any one of the millions of things that had occurred to her in those agonising days and weeks after losing her baby.
The pain could still be as fierce as ever, but something had changed, because Ellie didn’t want to hide right now. She wanted… comfort.
Like the comfort Julien had offered by holding her after she’d witnessed the fight for the life of that little French girl?
Julien wasn’t here, but Ellie realised she needed the comfort that had always been there for her entire life, even if there’d been times she hadn’t wanted to cling to that rock. Moving quietly away from the couch into the kitchen and then just outside the doors on the terrace, where she could still see Theo just as clearly, she called her mother.
‘I’m looking after the wee boy from next door,’ she said. ‘And… I’m a bit scared, Mam… What if… what if something happens?’
‘Nothing’s going to happen,’ Jeannie Gilchrist said. ‘Oh, m’eudail … it’s alright. Everything’s going to be alright…’
The catch in her mother’s voice and the way she used the Gaelic of her own childhood to call Ellie ‘sweetheart’ cut through the loneliness that the alchemy of her fear and remnants of her grief was creating.
Her mother understood exactly what that fear was about, and she kept talking softly. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Ellie. It was never your fault. You do know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes…’ The word was only a whisper – as if Ellie was still tiptoeing around the idea of believing it.
‘You were such a lovely mother,’ Jeannie said. ‘Nobody could have cared for wee Jack any better than you did. He knew he was so safe and so loved for every minute of his life. I was so proud of you… I am still so proud of you…’
The words were a balm. The bond between Ellie and her mother was even more of a comfort. Ellie had been the first of the Gilchrist girls to have a baby. The first to truly know what it was like to be a mother. To discover how limitless love could be. And she knew, deep down, that having an utterly pure, unconditional love like that in her life was – and had been – a blessing like no other, even if, at times, it now felt like a pain like no other.
Ellie breathed in the cool evening air as she watched Theo stir and then slip back into his sleep.
The threat of panic had evaporated. The fear had vanished to leave her feeling a little drained but… surprisingly good. With a feeling of peace that was as much of a balm as the love in her mother’s voice had been when she’d said how proud she was of Ellie.
She was proud of herself, she decided. She’d been ambushed by a barrage of memories and emotions in the last few hours, and they hadn’t defeated her. Was part of how good she was feeling now because she’d allowed herself to soak in that almost indescribable softness and joy that a child cuddled against you could bestow?
Ellie could still feel that touch, wrapped around her heart, as she stood there on the terrace looking in to where Theo lay sleeping with Pascal still glued to his side. Her wee dog was awake. She could see his black, button eyes looking back at her and the twitch of his upright ear that told her there was nothing to worry about. He had her back and was taking his guard dog duties seriously.
It made Ellie smile, and that feeling of an internal hug around her heart grew big enough to shed tendrils of warmth that reached every cell in her body.
Maybe that warmth and the feeling of that child’s touch, still imprinted on her heart, was somehow visible in her body language, or on her face, or simply being breathed out into the air on this terrace. Maybe that was why Julien was so silent as he walked towards her from the orchard.
Why it felt as though there was a completely new and a much more meaningful connection between them as her gaze met his. Why Julien looked into the house to where he could see Theo asleep on the sofa, but he didn’t immediately go inside to pick him up.
‘Theo’s fine,’ Ellie told him. ‘I didn’t want to wake him up to take him home to his own bed.’
Julien’s gaze was on her face as she spoke. ‘Thank you so much,’ he said quietly.
‘How’s your grandmother?’
‘Not badly injured, thank goodness. A few bruises, but no bones broken. And they haven’t found any medical problem that might have caused the fall, but they’re going to keep her in hospital to do more tests.’
He sounded so calm. Doctors probably had special training to be able to stand back and not be emotionally overwhelmed by an emergency, Ellie thought. And perhaps, in Julien’s case, personal tragedy had taught him how to take that to an even higher level? How good must he be at reassuring his young patients and their frightened families?
‘When the tests are finished,’ he added, ‘We will need to make arrangements for my mother to take her home and stay with her for a little while. A week or two, perhaps, so she can be sure that her mother is safe from falling again. She will take Theo with her.’
Saying his son’s name seemed to prompt Julien to turn his head again. The light on inside was like a soft spotlight illuminating the sofa with the young boy curled up and sound asleep in his nest of blanket, a small hand resting on the scruffy coat of the little, white dog lying close enough to be guarding him, and it looked like an image begging to be captured in a photograph or painting. A scene that would tug at heartstrings because of the bond between the child and the dog, both asleep but not alone. And not lonely.
Ellie’s breath caught somewhere deep in her chest. From tomorrow, Julien, like herself, would be alone for some time. Would he be lonely? Might he want some company…?
It was another question that must have been leaking into the late evening stillness on the terrace, because Julien’s gaze had slowly drifted back to settle on Ellie’s face.
‘Thank you,’ he said to her again. ‘I know that it was a lot to ask. I was afraid it might be too much…’
Had he guessed – like her mother had – how afraid she had been?
That a part of her might always blame herself for Jack’s death?
It felt as if a door that had been kept so firmly locked had been left ajar in the wake of that conversation with her mother. She might only be circling that truth, that she was not to blame, but it was so close and so bright she was tempted to reach out and see if she could feel its glow.
‘Why did you do that?’ she asked softly. ‘What made you so sure?’
Muscles around Julien’s eyes tightened as he focused on her words. ‘About what?’
‘That you could trust me to care for your son…’
Julien’s voice was just as quiet, but his words were far less hesitant.
‘Why wouldn’t I?’
Ellie opened her mouth, but no words emerged. How could she even begin to explain how it felt to have him make it sound as if there was no reason why she shouldn’t be trusted? As if it would never occur to him to think it had been her fault that her baby had died?
Or that being alone with Theo – something she would never have chosen to be if Julien hadn’t needed her help so urgently – had generated fear and determination, courage and joy all enclosed in a poignancy that was now layered with a sense of… what was it? Being free from being trapped in the past? Hope for the future? The idea that, yet again, being in this place at this time was exactly where she needed to be because things were changing.
Big things.
Julien said nothing more, either. What he did do, without breaking eye contact with her, was to raise his hand to touch her cheek with his first two fingers. She felt the gentle pressure on her cheekbone, and then it moved towards her ear and slowly, softly – like a brush from a feather – traced the outline of her jaw until it reached her chin, where it stopped, to be joined by an equally gentle pressure from his thumb on the other side of her chin.
It felt like her face was being held still, and she couldn’t move, even though she knew perfectly well that the touch was so light it would take no more than a sigh of movement to escape. She could no more break that touch than to look away from those dark, dark eyes that were holding her own.
Time had stopped along with her ability to move. Or even breathe, it seemed. The need to kiss this man had suddenly become overwhelming, because it seemed that Ellie had totally forgotten what it would be like to have someone’s lips touch her own. It was forever ago. In another lifetime. What was it she saw in his eyes? Was he wondering the same thing, or was it just her own need she could see in the reflection?
What would it be like…?
Was it wise, or safe, to even try to find out?
Not that it felt like there was any choice. Time was moving again, very, very slowly, and Ellie couldn’t have said who was actually moving, but the gap between her face and Julien’s was closing. And, even though what she could see became blurred as it got too close to focus, she kept her eyes open as she registered his warmth before their lips actually touched. Because this was too important to risk not using all her senses to experience it.
The touch was so light, so evocative, it was like the fragment of a barely remembered dream or a scent that invoked a childhood memory. Whatever it was like, it was so compelling that Ellie found herself moving her head just a fraction, from side to side – parting her lips slightly as she responded to a subtle increase in pressure from Julien’s lips – trying to capture a little more of that feeling and find out what was eluding her.
If she closed her eyes, Ellie knew she could sink into the physical response her body was experiencing as a flicker of new life seemed to be igniting in cells throughout her entire body, right down to the tips of her toes, even. Instinct warned her not to, however. If things became too intense too soon, it could well be enough to shatter the illusion of safety.
So she pulled back, to find that Julien also had his eyes open and, for a long, long moment, they were staring at each other again. Communicating silently but not in any recognisable words. It felt more like ripples of emotions.
Delight.
Astonishment.
Yearning for more. A lot more…
One thing was certain. There would be more. But not right now. Not with a small boy who was nearby and stirring, again, in his sleep – this time to the point of wakefulness.
‘ Papa?’
‘Oui, c’est moi, mon poussin.’
But Julien didn’t move for another heartbeat. He touched Ellie’s bottom lip, watching his finger as he traced its shape as if he was committing its shape and softness to memory.
‘ Plus tard ,’ he whispered. ‘ Bient?t…’
Ellie had to look those words up on the dictionary on her phone after Julien had gathered Theo into his arms to carry him home, and the translation made her catch her breath. And then it made her smile.
Later , he’d said. Soon…