Chapter 28
28
Connie
On Christmas Eve, I drove back to the airport to pick up Harry and Edie.
Nothing filled me with joy more than having my kids in the car with me, both fizzing with holiday excitement, me breathing in their familiar smells – hair gel, sweet perfume, musky deodorant, their unique themness, their DNA. Harry instantly reprogrammed my sound system to put on his choice of music. Edie put her sneakers up on the dash even though I kept telling her not to. On the way back from the airport, they lifted me up with their energy, anecdotes spilling from them, endless laughter. The noise ! It was pure joy, and the perfect antidote and they were on great form, having come out on the same flight and slipped back into their sibling badinage.
‘You look hot , Mum,’ Edie told me when she saw me at the airport. And I probably did look ten times better. I’d been looking after myself, adopting a more French regime of self-care and grooming and dress. It was amazing what a decent haircut and some proper skincare could do for your self-esteem. I had Fiona to thank for my change in attitude. The way she dressed, the way she carried herself, made me realise that self-image was paramount when it came to the way people treated you. Not in a superficial way – it didn’t mean you had to be dressed top to toe in designer gear – but walking tall and looking pulled together and, above all, smiling changed people’s attitudes.
I was definitely a different person after three months in France. All the best bits of the old me, with a layer of newness. I was certainly more compassionate and possibly more gentle, yet also stronger. Yes, I was having to put on a protective shell after the revelation about the Gaspards, but I felt strangely invincible, which surprised me. I missed Rémy, his morning text, our daily walk, his arms around me, his bare skin on mine … but it wasn’t everything. I wasn’t going to let him define me or dictate my mood.
I’d had to admit to Lismay that we’d had a thing. Her eyes were round with scandalised delight.
‘You lucky pig!’ she said. ‘But I’m sorry you feel betrayed. We should have said something earlier, perhaps. The Gaspards approached Piers when Rémy first took over. At the time, we weren’t interested. But spending three months away from here was a revelation to both of us.’
‘Don’t feel bad,’ I told her. ‘He should have shown his cards. Instead of letting me babble on and probably giving him a load of inside information. Not that I told him anything confidential,’ I added hastily. ‘Just general observations about what I thought people wanted. I thought he was interested in me!’
‘I’m sure he was, darling. And I feel wretched about it.’
‘Lismay – it’s business. It’s not a problem. Honestly. It’s a life lesson for me. And we had fun.’ I grinned at her. ‘Don’t give it another thought.’
‘I’d better tell Piers. Or he’ll put his foot in it somehow.’
‘It was all going to come to an end anyway. I couldn’t stay here forever. Upwards and onwards.’
Lismay looked at me in admiration. ‘You’re so brave.’
‘I don’t feel it.’
‘Maybe not. But that’s true bravery, isn’t it? Carrying on even though you feel scared.’
‘You have to. Don’t you?’ I looked at her. ‘You did. You and Piers. You were brave.’
I saw her take in a breath and put a hand on her chest. We’d never spoken about it, them not being able to have children. Not really.
‘We were brave,’ she said. ‘But we were lucky too. To have this as an option. We’ve had a wonderful life here. Maybe not the life we would have chosen, but …’ She looked around the kitchen. The white china lined up on the dresser. The Lacanche, the very heart of the room. The long table, telling the story of the last and the next twenty-four hours: a plate of cheese under a mesh cover, open recipe books, piles of post, a bottle of eau de vie . ‘We made the most of it. It’s going to be a huge wrench. I’m still not sure if it’s the right decision.’
I came around the table to give her a hug. She held on to me tightly, and I realised the decision had taken more of a toll on her than I realised. This is what happens when you get old, I thought. You have to give up things you love.
Dad arrived at four o’clock, triumphant that he’d managed the journey in record time. That was typical Dad, always competing against himself.
‘It was using the remote tag at the toll booths that did it,’ he told us. ‘Straight through, no having to fiddle about with credit cards.’
‘Game changer.’ Piers nodded. He’d given him the heads-up. ‘Little drop of Corton-Charlemagne 2019? I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.’
‘Oof,’ said Dad appreciatively. ‘That’s worth the drive in itself.’
I recognised it as one of the bottles Rémy had lusted after when we cleared out the cellar. For a moment, I wished he was here to share it. A moment.
I made seafood gratin for supper – the dish Mum had always made on Christmas Eve and had turned into a family tradition. Cod and scallops and prawns in a cheesy sauce and topped with breadcrumbs, it was impossibly rich and luxurious. Everyone groaned with delight as I pulled it out of the oven.
‘Do you know,’ said Dad, misty-eyed, ‘I thought coming here would be difficult. That I would miss Jeanne too much. But actually, it’s as if she’s here. I feel … comforted.’
Piers topped up our glasses and lifted his in a toast. ‘To Jeanne,’ he said. ‘Who always made everything so special.’
‘To Jeanne,’ said Dad and Lismay.
‘To Mum,’ I said.
‘To Granny,’ said Edie and Harry.
Supper that night was noisy and hilarious, the six of us around the table in the kitchen, saving the big table in the dining room for Christmas lunch tomorrow. Harry put on the Beach Boys’ Christmas album and their infectious tunes were perfect – he’d been DJ’ing in his spare time and prided himself on finding the right soundtrack for every occasion. As I sat there, I realised how important this room had become to me over the past few months. It had been my headquarters while I planned the chateau’s renaissance, spreading my notebooks all over the table and tapping away at my laptop. It had been a schoolroom for Lilou, under Delphine’s tutelage, with the scent of garlic frying in melted butter, clouds of vanilla sugar, the bubbling of a rich chicken stock. My friendship with Fiona had been cemented here, over an omelette and a glass of Muscadet. And it had been the place where I had cooked for Rémy so many times—
I mustn’t think about Rémy. He had been a sweet interlude. Sent from on high to prove to myself I’d still got it. That I still functioned as a red-blooded woman. I was not going to take his betrayal personally. I was not going to let it break me, when I’d come so far. Despite everything, all the setbacks, I had everything I needed. An exciting new opportunity, a billet with my darling dad, happy thriving kids, wonderful godparents (I always included Piers, for he had been as much of a rock to me as Lismay), a new friend who inspired me – they were the only ticks I needed. Who says that ‘all’ is the be all and end all? Enough is … enough.
I slipped away to bed at about half ten. If I stayed up, Piers would ply me with more delicious wine that I wouldn’t be able to resist. I had stockings to fill and I wanted to wake up with a clear head.
Just before midnight, I was sitting on my bed wrapping the last of the presents I’d got for Edie and Harry. Only silly stocking fillers – lip balms from the pharmacy, bars of chocolate, woolly beanies. They were too old for stockings, really, but perhaps I was over-compensating out of guilt. As I cut into the wrapping paper, I thought about the embroidered stockings my mum had made them, with their initials on. They were in the attic in Cheltenham along with the rest of the Christmas decorations. What should I do with them? Give them to the kids to take wherever they chose to live? The thought made me well up as I wrestled with the Sellotape dispenser.
Downstairs, I could hear Dad and Piers and Lismay chatting away, bursts of laughter floating up the stairs. They were such an inspiration, these vibrant people in their mid-seventies, still taking on life’s challenges with vigour, even if they were having to make changes to take their age into account. But they stayed ahead of the game and that was the trick to life, I realised: to look forwards and plan accordingly.
Half an hour later, I sneaked out into the corridor and made my way to each of the kids’ bedrooms. They were both fast asleep, which surprised me, for I thought they’d still be on their phones, talking to friends. I laid their stockings gently at the foot of their beds, watching them breathe. Harry, with his nerdy computer brain and his love of music and his enduring obsession with Lego. Edie, with her passion for people, the best communicator I knew. Both of them a perfect mix of me and Daniel: our features and characteristics put into a genetic mixing bowl and coming out with two wonderful human beings that were still the centre of our universe even if we weren’t together anymore.
Just before midnight, my phone pinged with a text. I jumped out of my skin, wondering if it was Rémy, borrowing someone else’s phone to try and get through to me. But it was Daniel.
Are you doing their stockings?
I smiled. He knew me so well.
I just put them on their beds , I replied.
There was silence for a few minutes. I wondered what he was doing. Squeezing limes for Andrea’s joyless Skinny Bitches? I couldn’t see her tucking into a glass of Baileys. I reminded myself she’d stuck up for me. I shouldn’t judge her.
Then another text.
It’s my first Christmas without them.
I stared at his words. Was he expecting sympathy? Was he having regrets? I doubted it, but nevertheless I did feel a tiny bit sorry for him. I couldn’t imagine Christmas without Harry and Edie, and he had always been a pretty good dad. But he’d made his bed. I texted back quickly, wanting to draw a line under the conversation.
Merry Christmas x
That was all he was going to get from me.