Chapter 18
‘Today, I’ll please myself.’ Maxine said the words aloud and it felt empowering. She meant it. She had a plan.
The car was packed with a picnic, all her favourite foods: strawberries, melon, tomatoes, salad, bread, cheese, a bottle of fresh berry lemonade she’d found in a supermarket, mineral water. She’d even packed a tablecloth, a proper glass and cutlery.
As she drove, the radio was playing old songs by Jacques Brel, Johnny Hallyday, Francoise Hardy, édith Piaf, and Maxine found she knew a lot of them.
They were romantic songs but, as she sang along, she felt cheered by their innocence, their honesty.
Today was going to be her day – she wouldn’t have ridiculous thoughts about Manu or J-F or Russell. She’d think about what she wanted.
Yes, she was developing, shedding an old skin. Becoming her new self. A butterfly.
The road to the Ménez-Karantez was a long, winding, uphill drive.
Maxine had put the directions in her phone and as she drove along she was fascinated by the many sloping trees by the side of the road, dark skeletons, their branches bent to one side, topped with a ruffled helmet of leaves.
The wind blew harshly here, pushing them into a permanently bent position, blasting away the low foliage.
The greenery was interspersed with gorse, a carpet of yellow needles.
This was a wild place, with a sense of history.
As Maxine parked the car at the summit between a camper van and a jeep, she gazed around for human activity but there was none. Everywhere was silent. It was almost as if a delicate fairy or a mischievous Breton gnome might leap from behind a rock.
Maxine pulled on a jacket, walking boots, wriggled on her backpack and started towards the viewpoint at the top.
The grass gave way to pebbles and loose stones, jagged underfoot, as Maxine arrived at the pointe de vue, a stone structure where a person could stand and look at the panorama. The beauty took her breath away.
She pulled out her phone and began to click photos.
To one side was an expanse of tumbling furrowed fields, a new bridge that spanned the river Aulne and several tall wind turbines. Above, a cloud-filled sky hung low like a flock ceiling.
It was an amazing view, one she wanted to remember.
Maxine swivelled round to take photos of the sunlight glittering on the sea. She turned again, and the landscape became wilder, a brown dome dropping down to dense forests, a tartan patchwork of green and brown fields.
Simply stunning. And right now this view was hers alone.
There was no sound but the eerie moan of the wind. Maxine checked the map on her phone and set off towards a clump of trees.
A woman was walking towards her, holding hands with a child. Both were wearing shorts and rucksacks, one large, one small. Maxine said, ‘Bonjour,’ as she passed and the woman replied, ‘Bonjour,’ the child repeating the word shyly.
The stony path led to a gate and Maxine went through, being careful to close it behind her.
The woodlands were straight ahead, and she eagerly quickened her steps.
The temperature dropped as she ducked beneath branches and walked into the woods, twigs crackling beneath her feet.
The light twitter of birds was replaced by the low caw of crows.
She stopped to take a glug of water from her bottle, then followed the path deeper into the woods.
An hour later, she found herself in a shaded glade where the sun filtered through a lattice of twigs. She sat down against a tree to unpack her picnic and drink more water. She was hungry now.
As she gazed around, munching bread and cheese, a squirrel scurried along a branch.
Leaning back against the gnarled bark, she closed her eyes and felt the sun’s warmth on her face.
For a moment, she drifted into sleep, then she woke with a deliberate shake of her head, eased herself to her feet and continued on her way.
She arrived back at the car just after two, brimming with confidence. She’d walked about five miles without feeling lonely or anxious. The stillness had been calming.
She twisted into the car, stowing her backpack on the seat behind her.
She had an appointment at three and was looking forward to it.
The journey was all downhill now, along the main road, dropping to a long beach called Plage de Morvoren.
There were few people around; several cars, a camper van with the doors open, two people eating a picnic.
Maxine drove slowly, looking for an entrance.
She saw tall wooden gates and the metal sign Centre Equestre de la Marc’h, with a picture of a horse, and she pulled in, her heart thumping. She hadn’t been riding in years.
As she clambered from the car, a woman in jodhpurs and long boots came over to shake her hand and asked if they could speak in French.
Maxine was delighted – she wanted to make herself understood.
The woman introduced herself as Lidia and asked if Maxine was ready to meet Riou.
Maxine couldn’t stop smiling; she followed Lidia eagerly to a stable, where a grey horse was waiting for her.
Maxine put out a tentative hand and the horse sniffed it. Lidia explained that Riou was the Breton word for king and he was a very friendly gelding – Maxine assumed that was what cheval hongre meant. Lidia added that, although she didn’t ride regularly, Maxine would be quite safe.
Twenty minutes later, Maxine was booted, wearing a hard hat and seated high on Riou. Lidia was next to her on a dark brown mare whom she introduced as Maelle. Lidia said, ‘êtes-vous prêt à monter à cheval sur la plage?’
Maxine said, ‘Oui, oui, je l’attends avec impatience.’ Her pulse was racing. Riding a horse on the beach was something she’d never done before. Being out of her comfort zone was exciting. She hoped she wouldn’t fall off.
Lidia led the way along the stony path behind the equestrian centre, through a field that dropped down to a sandy path and the beach. Riou plodded steadily and Maxine swayed from side to side, squeezing with her knees, clutching the reins. The horse seemed to know what he was doing.
It was wonderful, the sea breeze buffeting her face, the taste of salt on her tongue. The stretch of sand, the sky, the sea, everything felt wide open, uninterrupted, full of opportunity. Lidia called over her shoulder, ‘Allons-y,’ and Riou was off, his hooves thundering.
Maxine hung on tightly, feeling her body leave the saddle and slam back down like a bag of wobbly potatoes, her muscles shaking, her backside colliding again and again with hard leather. She heard herself whoop with joy.
She tried to connect with Riou’s rhythm, enjoying the feeling of being momentarily in flight. The breeze battered her cheeks, making her eyes water; the muscles in her thighs quivered and she couldn’t help laughing. She was having so much fun.
Eventually Lidia slowed down, the horses turned round and walked back to the stables.
Maxine slid from Riou and almost fell to her knees. Her legs were jelly and her backside ached, but the smile wouldn’t leave her face. She held out a hand and said shakily, ‘Merci. C’était incroyable.’
Lidia seemed concerned, checking that she was all right, but Maxine hadn’t enjoyed herself so much in a long time. Her legs were still quivering as she scrambled into the car to drive back to Clotilde’s. It was past five and she was still grinning.
Just a few miles from Plouvannec, as Maxine was deciding what to cook for supper, the phone rang. She pulled into a lay-by and glanced at the screen.
It was Jo.
Instinctively, Maxine felt it must be important.
‘Hi, Jo.’
‘Max, I know you’re in France. But I had to call. Is it all right?’
‘Of course. What do you need?’
Maxine heard Jo take a breath. ‘How’s your holiday?’
‘Great. I’ve just been horse-riding on the beach.’ Maxine felt a bit proud of herself.
‘Alone?’
‘It was a one-person horse,’ Maxine said with a laugh.
‘I think you’re very brave. I’ve never done anything like that.’
‘Maybe you should.’ Maxine didn’t want to come across as smug. ‘How are you, Jo? How are things?’
‘Not great. Terry still won’t speak to me.’ Another deep breath. ‘He’s at your flat, isn’t he?’
‘Yes. I’m glad there’s someone there while I’m away.’ Maxine registered the sadness in Jo’s tone. ‘Is that OK with you?’
‘Oh, of course – we both need time apart, but…’ It sounded as though Jo was choking back tears. ‘I think we’re done now, Terry and me. I’ve upset him once too often. He’s a good man.’
‘He is. But is he the right one?’
‘Oh, Max.’ Jo sniffed. ‘I’ll always love him. But our relationship had got a bit – you know, predictable. I always envied you with Russ – he was spontaneous. And the way he looked at you. I thought you were the perfect couple.’
‘We weren’t.’ Maxine wasn’t sure where the conversation was going.
‘I’m so sorry I broke you up.’ Jo was crying now.
‘You didn’t,’ Maxine said calmly. ‘Things weren’t right. I kind of knew.’
‘You had a boyfriend – who died. Years ago.’
‘Andy.’
‘Russ told me.’ Jo sounded embarrassed. ‘He said it’d left you a cold person; he didn’t think you ever truly loved him.’
‘Perhaps I didn’t.’ Maxine waited for Jo to explain why she’d called.
‘The thing is…’ Jo sounded awkward. ‘Russ rang earlier.’
‘Oh? How is he?’
‘Bored with being in a hotel. He wants to see me.’
‘Oh?’ Maxine wondered what ‘see’ actually meant.
‘He wants to talk, Max. I’m not sure if he wants to reconnect…’
‘How would you feel?’ Maxine asked gently.
‘Would you mind?’
‘Not at all. But what about you, Jo? Do you love him? Or is it just a rebound thing?’
‘I don’t know. I need to find out. I mean, we fell into bed together but that was my fault.’
‘It wasn’t. Russ was there too.’ Maxine remembered her wild night with J-F. ‘We all do things we shouldn’t.’
‘I bet you don’t,’ Jo whispered and Maxine couldn’t help a low laugh.
‘You’d be surprised.’ Maxine decided it was time to ask about the reasons for Jo’s phone call. ‘Is that why you rang me? To see if I mind if you meet up with Russell?’
‘I suppose so. I’ve been feeling ashamed. I mean, you and I were really close, Max. I hope we still are. I wonder if you’ll ever forgive me.’
Maxine shrugged. ‘You were attracted to him. He flattered you. These things happen.’
‘Men like Russ know how to make a woman feel good.’
Maxine didn’t miss a beat. ‘You don’t need Russell to feel beautiful. You are. If he and you get together, he’s won the lottery, not you.’
‘Thanks, Max. I don’t feel like that though…’ Jo was crying again. ‘I’m so sorry for interrupting your holiday. I wanted to make sure you and I are OK.’
‘We are.’
‘Even if I try to make a go of it with Russ?’
‘You’re my friend. He’s my ex. Just be happy.’
‘I don’t suppose I could – could I ring you after I’ve seen him? To let you know how it goes? I don’t have anyone else who knows me as well as you do. I hate being in this big house all by myself.’
‘That’s not a good reason to take up with Russ,’ Maxine said firmly. She had to ask. ‘Which one would you choose, given the chance?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jo wailed.
‘Then learn to love yourself first. Maybe there’s someone else out there for you, Jo. Someone who’s not Russ or Terry. Or nobody at all. You need to discover who you are.’
‘Is being single enough for you, Max?’
‘I think so. I don’t know.’ Maxine gave a low laugh. ‘But I’m finding out.’
Jo sighed. ‘I wish I had some of what you have.’
‘I bet you have it in bucketloads.’ Maxine felt sorry for Jo. ‘Give me a ring in a few days. Let me know how you feel.’
Jo’s voice was hushed. ‘Thanks, Max.’
‘We’ll talk soon,’ Maxine said. ‘Bye for now, Jo.’
There was a whispered ‘Bye’ in her ear, then the phone was silent.
Maxine started the car and pulled out of the lay-by, joining the line of traffic, taking the road for Plouvannec.
All the way back to the town she was thinking of Jo.
She needed to be with Terry – or Russell – because she was lonely.
Jo would never find happiness if that was the reason she needed a partner.
Maxine’s thoughts moved to herself: Russell was in her past, and she was glad they’d broken up. She didn’t mind what he did, but she was uncomfortable with the thought that he’d contact Jo because he didn’t like being by himself in the hotel. Jo deserved better.
Perhaps Jo was right to be envious of Maxine, on her own in Brittany, riding horses on the beach, living her best life.
Maxine wondered what Jo would say if she knew what had happened with J-F. Or the thoughts she’d had about Manu. As she drove along the seafront, Maxine felt her eyes stray towards the beach hoping she might catch sight of a lone jogger…
Stop it!
She pulled into the drive at Clotilde’s Cottage, grabbed her rucksack from the back and hurried towards the door, her mind filled with the thought of a hot shower and a glass of cool Chablis. She froze.
Someone had left something on the doorstep. Maxine picked up a bouquet of wild flowers tied with green string and lifted them to her nose. They smelled heavenly.
So who had been to visit her while she had been out? Who’d left her a sweet posy? She couldn’t imagine…