Love In Provence

CHAPTER 5

I’m awake early. Actually, I’m not sure I’ve slept. But the first thing I think about is Fabien, who is not beside me. Usually I’m first to slide out of bed and creep away in the early mornings. Then I think of Henri … and Rhi. It wasn’t a nightmare. Henri really is dead and Rhi is here without him. Then I remember that the pickers will soon be arriving at the farm, and the harvest will begin any day now. I throw back the covers, then the shutters on the window, and breathe in the scent of the early-morning earth, the lavender that is nearly ready to pick.

Then I smell something else, something just as welcome as lavender blossom. Coffee, coming from the kitchen. Someone has beaten me to it. I grab my silk dressing-gown and slide into it as I head down the stairs to the kitchen, drawn by the need to put things right with Fabien.

In the kitchen he’s standing with his back to me, on his phone, texting. Ralph jumps up to greet me and I ruffle his big head. He follows me as I walk over to Fabien and slide my arms around his waist.

‘Bonjour,’ I say huskily, my eyes sore from lack of sleep.

He turns to me and I wonder whether there’ll be any awkwardness between us, but he puts his arms around me, his face softens, and I reach up to kiss him, then lean my head against his chest.

‘I made you coffee. I was about to bring it to you,’ he says.

I spot the two mugs on the work surface. ‘Merci. Fabien, about last …’

‘Sssh, no need for words,’ he says, and kisses me again. I start to stir, wishing we could fall back into bed, like we used to if it wasn’t a work day … sometimes even when it was a work day. It’s been a while since we’ve done that, though.

‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t know anyone was up already. I just fancied coffee.’

I spin round at the sound of Rhi’s voice. ‘Come in, grab a seat.’ I let go of Fabien, pick up the mug of coffee he’s made for me and place it in front of her on the wooden table in front of the French windows.

‘I don’t want to be in the way here. I could always go and stay at Henri’s. Or go back to the UK, stay with one of the kids.’ She sits down tentatively, her eyes drawn out towards the rows of purple lavender in the fields outside.

The kids Rhi is talking about aren’t kids, even though they’re her children. It took Henri’s first heart attack, not long after they’d got together, for Rhi to grasp that her grown-up children needed to stand on their own two feet and were perfectly able to do so. She put a manager into her hairdressing salon, then later sold it to her, with the accommodation above, and became nomadic, Henri by her side. The first heart attack had made them realize life was precious and they made the most of it.

I want to make sure Fabien and I do the same. Life has been too busy recently, what with my job at the bistro, his brocante business, the lavender farm and helping Stephanie with the children. We need to take some time for ourselves. Once the harvest is in, I decide.

At that moment Stephanie arrives, still visibly upset, and the two children career into the kitchen, one to hug Ralph, the other heading straight for Fabien.

‘Oooof,’ he says, as Tomas throws himself at his legs, then starts a game of gunfire at him.

Stephanie puts two baguettes and a bag of croissants on the table and gathers plates from the cupboard. ‘I saw the bakery van so I brought le petit déjeuner,’ she says, in her usual no-nonsense, straight-to-the-point way. But I can tell this is her way of coping right now. Sticking to routines. It was the same when Ollie and I split up and I was here alone: routine helped – the bakery van arriving each day, walking with Ralph, then trying to make the next recipe in the lavender cookbook.

Rhi stands up to help Stephanie. Ralph stands by the French windows and I open them to let him out.

I look back at the busy, early-morning kitchen, then to the fields of lavender, nearly in full bloom, and breathe.

It’s a clear, bright early morning, as if someone has taken a duster and cleaned the window on the world. It’s why painters like Picasso came here to work – the bright colours after the dust has been blown away by the mistral. I step outside and watch the mist creep and curl through the rows of lavender in the field, breathing deeply, trying to control the anxiety that is bubbling just below the surface every time I think of Rhi’s words. ‘Henri’s dead.’

I look towards the orange-tiled roofs in the distance, the town I have come to love, as the church bells ring out for seven o’clock. I watch Ralph bouncing through the lavender field without a care in the world. Then I feel Fabien join me, while inside Stephanie is preparing breakfast before heading to the unit for a morning of baking. I can hear her occasional sniffs as she makes hot chocolate for the boys, busying herself in the kitchen, where she clearly feels she needs to be.

‘I made you more coffee,’ Fabien says, in his deep, husky voice, handing me another mug, and I breathe in its aroma, which mingles with the early-morning fragrance. But there’s something else in the air, something I can’t put my finger on. Words that seem unspoken, hanging between us. Is it still about last night? Or is it that we’re lost in our own worlds, which have been shaken, rocked and tipped on their axes by Rhi’s news, and we don’t know what to say to each other to make it any better? The world seems to have stood still and I’m not sure how we’ll get moving again.

‘Merci.’ I smile and take it, grateful for his thoughtfulness.

‘Rhi is helping Stephanie with breakfast and the children. Do you want something to eat? You should eat,’ he tells me.

I shake my head and rest it against his chest again, breathing in the heady mix of him, already showered and dressed, the lavender and the soil.

‘The pickers start arriving over this weekend. It looks like it’s going to be a good harvest,’ I say. ‘I’m just grateful you’ll be on hand to oversee them. What with the pickers arriving and Henri …’

His phone beeps with a message. I lean away from him and he pulls it out, reads it, types a reply and pushes the phone back into his pocket.

‘Who was that?’ I ask.

He shakes his head. ‘No one.’ He looks at the view.

‘No one?’ I’m intrigued.

He turns his head back to me. ‘No one important.’ He tilts my chin and kisses me lightly. The phone beeps again.

He tuts.

‘Well, it must be someone.’ I laugh softly.

He pulls out the phone and types another reply, shoving it back into his pocket. ‘Just some old friends.’ He waves a hand dismissively. ‘Nothing important.’

There’s another ping from the phone.

‘Well, it must be something fairly important for them to keep messaging you.’

He tuts again, pushes his unruly hair off his face and pulls out the phone once more. This time he switches it off.

I look at him inquisitively.

‘It’s just … the band.’

‘The one you used to be in?’

He nods. ‘Before I took over the brocante. They are re-forming. They have a tour booked. Lots of festivals over the next few weeks. Don’t worry, I told them I couldn’t do it.’

I smile at the thought of him playing guitar. One of the many we have in the farmhouse that arrived with him when he moved in. He has barely any time to play these days.

‘C’est dommage,’ I say. ‘A shame.’

‘They got someone else to fill in for me.’

I nod, understanding and feeling disappointed for him.

‘But that person has had an accident, broken their collar bone, so,’ he holds up the phone and taps it into the palm of my hand, ‘they have been …’ He searches for the right word.

‘Badgering you?’

‘Badger?’ He frowns. ‘You and your English words!’

I remember how language was part of the barrier between us when we first met, but also part of the attraction.

‘They are chasing me to join them on the tour. They cannot find anyone else.’

I can see he’s disappointed, but resigned.

Suddenly I have a flash of, I don’t know, inspiration or maybe madness. I think of Henri, how quickly his time was over. Gone. Just like that. The lights have gone out.

‘Well, can’t you go?’

‘What?’

I start to warm to the idea. ‘Just for a bit? Until they find someone else? You’d love to play with them again, wouldn’t you? You often talk about those days. What is it they say? You only regret the things you don’t do.’

He laughs. ‘No, I’m needed here. We have the brocante and the harvest. And now with Henri … there will be a funeral.’

The mention again of Henri’s passing makes me even more determined that we should seize the day. I don’t know if I’m feeling crazy because I’m sad, in shock or angry, but I suddenly feel really strongly about this. ‘You should go!’ I say urgently.

‘What? No!’ He shakes his head. ‘We have too much on. You can’t do it all by yourself!’

‘You loved playing in the band. It was one of the happiest times of your life. You told me!’

He tucks my hair behind my ear. ‘Before meeting you, of course.’

‘Of course!’ I smile.

‘That was then, when I was younger. Things are different now.’

But he shouldn’t be held back because of me or the farm.

‘Fabien. You should go. Text them. Even if it’s just until they find someone else.’ I point at the phone.

‘That’s mad!’ He laughs. And I feel a little mad. Just like I did when I decided not to return to the UK with Ollie. But it was absolutely the right thing to do. I’ve never regretted it. What if Fabien doesn’t go and spends his life regretting it?

‘Look at Henri! It took his first heart attack to make him realize he had to live life for the now. We have to grab life with both hands! We only live once!’

He’s staring at me as if I’ve gone actually mad now, and that’s a little how I feel. I’m furious that Henri isn’t here. He’s gone. And there was so much more he and Rhi wanted to do. They’d only just met and got going on life. Now Rhi is here, left behind, lost without him.

‘He’d want you to go. Henri would be the first person to tell you to do it. I can just hear him telling you to live your best life.’

‘But I am, here with you!’ He holds the tops of my arms, but I can feel his infectious excitement at the idea of him joining the band, just for a while, one last blast.

I don’t know what else to say, so much is going through my mind – the pickers arriving, the harvest, the bistro, Rhi, how we should prepare the funeral … Maybe Fabien’s right. I’m being ridiculous. The timing is all wrong. Timing usually is. But his eyes are suddenly bright and twinkling, the prospect of what-if. We stare at each other, at a crossroads, a moment in time … a sliding door. A what-if. Then his eyes soften, the excitement seeping away. He shakes his head, his dark hair flopping over his forehead.

‘Of course I can’t go. We have far too much going on here.’

‘And what if you don’t go? Will you always wish you had?’ I say. Will he always resent that he gave up the chance to go back on the road one last time? Last time he gave up life with the band to take over from his grandfather at the brocante. This time it’s because of me. He can’t be with the band, on stage, playing music, because of life here at Le Petit Mas. I can’t let him do that for me.

‘It’s fine. They’ll find someone else.’ He gives a little laugh. ‘I’m not indispensable as a bass player.’ He holds his hands across himself as if playing air guitar.

There’s only one thing I can say. ‘Of course you have to go!’ I give him a little shove. ‘We need to take something from what’s happened to Henri. You have to seize the day.’ The tears are backing up behind my eyes but they don’t fall. They stay there, making everything blurry and skewed. ‘Are they paying? The money will be useful,’ I say, a little more bluntly than I mean to. ‘When do they leave?’

He looks at me as if I’m joking. ‘If it’s about the money—’

‘No, no. But you said hardly anyone is buying while the town is full of holidaymakers and it’s so hot. People are putting off house clearances until it cools down. It could be useful!’ I’m wondering if I’ve just put my foot in it and made him feel bad about his income. I didn’t mean to. ‘It’s not the money.’

‘But it would be useful,’ he repeats. He pulls out his phone and switches it on. Another couple of messages come through. ‘Yes, they’re paying. It’s not a lot, but as you say—’

I cut across him. ‘It’s about seizing the day!’

‘But,’ he types, ‘as you say, I could do with bringing in more than I am right now. Especially with JB’s wages to pay.’ He types some more, then throws up a hand.

‘It’s today. They leave today,’ he says, with disappointment. ‘See? It just wasn’t meant to be. They’re leaving as soon as they can.’

‘Well, then,’ I take a deep breath, ‘what are you waiting for? You’d better go and pack. And don’t forget your guitar!’

‘What?’

‘Go!’ I give him another gentle shove.

He throws his arms out, laughing. ‘But the harvest! Henri’s funeral!’

‘The harvest will happen, one way or another. Isn’t that what you’ve always told me when I get panicky? And it does. And, no, it’s not about the money,’ I say firmly. ‘It’s about remembering to enjoy life. To live it! While we can! And once I have the details of the funeral from Rhi, I’ll let you know so you can come home for it. No point us both waiting around here for the date.’

He frowns. ‘But you need help.’

‘I’ve got Rhi!’

‘What’s that?’ Rhi steps out onto the terrace.

‘I was saying I’ve got you here to help with the harvest. You’ve done it before.’

‘I have, and you have,’ she says, roughness in her voice, tiredness. She sips her coffee. ‘No plans to go anyway just now. Get up, get through the day, go to bed. Repeat.’

‘Fabien is going to rejoin his old band,’ I explain to her. ‘They’re going on tour. They had a replacement bass guitarist, but they’ve broken their collar bone. So Fabien is going to join them until they find someone else to step in.’

Rhi looks as surprised as Fabien does. ‘Good for you! Do it while you can!’ Her eyes fill with more tears. Mine sting, but no tears fall. I nod a lot to agree with what she says.

‘It’ll help with the finances. The brocante is very slow at the moment.’

‘Good to take the work when we can.’

‘It’s not about the money!’ I say, slightly tetchily. Then, with a deep breath, ‘Go, just enjoy the ride.’

Fabien looks at me, then at Rhi and back at me for reassurance. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

‘Go!’ I say.

He smiles widely and hugs me hard. ‘You are incredible, you know that? You are telling me to do this mad, crazy thing because Henri would want me to?’

‘Yes! Exactly! You’re seizing the day,’ I say, barely able to breathe.

‘I love you!’ he says into my hair, kissing the top of my head.

‘And I love you,’ I say, slowly releasing him.

‘I’ll be back for Henri’s funeral,’ he says, and turns to go inside.

‘Just don’t stay away too long,’ I add quietly, so that only Rhi can hear me as doubt tumbles in and he heads to the stairs. What if I can’t do this? What if I can’t do everything I need to do?

‘That was good of you,’ says Rhi.

I hold the back of my hand to my mouth and nose, wondering what on earth I’ve done. But I know it’s the right thing. We have to grab our moments.

‘You want him to be happy.’

I nod a lot, unable to speak.

Suddenly there’s a cry from inside the house, one of the children.

‘Del!’ Louis calls out.

Rhi smiles. ‘You’re needed.’

Inside, Stephanie is trying to tidy and go to work, get Tomas to school and Louis to childcare, and the children are squabbling. I step in to sort out the quarrel over who gives Ralph his morning biscuit. He has two, just to make things fair. By the time Stephanie is ready to leave in the van, with the children ready, Fabien is back downstairs with a battered old holdall and his favourite blue guitar. I explain to her that Fabien has to go away for a bit, but he’ll be back soon, in time for the funeral. A little taken aback, she and the children kiss him through the van window and she sets off for town.

I walk with Fabien to his truck. ‘I’ll leave it parked by the brocante,’ he says. ‘The tour bus will pick me up there.’

I gaze up at him as he wraps his arms around me. I wish we’d made more time for each other before now. I wish I hadn’t been too tired last night. I wish we could have comforted each other. I’d thought we’d have time tonight.

‘I could stay,’ he checks. ‘I don’t have to do this! It was a crazy idea, but it doesn’t have to happen.’

‘There’s nothing you can do here to make this situation better. I’ll find out about a service or funeral. In the meantime, the pickers will be here. Henri would be furious if he’d stopped you doing this. You have to go.’

He nods. I know he feels the same. Just sitting around here waiting for a service to be organized isn’t going to help. Doing this will make him feel he’s still alive, when his friend isn’t.

‘I said I’d leave as soon as I could,’ he says.

‘Yes, of course,’ I say, patting his chest softly. ‘You need to be on your way.’

‘Come with me!’ he says, his eyes wide with excitement once more.

‘What?’

‘Come with me on the tour. You and me, on the road!’

I can’t help but laugh. ‘Fabien, the pickers! I can’t just go!’

‘Ask Stephanie to look after them maybe.’ He tilts his head and I know he’s clutching at straws.

‘I can’t. She has so much on with baking for the restaurants, the market stall, the little ones to look after and get to school and childcare. And she needs me. She’s still in shock about Henri as much as the rest of us. And there’s Rhi.’

He nods.

‘I know, I know.’ He kisses me. ‘You are good to them all.’ Then he looks me straight in the eyes. ‘Will you be okay? You need to take care of yourself too. It’s not just the others who will miss him.’

‘I’ll be fine. I have Rhi here to help. The harvest will be a good distraction for us, just like you going on tour will be for you.’

Suddenly doubt taps me on the shoulder again.

‘You’ll be fine. You know what to do,’ he reassures me.

‘But you’ve always been here before.’

‘I will be … here.’ He holds my hand to his chest, over his heart. ‘You can do this.’

‘Can I?’

He nods, and gently smiles. ‘You can.’

‘I wish Henri was here,’ I murmur, as the sun begins to rise in the sky. A big ball of orange.

‘He will be proud of you.’

‘And you!’ I smile again.

He pulls open the truck door with a squeak, throws in his holdall and places his guitar on the passenger seat.

There seems to be so much I want to say. Thoughts are tumbling over each other in my head. I want to talk about Henri – I want to ask him more about Henri before I came here. His life before the bistro, his wife, children, the riverside project, and remember how wonderful it was when he and Rhi met. I want to talk about last night: how I felt numb. How I’m scared that we haven’t made time for each other lately, that we could drift apart where family life has piled into the space between us. I want to reassure him, be reassured, that we are still us. That we are still the couple who fell in love three years ago. That he’s still happy here with me. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him to go.

‘Maybe you’re right. Perhaps I could come with you. Cancel the harvest, forget about it for this year.’

But Fabien is shaking his head gently. ‘No, Del, you were right, it was a silly idea. There are people coming who depend on you. You’re needed here. You said so yourself. Henri would hate to think you’d cancelled the harvest because of him.’ He repeats my words back to me. ‘But, honestly, I don’t have to do this.’

‘Yes, you do. And you need to go. Life must go on! Henri would be the first to say so. It will be good for both of us. Absence makes the heart grow fonder!’ I say, with forced jollity, but knowing it’s right. I sniff and rub my itching nose and look up at him.

‘This is ridiculous!’ he says quietly. ‘We have the harvest, businesses to run. Our close friend has just died …’

‘That’s exactly why you should do it! Because you can!’

‘Sounds like you want me to go. Is that what you want, for us to be apart?’ He looks me in the eye. ‘Del, are you asking for a break?’

‘No! That’s not what I want. I’m trying to do my best here for everyone,’ I say. ‘Just go! Go! Live every minute!’ I’m trying to smile, but the knowledge that Henri isn’t able to is building in me like a wave gathering in strength. ‘Henri can’t. But we can. You have to go because you can.’ I’m being torn in two, selfishly wanting him to stay and desperate for him to take this chance. I wish he wasn’t going. But I’m also glad he is. It’s an adventure. An opportunity. And it would only be a regret if he didn’t take it.

‘Message me when you get there. Hang on, where is “there”?’

He shrugs. ‘No idea. It’s all been so quick, I’m not sure of the venues. But I’ll let you know.’ He leans in and kisses me, tentatively, as if, once again, he’s checking in on us. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ he says, and climbs into the truck next to his guitar. Ralph barks, enraged at not going along for the ride. Fabien calls to him to be quiet and behave, then turns on the engine and reverses. He blows me a kiss as I wave to him, Ralph barking, and leaves in a cloud of cream dust.

‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ he says. Something tells me that it won’t be soon. It’s the right thing, I think. So why do I feel like I’ve pushed him away? Something is troubling me and making me anxious as I watch the truck disappear, slowly lowering my hand.

He’s gone. And I want to call him back to be here beside me for the harvest. To make time for us to be together. But it looks like Fate has other plans right now. There is so much I want to say, so much left unspoken … I realize I’m reminded of Ollie driving away from Le Petit Mas. We’d come to the end of the road and it took me insisting that he left and I stayed for him to realize it. What if I’ve just done exactly the same to Fabien, told him to leave, and he doesn’t come back? But this is Fabien, not Ollie. Ollie was having an affair. He went back to another woman. That won’t happen with Fabien. I just don’t want him to have any regrets about us. Life suddenly seems to have tilted on its axis.

Damn you, Mistral! Damn you!