Chapter 27
For the rest of that day Maxine waited for her phone to ping. She hoped a message would arrive, and when each one did, she hoped it would be J-F.
But there was nothing from him.
On the following day, she was still on edge, waiting to hear from him. Jo texted to say it was raining in London and she was miserable. Gráinne sent photos of Dylan and Cian and said she was feeling broody. And finally, as Maxine was getting ready to go out, a text pinged in from Russell.
I am dining alone at Ploussard, thinking of you. If I could turn back time, my darling…
He was trying to make her feel guilty. But Maxine wasn’t really thinking about Russ. Her thoughts were with J-F; if he was sick, she hoped someone was looking after him. He drank too much; he was grieving. She hoped he’d have people who rallied round. But she didn’t think he had anyone.
She gazed at herself in the mirror and thought she looked fine; the colourful dress fitted well, her hair shone. She wanted to dance all night to reggae and ska and calypso, and drink rum punch.
It would be much nicer than being at Ploussard with Russell.
It was almost eight o’clock as she walked down to Le Shack. The music was booming long before she arrived. Eddy Grant, ‘Living on the Frontline’. Jimmy Cliff, ‘I Can See Clearly Now’. Susan Cadogan, ‘Hurt So Good’.
By the time she reached the restaurant, her hips were swaying.
She was immediately welcomed by Shirl, vibrant in an orange, green and yellow dress and matching headscarf. She enveloped Maxine in a hug and pressed a glass of punch into her hand. Over Shirl’s shoulder, Joel was frying jerk chicken, wearing a peacock shirt, shorts and a huge smile.
Maxine took her drink towards the dancers.
The dance floor was simply a space of grass beneath a makeshift pergola, decorated with flowers and flags.
Gemma and Bastien were dancing with a delighted Macey Roux.
Bastien wore purple yoga pants, almost matching Gemma’s long mauve dress.
Fliss was in the centre, her brightly coloured dress swirling around her ankles as she bopped with Théo, who was smiling in a straw sun hat, shorts and a light shirt. Everyone looked happy. Maxine waved.
Manu arrived at her shoulder. ‘Joel says the food’s almost ready.’
‘Great.’ Maxine gazed around. ‘I want to dance first.’
‘Me too.’ Manu led her towards Fliss and Théo as Chaka Demus & Pliers’ ‘Bam Bam’ boomed from the speakers. Manu raised her hand and Maxine twirled beneath it. Fliss and Théo were doing the same thing.
After a few songs, Maxine said, ‘I’m going to get a drink.’
‘The rum punch is strong, darling,’ Fliss yelled. ‘I know – I’ve had three.’
‘Shirl’s made a non-alcoholic punch.’ Théo pointed to where Shirl handed Gemma and Macey a drink each. Maxine nodded gratefully and rushed over.
‘That looks delicious,’ she said as Shirl ladled a pineapple drink from a bowl.
‘It’s Jamaican Sexy Juice,’ Shirl laughed.
‘Is that what it’s called? Really?’
‘Absolutely. As authentic as you’ll find anywhere,’ Shirl teased.
‘It’s not alcoholic?’
‘Not at all.’ Shirl handed her a glass full. ‘Just pineapple, nutmeg, water, vanilla and condensed milk.’
‘Mmm.’ Maxine sipped some. It was refreshing. ‘The rum punch is gorgeous, but I’m pacing myself.’
Shirl glanced over her shoulder to where Joel was setting out dishes. ‘The food’s ready.’
‘It looks amazing.’ Maxine gazed at salads, bean dishes, meat, fish, plantains, rice. ‘Did you source all these ingredients locally?’
Shirl said, ‘I brought the spices from home. Joel has a contact in Rennes and yesterday we picked up the fish and the plantains.’
‘You must be delighted with the turnout.’ Maxine glanced around. Le Shack was buzzing, people dancing, queueing for food, drinking, chatting outside.
‘We are,’ Shirl said. ‘I said to Joel, we’ll have another themed night soon. English or Scottish, or South American.’
‘The music’s a huge part of the celebration too,’ Maxine agreed. ‘Dancing the salsa and eating fried beans and cornbread – I’d love that.’
‘Exactly,’ Shirl said. ‘Are you enjoying Plouvannec?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Fliss said you were up at Rose Falaise, helping with the decorating.’
‘Demolishing, more like,’ Maxine remembered. ‘It was great. Has Fliss started installing the kitchen?’
‘She brought a couple of fitters in and told them nothing was being done right. They were about to down tools. Manu and Théo had to drag her out to let them get on with it.’
‘I wish I’d been there,’ Maxine said.
‘Well, it’s time to eat. I recommend the hot pepper shrimp. It’ll go quickly,’ Shirl turned back to ladle some more Jamaican Sexy Juice into cups.
Maxine stood in the queue for the food. She recognised the slim woman in front of her and spoke in careful French. ‘Hello – Gisele, isn’t it? Bastien’s mother?’
‘Yes – you’re Maxine.’
‘That’s right. The food smells great.’
‘I’m anxieuse. I’ve never eaten Caribbean food.’
‘It will be lovely.’
‘Of course. And Manu has promised me I’ll enjoy it. I trust him.’ Gisele turned to Joel, who served her with a large portion of fish and peas, despite her protests.
Maxine was still trying to work out what Gisele’s relationship to Manu could be, when Joel said, ‘Can I get you some chicken? Ackee and salt fish?’
‘Shirl recommended the shrimp.’
‘You can try it all,’ Joel said, spooning shrimp and rice onto her plate. ‘Bon appétit.’
‘Thank you.’ Maxine took her plate, a fork and her drink and made her way to a table outside, where the sea air would be fresh. Over her shoulder, Théo and Fliss waved that they would join her soon. Manu was in deep conversation with Gisele.
As she passed the dancers, Maxine noticed a woman with short dark hair smooching in the arms of a man in tight jeans. He was whispering in her ear and the woman threw her head back and laughed.
Béa and Louis looked deliriously happy, and she had clearly managed to persuade him to dance.
Maxine sat at a table that overlooked the beach and she stared into the inky blackness, at chips of stars in the sky, a moon that hung like a bronze hook.
Tiny lights twinkled across the bay. It was peaceful.
Beautiful.
She forked a little of the food into her mouth, tasting the bite of Scotch bonnet and garlic. It was punchy but delicious: Shirl had been right.
The rumble of a passing motorbike made her look up. She’d heard the throaty sound of the engine before. It slowed down to an idle – potato-potato-potato.
Maxine’s heart leaped as she recognised the Harley-Davidson, and the rider in black. She called out.
‘J-F!’
He raised a hand in greeting.
Maxine abandoned her plate and hurried down to the pavement.
J-F pulled off his helmet and ruffled his hair. ‘I thought you might be here.’
‘Come on in. We’ll get you some food. There’s dancing and—’
He shook his head. ‘I think not.’
‘But the food’s great.’ Maxine studied his face. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes. His cheeks were hollow.
‘I don’t want to dance.’
Maxine tried something else. ‘Then we could go back to Clotilde’s Cottage and I could make you something?’
‘And we could drink too much wine?’ J-F looked miserable. ‘That’s not what you want. You’re enjoying yourself with friends.’
‘You could—’
‘I saw you at the canoeing. I didn’t want to be in the way.’
Maxine wasn’t sure how to respond. ‘But – I thought you and I were friends.’
‘J’ai tout gaché.’
‘No, you haven’t messed everything up.’ Maxine took a deep breath. ‘Have you been unwell?’
‘A little. I don’t feel like being sociable.’ He glanced over her shoulder to where music was booming: Bob Marley, ‘Is this Love’. He sniffed. ‘I don’t want to be in a crowd.’
‘Then let’s go back to the cottage,’ Maxine suggested again.
‘You promised me lunch.’ J-F gave a weak laugh. ‘I’m too late.’
‘Not at all,’ Maxine said. Although she had already eaten a little, she pretended she hadn’t. ‘I can cook something now for us both.’
‘As friends?’ J-F asked tentatively.
‘As friends,’ Maxine reassured him. She clambered on the back of his bike. ‘Go slowly, I don’t want to fall off.’
Inside the cottage, J-F glanced round before he sat down. In the light, he looked tired and gaunt. Maxine said, ‘How hungry are you?’
‘Not very.’ He shrugged. ‘I need a drink.’
Maxine thought that wasn’t a good idea. ‘I can make us an omelette with crusty bread.’
‘That sounds great.’
‘Do you want to come into the kitchen with me?’
‘Of course.’ J-F eased himself to his feet. ‘Friends cook together.’ He almost smiled. ‘I can wash up.’
‘Right – and we can have a cup of tea.’
‘Coffee?’ J-F asked hopefully.
In the kitchen, Maxine laid out her ingredients – onions, cheese, eggs. ‘Anything here you don’t like?’
‘No.’ He sounded guilty. ‘I haven’t eaten properly in days.’
‘Tell me,’ Maxine coaxed.
He paused for a moment. ‘Most of the time it’s too hard to cook, and when I eat alone, the food tastes of nothing.’
‘I’ll try to make the omelette tasty.’
‘I didn’t mean…’
Maxine wanted to reach out and squeeze his hand. Instead she said, ‘I know. Being alone is tough.’ She passed him a mug of coffee. ‘But you don’t need me to tell you that you need regular meals.’
‘It was hard to get up. My head hurt. My stomach. And my heart.’
‘I think you’ve been depressed.’ Maxine was whisking eggs to hide her feelings of sadness. ‘Don’t you have someone you can talk to?’
‘Friends, yes – but it’s hard to talk when people are too nice.’ J-F leaned on the counter. ‘I don’t want sympathy, but they give me platefuls of it, and then I’m full up and I feel sick.’
‘I understand that.’
‘Is that why you came to France?’ J-F seemed to find it easier to talk about someone else. ‘To escape?’
‘In a way.’ Maxine started grating cheese.
‘You ran away?’
‘I needed a change.’ Maxine paused, tipping oil in a pan and turning on the heat. ‘But I didn’t want sympathy. And I certainly didn’t want anything to do with Russell.’
‘Because he cheated?’
‘Because I don’t love him.’
‘He must feel sad to lose you. Someone who’s passionate and strong.’
‘He wants me back, but that’s only because he wants his way. He’s self-centred.’
‘And it took you a while to realise this?’
‘Russ is a very sociable man. Popular. He’s well presented. Easy to be with.’
‘But superficial?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not like me – with me, emotions are raw, too strong to manage.’
‘Tell me about that.’ Maxine poured the eggs into the pan.
‘I pretend I’m normal. Sometimes I’m wild and funny. Then suddenly it’s…’ He stared at the slowly cooking omelette. ‘It’s like the eggs, mixed up, a mess. Everything’s too much.’
‘Have you spoken to a doctor?’
‘She’s given me pills but I don’t take them.’
‘Oh? Why not?’
‘They make me depressed.’ J-F laughed once.
‘Then what does help?’
‘Wine. Brandy.’ J-F drank from his mug and his hand shook. ‘Nothing.’ He brightened deliberately. ‘Being here with you. You make me food and you listen.’
‘And sleep with you,’ Maxine said quietly. ‘I shouldn’t have.’
‘It was a mistake. I hated myself for it. I should’ve behaved better.’
‘I should’ve behaved better too,’ Maxine admitted. ‘It takes two.’
‘Thank you,’ J-F said quietly. ‘I blamed myself. When you came to the canoeing I thought, she must hate me. I left you my phone number and at first you did not ring me.’
‘I felt embarrassed.’
‘But the night that we slept together…’ J-F met her eyes. ‘It felt good not being alone. Being close with someone who was warm, breathing next to me.’ J-F looked around and Maxine assumed he was searching for something to drink. She’d already hidden the brandy in a top cupboard.
‘I know what you mean,’ Maxine said slowly. She cut the omelette in two and placed a piece on each of two plates with salad and bread. She gave J-F the larger portion.
‘I think you’re happy here,’ J-F said quietly. ‘You’re over the pain.’
‘I think so too.’ Maxine decided to wait until they had eaten. There were a lot of questions she wanted to ask. ‘Shall we take our omelette into the other room? We can eat there – and then we can talk.’