Chapter 22
In the early hours, Maxine lay wide awake in the darkness thinking that she wasn’t used to putting herself first. As a daughter, a wife for a brief time, an employee, a partner, a friend – someone else’s needs had to be considered before hers. And she’d never been a selfish person. Far from it.
But this holiday had provided her with the first opportunity to think of herself. About the rest of her life.
Maxine rolled over contentedly: she was changing into the person she wanted to be. She’d left her job. She’d left Russell. His affair with Jo had opened her eyes, shown her that they were completely wrong for each other. That was the truth of it.
She was on a journey of self-discovery. She wriggled beneath the duvet, and another thought came.
When she’d first arrived in Plouvannec, she’d been afraid of being alone.
She’d clutched at straws, hoping to make friends.
In fact, she’d clutched J-F, literally. Two lonely souls together, clinging to the temporary shelter of sex.
Then she’d looked for romance, and Manu had been the perfect target – kind, handsome. But she didn’t really want Manu, she wanted to be like him. She was seeking a little of what he had and, for a brief moment, she’d had a crush on him.
But not now.
Now, she was becoming part of a group of people who liked her, happy people who were ready to share their friendship, and that was what Maxine really needed.
She sat up in bed and picked up her phone to check the time. It was past two. A text message caught her eye. It was from Russell. For a second, she thought about leaving it until the morning but it had just come in. He was awake, somewhere in London, thinking of her.
Maxine felt a brief moment of impatience, followed by a surge of sympathy. Then she felt nothing at all.
Maxine read the text and, by the time she’d finished, she was gritting her teeth in frustration.
She hadn’t expected this.
Max, I miss you, so badly.
I’m in this lonely hotel and all I can think of is how good we were together. I’ve tried to move on but I can’t. Jo was a blip, nothing more. I’ve no idea what I was thinking. I love only you.
And I know you’re missing me in Brittany. I can imagine you’re lying in bed, regretting that we’re so far apart. So I was thinking. I’ll come over. I got your address from Terry. Don’t be angry with him. I was very persuasive – you know I can be.
We can stay together in your cottage. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms again. Let’s not make the mistake of our lives and let what we have go. We’re good together.
Say yes. I’ll get the ticket first thing.
Your Russ. X
Maxine was wide awake now. He had her address!
She clambered out of bed and thumped downstairs in pyjamas and bare feet, flicking on the light switch in the kitchen and filling the kettle. She walked round the kitchen, waiting for it to boil, composing a reply to Russell in her head. Then she had it – it would be short, honest and to the point.
A soothing cup of tea in her hand, gulping one mouthful, Maxine wrote a reply. She dispensed with the Dear Russell bit and told him straight.
Don’t think of coming to France. I’m sorry but I don’t want to rekindle our relationship. Please don’t message me again…
Maxine deleted the bit about being sorry – she wasn’t going to apologise for moving on. It was her holiday, and if Russell needed one, he should go somewhere else.
Maxine paused to read the text again, swallowing scalding tea, making minor alterations. But she was determined to sound strong and resolute. She certainly didn’t want Russell turning up at Clotilde’s cottage, spoiling her holiday. She added a final PS.
Please don’t contact me. And don’t bother Terry again.
Maxine thought she sounded a bit melodramatic, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t allow Russell to railroad her holiday. That was his style, to worm his way in and take over. And her style had been to let him. Not because she was weak, but because she hadn’t cared enough to do something different.
Maxine sent the message, washed out her cup and went back upstairs. In the warmth of her bed, she closed her eyes, decided that life was wonderful. Murmuring a sigh, she stretched her legs, owning the whole space, and fell asleep.
The following morning, she woke late – it was almost ten – but time didn’t govern her movements any more. Nor did habit or decorum. She plodded downstairs, sleepy-eyed in pyjamas, and opened the doors to the garden. Sunlight streamed in, warm as a kiss.
It was the only sort of kiss she wanted.
She searched in the cupboards and found half a baguette that was so hard it could be a murder weapon. A trip to the boulangerie was needed – she wondered if Gisele would be behind the counter, or Gemma. And, importantly, if there were any croissants left at this late hour.
Then she remembered it was Sunday. Did the bakery open? She wasn’t sure.
There was a light rap at the door, and Maxine opened it without giving a thought to who might be outside, or that she was still wearing pyjamas.
Yesterday, she might have thought of J-F or Manu, but today it didn’t matter, it really didn’t.
She looked at a smiling Fliss, who held out a bag of pains au chocolat.
‘I brought you these, darling – I hope you like them. All the croissants had gone.’ She noticed the pyjamas. ‘Well, I’m a believer in lazy Sundays too, but Théo wanted a run on the beach, so I had to drag myself out of bed. What are you up to today?’
‘Nothing.’ Maxine jolted herself awake. ‘Come in, Fliss. Can I get you a cup of something? It’s really kind of you to bring breakfast.’
‘I’d murder a coffee,’ Fliss said. ‘I have an hour or two to spare. Manu and Théo are at Maurice’s grave, taking flowers.’
‘Oh – what flowers?’ Maxine led the way to the kitchen, recalling the single rose on the doorstep, which was now in water, in a jar.
‘Manu bought a bouquet. We have flowers in the garden, but he wanted something really bright that he could arrange on the grave. Poor Théo and Manu miss Maurice terribly. I’m sure they’d leave the pink house just as it is in his memory.
But they’ve asked me to help them out and I’m at a loose end right now.
I’ll spend the entire summer up there, renovating.
The first thing to go will be that old kitchen. ’
Maxine made them coffee. ‘What will you do?’
‘Eat at Le Shack, darling. Oh, you mean with the kitchen?’ Fliss laughed.
‘I think we’ll put in some recycled wooden cupboards, really rock the rustic look, but have a modern, gleaming range oven, some pretty ceramic tiles.
You’ll have to come up and take a look round.
The view of the beach is stunning from the cliff top. ’
‘I’m sure it is.’ Maxine handed Fliss a mug of coffee and took a pastry.
‘Do you know, in England I’d never eat one of these. I was always terrified of putting on weight, which was a joke – I drank so many cocktails. All those delicious empty calories.’ Fliss laughed. ‘Now I eat what I like. I’m in France. And I don’t have time to worry because I’m out all the time.’
‘I envy you that,’ Maxine said honestly.
‘But you live in London, darling. All those restaurants and theatres and galleries.’
‘It’s so different here.’
‘Oh, isn’t it, Max? I lived in London – and I was always popping over to Paris. I used to think I had the perfect life, but everything seemed so—’
‘Superficial.’
Fliss grabbed her hands. ‘You should live here.’
‘But can’t you have too much of a good thing?’ Maxine picked up a pain au chocolat and nibbled the end. ‘I suppose you can’t.’
‘Of course you can’t. Look at what we did yesterday,’ Fliss said.
‘We were on the river, then there was good wine, great company. Here, the sea is our back garden, the sky our ceiling.’ Fliss’s laughter tinkled.
‘Oh, listen to me – I’m becoming an old romantic.
But really, before Shirl and I came here on holiday, our lives were routine. I just felt dull.’
‘Mmm.’ Maxine understood.
‘But here we can breathe. We can live. And Shirl has Joel.’ Fliss took another mouthful of coffee. A loud thumping at the front door made her jump. ‘Oh, my goodness – who’s that? Someone wants to speak to you urgently, Max. Do you have a secret lover who’s desperate to get you all to himself?’
Maxine hoped not. ‘I’d better go and find out.’
She opened the door to see Béa in a short dress, her hair loose.
She was stuffing jelly sweets into her mouth from a huge bag.
She made a sad face. ‘I’m desperate, Max.
I need your help.’ She glanced over her shoulder.
‘Fliss, you’re here too. Good. I need you both.
’ She held out the bag of sweets. Maxine and Fliss shook their heads at the same time.
‘What’s happened?’ Maxine examined Béa’s expression for signs of how serious her problem was. It looked very serious.
‘See, I am right.’ Béa pointed to Fliss. ‘You’re blonde and beautiful. And you too, Maxine. Your hair’s almost blonde. And you’re both desirable even though you’re so old.’
‘Your point is?’ Fliss was decidedly unimpressed.
Maxine already guessed what was coming. ‘Your hair’s lovely.’
‘It’s like rats’ tails,’ Béa snarled. ‘Men don’t like women with dark hair.’
‘Of course they do,’ Maxine protested. ‘Some of the most beautiful women in the world are brunettes. Anyway, it’s only hair colour. It doesn’t matter what they like.’
‘Yesterday morning, Louis says to me how Brigitte Bardot was beautiful. Then he says Marilyn Monroe was a goddess. And here I am, a little woman with hair like black rats’ tails.’
‘Not at all,’ Fliss began, but Béa had delved into her bag and pulled out a cardboard box. Maxine felt her heart sink. The picture on the front was of a smiling blonde woman with a perfect silky mane. Inside was a bottle of hair dye.
‘Oh no,’ Maxine said, but Béa was on a roll.
‘You can help me. I come here with sad, dark hair. I go home to Louis a beautiful blonde.’
‘No way,’ Fliss protested. ‘Why?’
‘To make Louis love me more.’ Béa emptied the last of the jelly sweets into her hand, shoved them into her mouth and pouted. ‘I want to be blonde.’
‘It’s one thing choosing your hair colour,’ Fliss said. ‘But it’s a completely different thing to change it because of your husband.’
Béa frowned. ‘Why is it?’
‘Because the choice is yours to make, not his,’ Maxine said.
‘And I choose to be what Louis wants.’ Béa folded her arms. ‘It’s simple. If I’m blonde he’ll worship me.’
‘He should worship you anyway,’ Fliss said.
‘You shouldn’t have to make roast dinners and change your appearance to make him love you,’ Maxine insisted.
‘But I want to.’ Béa still didn’t understand. ‘I can’t do it myself. I can’t see my own hair.’
‘We’ll help.’ Fliss glanced at Maxine to check that she was thinking the same thing. ‘But if you don’t like it, you have to change it back.’
‘It doesn’t matter if I like it.’ Béa sniffed. ‘I’ll like it if Louis does.’
Maxine agreed with Fliss. ‘We’ll help. But it’s got to be what you want.’
Béa stared at the empty bag of jelly sweets. ‘I want it.’
‘Right,’ Maxine sighed. ‘Then blonde you shall be…’