20
I take Ari and Myriam on a day trip to the aqua park. We find a sheltered spot beneath a pine tree and I lather Ari in factor 50 suncream, while Myriam unpacks the picnic I prepared – baguettes, hummus, crisps and sun-dried tomatoes, and a peach tart for dessert. I bought the tart from Utopie, hoping to catch another glimpse of the woman I saw with Jack. The only other person there was a boy around Myriam’s age. He was standing behind the counter, dusting shelves, and smiled shyly when I entered the shop. Sabrina didn’t introduce us, so I’ve no idea if he’s a recent hire or has anything to do with her new house guest.
After lunch, Ari asks if we can bring Margaret to the pool with us.
‘No, baby, she’ll get all wet,’ I say, squeezing a sun hat that extends down the back of the neck onto his head. ‘Let’s leave her here while we swim.’
‘What if someone takes her?’ he frets.
‘That won’t happen. Look, I’ll pop her under the blanket and she can watch our stuff for us.’
I tie a flotation belt around Ari’s waist and push water wings over his skinny arms, squeezing them to ensure maximum inflation.
‘I am worried he does not have enough protection,’ Myriam deadpans as I search my bag for Ari’s sunglasses.
‘Sun or water protection? Should I have bought him one of those UPF suits?’ I say, concerned.
Myriam raises a pair of perfectly shaped eyebrows over her sunglasses and I realise she’s making fun of me. It feels like a turning point in our relationship.
‘I need to relax, don’t I?’ I say.
She shrugs. ‘Ari is your world. We do everything we can for the things that matter to us.’
The comment feels loaded somehow, more than a mere observation on helicopter parenting. It feels like an opening, the right time to get Myriam to confide in me. As usual, her phone goes off. She tuts loudly and tells me to go ahead without her.
I think I’ve figured out what Myriam’s been hiding. We were weeding in the garden the other day, listening to a debate on the radio while we worked. A panel was discussing a recent spate of disruptive climate demonstrations across France. They were speaking too quickly for me to catch everything, but I got the gist of it. The host asked his guests what they thought of the interior minister’s plans to criminalise protests. In a controversial speech, she threatened chain-gang punishment for activists blocking motorways and public transport routes. One of the guests said all climate activists should be put on a terrorist watchlist alongside neo-Nazi and Islamic extremist groups. Myriam, who had her back to me, stiffened when he said this, a fistful of weeds and soil slipping through her fingers as she tightened her grip.
It hit me then. Myriam was part of the group that kidnapped the oil executive! It would explain a lot of unusual behaviour – the conspiratorial phone calls and messages, the disappearing acts – and why the owners didn’t respond when I said their niece had turned up unannounced. They didn’t have a niece! Plus, she fit the description of the kidnapper who let the man go. Female, early twenties, economical with words. She had to be involved.
It’s a relief to have finally identified the source of Myriam’s guardedness, although I can’t say I’m thrilled at the thought of harbouring a fugitive. I’m not concerned for Ari’s safety. Myriam is great with him and he adores her. And if the gendarmes do come knocking at my door, I have plausible deniability. Myriam has told me nothing. I suppose it’s more a moral question. How do I feel about breaking the law, infringing on someone’s rights for the greater good? Then again, this Big Oil guy doesn’t seem too bothered about infringing on the rights of the entire global population.
I can go over it as much as I like. Deep down, I know the decision has already been made. Whatever happens, whatever ethical grey zone I’ve wandered into, Myriam is right. We do everything we can for the things that matter to us. And Myriam, I’ve come to realise, matters.
~
Ari and Myriam sleep on the journey home, their heads touching. (Myriam said she used to get car sick as a child and insisted on sitting beside Ari in case he needed to throw up.) I leave them in the car when we arrive at the guesthouse, and carry two bags of groceries I picked up en route into the kitchen. I catch sight of myself in the mirrored armoire in the corner of the room. I’m still wearing my pale blue swimsuit beneath a pair of cut-off denim shorts. I’ve left my hair down to dry, its kinks and waves celebrating a rare moment of liberation. My skin has started to brown ever so slightly, a first for me. I look vital, happy.
I put the bags on the counter and start unpacking. Jack walks in from the garden, whistling. He stops when he sees me, his eyes drifting fleetingly across my body.
‘Hello,’ he says.
‘Hello.’ I attempt a casual smile, unnerved by his sudden presence.
‘Leonard was just giving me an education in the women in Leonard Cohen’s life.’
‘Oh yeah? How’s that going? I believe he had a pretty extensive back catalogue.’
‘Leonard – our Leonard – says Marianne Ihlen was Cohen’s greatest love.’
My pulse quickens at the reference to ‘our Leonard’.
‘She was the single mum he met on Hydra, right?’ I say, taking a tin of kidney beans and a jar of jalape n o peppers out of the bag.
‘That’s the one. Apparently, they were on and off for years. The relationship ultimately ended when they moved to New York.’
‘Yeah, well, I’d say it’s easy to be madly in love on a remote Greek island in the 1960s. There’s nothing like real life to bring you crashing back to reality.’
‘They always loved each other, though,’ says Jack. ‘Cohen wrote to Marianne when she was dying in hospital. Said he was so close behind her, he could touch her hand. He died four months later.’
‘That’s quite the romantic gesture, to literally follow someone to the grave.’
Jack takes a step towards me. I freeze, wondering for a brief second if he’s going to kiss me. He takes one of the bags and starts unpacking.
‘Marianne was asked about their relationship in an interview before she died. She said it was a gift to both of them,’ he says.
‘I didn’t have you down as a romantic.’
He stops what he’s doing, a thoughtful expression on his face. ‘I think … I think you don’t need to spend a lifetime with someone to be profoundly changed by them.’
He’s standing so close to me, I can see the static on his arm hair. The space between us feels charged, and I wonder if Jack can feel it too.
‘I like Leonard,’ he says, clearing his throat. ‘This Leonard. He’s a pure soul. Reminds me of my dad a bit. Though my old man didn’t have the same gift for storytelling. Sorry, I have to ask, what are you making?’
He holds up a tin of anchovies.
‘You’re not eating in tonight, are you?’ I say, snatching the tin out of his hand. ‘You didn’t say anything at breakfast, so I assumed you had plans.’
‘Nope, no plans. Actually, I was going to offer to cook if you weren’t doing anything? I make a great mushroom risotto.’
I tilt my head to one side, assessing his suggestion. Why does it feel like more than a friendly request to share a meal? Myriam appears in the doorway, carrying Ari, his arms around her neck.
‘And of course, Myriam, if you’re around, I’d be delighted to cook for you too,’ says Jack.
‘Thanks, but I’m going out this evening.’ She places Ari on a chair, kissing the top of his head, and leaves the room. Ari rubs his eyes with his fists, looking around him. ‘Where’s Margaret?’
‘I don’t know, sweetheart. Have you checked the car?’ I say, opening a cupboard and placing the anchovies and peppers inside.
‘She wasn’t beside me when I woke up.’
‘She’s probably fallen on the floor. Go have a look.’
He scowls and stomps off.
‘He’s a nightmare when he first wakes up,’ I tell Jack. ‘Like his dad before he went all “LA”. These days, Cillian jumps out of bed and straight onto a vitamin drip.’
Jack smiles and I realise I haven’t answered him about dinner. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and looks up at me.
‘Look, I just wanted to say—’
He’s cut off by Ari, charging back into the kitchen.
‘Margaret’s not in the car! We’ve lost her!’
‘We haven’t lost her,’ I say calmly. ‘Let me check my bag.’
I empty the contents of my canvas tote onto the kitchen table, poking through used tissues, a pair of spaceman underpants and my moon cup, which I push discreetly back into the bag.
‘You see? She’s not there!’ Ari shouts. ‘We left her at the swimming pool!’
Ari’s bottom lip starts to tremble. I place my hands on his shoulders and kneel down to his level.
‘Aribo, I’m sure she’s around somewhere, and if we did leave her behind, I’ll drive back to the aqua park first thing tomorrow and pick her up, okay? There’s no need to worry. Margaret will be fine, I promise.’
‘But Mummy, what if bandits or a crocodile take her? We have to go to the pool now .’
‘Ari, we’re going nowhere. I need to get a wash on. I’ll have another look for Margaret before bedtime.’
‘But, Mummy …’
‘On you go now, baby. I’ve loads to do.’
Ari scrunches up his face. ‘You’re ruining my life! I’m leaving this family!’
He makes his second dramatic exit of the afternoon. I turn to Jack.
‘If this is a taster of adolescence, I’m sending him to boarding school.’
I grab a bottle of laundry detergent from under the sink and head towards the utility room. Hovering at the doorway, I turn round, biting on my lower lip.
‘Dinner this evening would be lovely, thank you.’
Jack’s face lights up.
~
It’s just after 6 p.m. by the time I finish the laundry and have a quick shower. I take some homemade tomato sauce out of the freezer and pop it in the microwave, then boil a pan of water for the spaghetti. When his dinner is ready, I call Ari in from outside, where I assume he’s been playing for the past forty-five minutes. We built a fort at the bottom of the garden last week and it’s been a daily battle getting him to vacate it at mealtimes. When he doesn’t answer, I make my way to his inner sanctum and stick my head through the opening. Inside, there’s a one-armed dinosaur, a colouring book and a pink bra I’ve been looking for all week, but no Ari. I head back indoors and check his room, the kitchen, the living room, calling his name as I move through the house.
‘Ari, you’ve had your fun. It’s time for dinner,’ I say, with the appropriate degree of firmness, as I peer underneath beds and behind sofas.
I head back into the garden, hands on hips as I scan my surroundings.
‘Everything okay there, kiddo?’ says a disembodied voice.
I look round. There’s no one there.
‘Up here.’
Leonard is standing on the top rung of a ladder leaning against the outhouse, clearing leaves out of the gutter.
‘You haven’t seen Ari, have you?’ I say, looking up at him, shielding my eyes from the evening sun with my hand.
‘I saw him about an hour ago. He had his back pack and swimming goggles on. Looked like he’d drawn some kind of map. He said Margaret had been kidnapped and he was going to rescue her.’ He chuckles. ‘To be a kid again, eh?’
‘Did you see where he went?’ I say, frowning.
‘In the direction of his fort, I think.’
I walk briskly back down the garden on the off chance Ari is hiding under a blanket, finding this one-sided game of hide-and-go-seek hilarious. After double checking the fort, I’m about to turn towards the house when I spot a hole in the cherry laurel hedge behind me. It’s too small for an adult to crawl through, but just the right size for a five-year-old. I feel a tightening in my chest as I force as much of myself through the gap as will fit. I can see the road leading to the village on the other side. Hauling myself back out, extracting twigs from my hair, I dash across the lawn. Jack is walking through the gate, holding a paper bag in his arms from which a bottle of rosé is protruding.
‘What’s the matter?’ he says, noting the look of concern on my face.
‘It’s Ari. I think he’s run off. I can’t find him anywhere.’
‘He must be around somewhere. Where would he go?’
‘To look for Margaret,’ I say, my voice straining. ‘I’m going up to the village to find him.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Jack says, placing the bag on a chair.
‘No, you stay here in case he comes back.’
Jack nods. ‘Don’t worry. He can’t have gone far.’
I sprint out through the gate and run up the lane towards the main square. I’m out of breath, my stomach churning by the time I get to the village. I scan the packed tables outside Chez Colette, ask the pharmacy, the tabac , the épicerie if anyone has seen a red-haired boy in swimming goggles. I pass a woman, reading today’s newspaper outside the phone-box library, and catch the headline, Search for child in well ends in tragedy . I tear up the cobbled street towards the old town, medieval stone gargoyles snarling at me from the ramparts. My thighs are burning by the time I reach the top of the hill, where vendors are dismantling exterior displays and counting the day’s earnings. A handful of tourists are taking selfies of the view before the horizon swallows up the sun. I feel my pockets for my phone to call the guesthouse to see if Ari has turned up. They’re empty.
It’s dusk when I get back down to the square. As I’m passing Utopie, I realise I haven’t asked Sabrina if she’s seen Ari. The lights are out in the shop, a sign on the door saying Fermeture exceptionelle. Shivering, I rub my bare arms and race back to the house.
The front door is open, the smell of garlic and oregano summoning me across the threshold, gypsy jazz music and laughter coming from the kitchen. Standing at the doorway, I see Jack and Sabrina at the stove, Jack’s sleeves rolled up as he leans in to taste from a cast-iron pot. Sabrina grabs the spoon off him and instructs him to add more black pepper. Leonard is lighting fat church candles in the centre of the dining table, which has been laid with six place settings.
‘There she is,’ he says, looking up with a grin.
‘Where’s Ari? Is he okay?’
‘Everything is fine. Sabrina found him,’ says Leonard, walking across the room and placing a hand on my shoulder.
‘He came into the boulangerie asking for chocolate madeleines for a secret mission,’ says Sabrina, adding more pepper to the simmering pot. ‘I assumed this was an unsanctioned outing, so I brought him back here.’
‘Where is he now?’ I say, relief flooding through my veins.
‘Myriam is giving him a bath,’ says Jack.
‘Okay, that’s good. So he’s good then. We’re all good.’ My hands start to shake. Suddenly, Sabrina is at my side, steering me gently to a seat.
‘You’re freezing,’ she says disapprovingly. ‘Jack, make Fiadh some tea.’
Jack does as he’s told, looking grateful to have something to do.
‘Mummy!’ Ari runs towards me, naked, and throws his arms around my neck. Myriam follows behind him, holding his pyjamas.
‘I’m sorry for running way. I didn’t want Margaret to be all alone in the water park.’
‘It’s okay, baby,’ I say, squeezing him tightly, inhaling every inch of him. ‘You’re home now.’
‘ à table , everyone,’ says Sabrina, placing a bowl of green salad on the table.
I dress Ari and we take our seats. Sabrina hands me a plate of steaming ratatouille and rice; Jack pours the wine. I look around at the full plates and broad smiles, at Ari in between Leonard and Myriam, lapping up the attention after his big adventure, and feel a satiety I haven’t felt in a long time.
After dinner, I put Ari to bed and we decamp to the terrace. I sit beside Sabrina, my feet tucked up beneath me, sedated by red wine and the scent of jasmine hanging in the air. Opposite us, Jack is cross-legged on a rattan chair, watching me with a strangely rapt expression. I’m too tired to try and figure out what it means and lay my head on the cushion beside me, listening, eyes closed, to Leonard telling us about the time he free-climbed El Capitan, the 3,000-foot vertical rock formation in Yosemite National Park.
It’s after midnight when I wake up, the table cleared of empty bottles and glasses, everyone in bed. There’s a chill in the air, but I barely register it. I feel warm, protected from the elements. I look down at my feet stretched out across the sofa. Someone has wrapped a blanket around me.