Chapter 30
The following morning, Maxine gazed through the bedroom window towards the beach.
The bright sunlight sparkled on the waves.
Bastien was leading a group in yoga practice, greeting the day.
Fliss was there along with Shirl, Joel, Manu and Théo – who were both in shorts – Gisele, and Gemma, Macey Roux in her arms. There were a few other people she half recognised: Bérnard, the man who liked to try to speak English.
Two women she had seen in the boulangerie several times and said ‘Bonjour’ to.
Under normal circumstances, she’d find some leggings and rush down to join in, but she was waiting for the sound of a Harley-Davidson. J-F would be here soon.
Maxine felt nervous. She wondered if she was tense because she was riding the motorbike. No. Or was she apprehensive about J-F himself, the date, being alone with him? Because she had slept with him. Was that still an issue? Not exactly.
So, what was bothering her?
It came to her clearly as she gazed through the window at the blue sky. It was because J-F was so unhappy.
But she’d try to be a rock for him. She knew all about living with loss, as well as he did. She was healing both of them at the same time. No wonder she felt nervous.
There was the low pulsing sound from outside, an engine idling. Maxine hurried out where J-F was holding a leather jacket and a helmet. She pulled them on and clambered on behind him. ‘Where are we going?’
He raised his voice over the noise of the engine. ‘One of my favourite places. You’ll love it. It’s called Tréac’h Saint-Pabu. Not many people go there.’
‘Is it far?’
‘At the edge of the peninsula, on the west side.’
‘Great.’ Maxine clung to him, her arms around his waist as the bike accelerated away to join the Sunday traffic, travelling slowly through Plouvannec, up the hill, then speeding down the main coastal road.
Maxine loved the freedom of being on the Harley.
Leaning her head against J-F’s back, enjoying the solidity of his leather jacket, she gazed at the hedgerows that flashed by, the greenery, the farm fields.
Beyond, there was a steep drop down to the yellow stretch of endless beach, cliffs like jagged teeth, the silver sea. She closed her eyes and felt happy.
The bike veered to the left and dipped, driving fast, a pine forest to her left, a huge Breton house set back from the road with its granite stone and steps outside, a garden filled with plants and flowers. Briefly, Maxine wondered how it might be to live there.
Then she smelled something both sweet and savoury.
They were passing Le Korrigan, a crêperie with outside seating and a view of the glittering ocean.
There was a black and white sign depicting a gremlin with pointed ears and the words Bar and Cidre.
She leaned into another corner, and the beach was to the left, completely deserted apart from a low seagull flying over tumbling waves.
Maxine wondered if this was Tréac’h Saint-Pabu, but J-F wasn’t slowing down.
They passed bulky rocks covered in scrubby grass, overtook a slow car and then J-F opened the throttle and sped up the hill onto a flat, fast road.
They drove through a sleepy town, over the traffic-calming bumps outside a school.
People stood singly outside houses and shops, doing nothing, watching the world go by.
Then the bike roared and they left the town behind, a supermarket, a café, then they were out in the countryside again, passing a little harbour of fishing boats, a pretty seaside resort crammed with cafés and tourists.
Maxine felt the heat of the sun filtering through her jacket, the glare on her visor, and she felt suddenly sleepy. She clung to J-F as the bike climbed high through spiky crags, descending again to reveal the most beautiful crescent beach she had ever seen, hidden between two giant cliffs.
She took a deep breath. The bike slowed to a halt in a gravel car park and she clambered off, glad to stretch muscles that had been shaken by the engine’s vibrations.
The sand was pure white, and the sea turquoise. Huge waves thundered forward, splashing against rocks, tugging away again, leaving the beach pale and damp. J-F removed his helmet and said, ‘I love this place.’
‘I can see why.’
J-F took her helmet, locking them both to the bike. He shrugged off his jacket. In T-shirt and jeans, he looked more relaxed than she had seen him before. ‘Shall we walk?’
‘I’d love to.’ Maxine flung her jacket over her shoulder as they descended the path to the sea.
There were wooden posts at each side, and hundreds of footprints imprinted in the sand.
Maxine loved the idea that so many people had trod the path down to the sea, stayed a while and gone away again, back home.
She had a sudden desire to feel the cool grains between her toes and she unlaced her trainers.
J-F did the same, rolling up his jeans to his knees. His smile flashed white. ‘Of course. No shoes. It has to happen when we are on the beach.’
They wandered down to the swelling waves, standing close enough to the spray to make their ankles wet.
A giant wave thundered in and Maxine’s jeans were splashed.
She squealed with laughter and they hurried away from the next wave, onto the softness of the sand.
Without discussing where they were going, they both began to walk the length of the beach, parallel to the sea.
‘Do you come here all the time?’
J-F was looking at his feet, at the prints he made in the sand. ‘Not by myself. I used to…’
‘So – you haven’t been here since Noémie died?’
‘No.’
Maxine pondered the next question before she asked it. ‘How does it feel to be here now?’
‘Good.’ J-F was thoughtful. ‘I didn’t know how I would feel. This was our beach. But she’s here too, with me. In my heart.’
‘Does that make you sad?’
‘Yes. And happy too. Because of the beautiful times we had. Because all this nature around us goes on forever. Perhaps Noémie’s part of that. She and I made footprints on the beach. She’s here with me still.’
Maxine understood.
J-F said, ‘What about Andy? Do you go to places now that you visited together?’
‘All the time. Battersea Park is my favourite place.’ Some of her most treasured memories were there. ‘We used to sit by the bandstand, just me and him, planning the future. Or we’d just sit. Sometimes when I’m there alone, I don’t feel he’s there with me, but I remember, and I’m grateful.’
‘Exactly,’ J-F said. ‘What do you remember most?’
‘His smile.’ Maxine was smiling too. ‘And his last words. He said he would wait for me.’
‘In the skies? In heaven?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘I don’t believe that.’ J-F pushed his hands into his pockets. ‘I’ve asked myself many times if Noémie and I will meet again. I was raised as a Catholic. I went to church with my parents when I was a boy. I wish I believed it. It would bring comfort, but I can’t find it in my heart.’
‘I don’t know what I believe,’ Maxine said.
‘I believe that we’re alive and that’s all we have.’ He turned to look at her, his eyes wild. ‘Look at this beautiful place. This is where I remember Noémie. Memories are her only gift to me, but they are mine for always.’
Maxine gazed up at the sky, the unfathomable blue, and out to the endless depth of ocean. It occurred to her that everything had an ending, but the world was still beautiful. The idea filled her with hope. She gave J-F her widest smile. ‘Thank you for bringing me here.’
‘Thank you for coming.’
‘Shall we climb to the top of the cliffs?’ Maxine suggested. She could see a winding path.
‘Yes. Afterwards, we’ll come back to the bike and we can drive to a café. And we can find another beach. Then I’ll get you dinner.’
They sat together in Le Korrigan as the sea splashed beyond the window. It felt relaxing to linger over dishes of ratatouille and crusty bread, drinking sparkling elderflower. J-F looked calm and happy.
‘I’ve decided not to drink alcohol for a while – unless it’s cooked in the food. Not until I’m better. Then sometimes I’ll have wine, but not as medicine.’
‘If you don’t drink, then I won’t.’ Maxine’s eyes shone. ‘The food’s delicious.’
‘Noémie and I ate here a lot.’ J-F pushed a hand through his hair. ‘A month ago, I couldn’t have said those words without crying. I couldn’t have come back. But now you’re with me, it’s easier.’
‘Andy and I never ate ratatouille or moules… I wish we had.’ Maxine said. ‘He loved pie, chips and mushy peas.’
‘I remember when I lived in Devon, everyone loved the fish and chips.’ J-F made a confused face. ‘I’ve never eaten mushy peas.’
‘Maybe one day,’ Maxine said. ‘There’s so much in life to do, places to visit, new things to discover.’ An idea came to her. ‘Where would you most like to travel to?’
‘Bangkok – I’ve never been,’ J-F said without thinking. ‘And I’d like to go to Kerala, South India.’
‘I’ve been there,’ Maxine said. ‘Years ago. The food’s amazing.’
‘And London and Dublin – I didn’t get to see those places when I was in England.’ J-F sipped his drink. ‘And you?’
‘Oh, Bangkok definitely – and I’d like to go to the USA, to hire a big car and drive along the Historic Route 66.’
‘I’d love to do that. Imagine travelling across the States for a whole year on the Harley, sampling the food, meeting people. Imagine eating jambalaya.’
‘And clam chowder.’
‘Gumbo.’
‘Grits – whatever they are.’
‘Key lime pie.’
‘A real Thanksgiving dinner – all the trimmings,’ Maxine said. ‘That would be incredible.’
‘I suppose so,’ J-F said and Maxine knew he was thinking how he’d love to have experienced it with Noémie.
‘It would do you good.’
He took a deep breath. ‘I could leave the canoes with the guys here. There’s no reason why I can’t travel.’
‘The world’s yours – you can go wherever you want. You’re in charge.’
J-F looked at her with admiration. ‘You travel alone. You’re an incredible woman.’
‘I do – it was quite hard at first – I was lonely, I suppose,’ Maxine said. ‘But I’ve made some lovely friends.’
‘I’m glad I met you.’ J-F placed his hand over Maxine’s and then he looked awkward and took it away quickly. ‘We should go now. It’s late.’
Maxine glanced through the window. It was dark outside, the sky starless. J-F reached for his jacket.
‘Come – I’ll take you back and drop you outside your cottage. I won’t come in.’
Maxine understood. ‘It’s been lovely.’
‘My heart has healed, a little.’
‘Then we must do it again.’
Moments later, they were astride the Harley, the engine making the familiar chugging sound. Maxine clasped J-F’s waist and rested her head against his back as he drove into the shadows.
It had been a perfect day.
True to his word, J-F slowed down by the kerb, before they reached the gate to Clotilde’s Cottage, and Maxine clambered off. She reached out and squeezed his shoulder.
‘Thanks.’
‘I’ll see you.’
‘Message me,’ Maxine said. ‘I’m on holiday. You’re the one with the work schedule.’
‘I will. Soon,’ J-F said. His eyes glimmered beneath the visor. Then he accelerated away.
Maxine walked briskly towards the cottage, turning into the drive, then she froze.
There was a small car parked next to hers and someone was sitting on the doorstep. She called out, ‘Who’s there?’
‘I’ve been texting you all evening,’ a woman’s grumpy voice replied. ‘Didn’t you get my messages?’
Maxine hadn’t thought to look at her phone: she’d been busy. She took a step forward.
The woman stood up, and in the half-light Maxine could see the cloud of short dark hair, the smart jacket.
‘Somebody left flowers on your doorstep.’ The woman waved a posy. ‘You’re clearly not short of admirers, Max. Staying out late, gadding about. I hope France will do the same for me. I’m desperate for a holiday. So – here I am. And I’m freezing to death.’
‘I suppose you got my address from Terry, then, same as Russell did?’ Maxine pulled out her keys. ‘Of course you did. You’d better come in, Jo…’