CHAPTER 10
‘Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!’
‘Don’t worry,’ I say to Jen, who is standing in the open-side area of the barn where there is a table, chairs, a soft red sofa and an outside kitchen. It’s rough and rustic but I love it. She’s standing by the little stove.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she says.
‘Snap.’ I smile.
The smell from the kitchen is amazing!
‘I really didn’t mean to disturb anyone,’ she apologizes again.
‘You didn’t. I just saw the light and thought it had been left on by mistake. I had to let Ralph out too.’ He has lain down by the table and chairs. ‘What are you cooking?’
She looks at the pan. ‘I hope it’s okay to do this.’
‘Of course it is. This kitchen is for you to use. In fact, I was thinking everyone might prefer to cook for themselves, after my disaster the other night.’
She doesn’t say anything. There’s a pop, and another, and then what sounds like a round of gunfire echoing around the barn, coming from the pot on the stove.
Jen looks aghast, putting her hands on the lid as if she’s trying to silence it. But in the quiet of the night, it seems even louder.
I’m trying not to squeal with laughter as the pot keeps popping. Just when she thinks it’s nearly done, it pops some more, making us laugh although we’re trying not to.
I’m scrunched up, clasping my stomach, weak with laughter, when the popping to match any fireworks display draws to a close. We sit at the table, wiping the tears from our eyes, as the local dogs start barking. But none of the other pickers have woken. Or if they have, they thought it really was a fireworks display, or an armed raid, and stayed put in their rooms.
‘What is it?’ I ask, as Jen brings the pan to the table, the odd pop still going off, like a petulant child trying to have the last word in an argument.
‘It was Maria, this evening, cooking something that made her think of her past, a happy place. This was our budget treat, my first husband and I, when we had no money. We’d buy a big bag of popping corn, then caramelize some sugar, add salt and butter, then bicarbonate of soda and mix it together. We’d pop the corn, then stir in the caramel, sit on the sofa and pretend we were at the cinema. Lights off, curtains shut. Popcorn and a can of Coke each. Sometimes we’d cook hotdogs too, the ones from a tin. I loved the squeezy mustard on softened onions. He had ketchup and mustard.’
‘Wow! And you just had a craving for this now?’ I indicate the pot of fluffy popcorn. ‘Do you make it a lot?’
She shakes her head. ‘I had the ingredients in the van. Thought I might at some point, but never did until now.’ She takes a handful. ‘It was tonight, Maria making that dish with the spices her grandmother used, the happy memories it brought her. It reminded me of this. Those early days when we were newly married, then taking the brave step to move to Spain. They were good years in Spain, running the bar. Busy. We were rushed off our feet. Barely had time for each other. And then I ripped a hole in our lives and left him for someone else. A moment of madness, some called it.’
Suddenly her eyes are full of tears.
‘He must have been special if you gave everything up for him.’
‘I thought so, at the time,’ she says quietly. ‘We hurt a lot of people and I regret that so much. My first husband, his wife and daughters. The guilt doesn’t go away.’
She reaches for a smaller bowl, scoops some of the popcorn into it, takes a moment to smell it, closing her eyes, then puts it on the table in front of me. ‘Help yourself. Would you like something to drink?’
‘Isn’t it me who should be asking you?’ I smile.
‘You weren’t the one who got up with a craving for salted-caramel popcorn,’ she says, producing a can of Coke, opening it and pouring it into two tumblers from the dresser. ‘This is beautiful. Did you buy it here?’
‘Fabien, my … partner.’ The word isn’t enough to explain what Fabien means to me. ‘He owns the brocante in town. He took it over from his grandfather, saw the dresser and brought it here, rubbed it down and painted it. He has an eye for what works where.’ It’s so typical of Fabien’s style when it comes to repurposing old pieces that come into the brocante.
‘And he’s … not here?’ She pushes a handful of popcorn into her mouth, some falling onto the floor that Ralph happily hoovers up.
I sip the Coke and shake my head. ‘He’s playing with what used to be his band. He hasn’t been with them for years, but the bass guitarist broke his collar bone and they needed him.’
‘Ah,’ she says, understanding. ‘That’s hard, him being away. It’s a busy time for you, and what with your friend Henri …’
‘Yes. I wish Fabien was here. But I’m also glad he’s doing something he used to love.’
‘At least you know it’s not for ever. He’ll be back.’ She smiles.
And that’s when I feel my insides start to churn, like a washing-machine. What if … what if he decides he wants to stay away? That he wants to go back to life on the road?
‘Here,’ she says. She tilts the bowl towards me.
I take a handful and put it into my mouth. Delicious. ‘Tell me about your husband – if you want to, I mean,’ I say to Jen, feeling some kind of comfort in the low light of the barn.
‘The first or the second?’
‘Either or both!’
She takes a deep breath. ‘Well …’
‘Wow!’ says a voice, making us jump. ‘That smells amazing!’ It’s Keith.
‘Sorry, did we wake you?’ We look guiltily at the popcorn pan.
‘No, no.’ He ruffles his hair. He’s wearing SpongeBob boxers and a matching T-shirt. ‘Graham was snoring.’
We fall silent and then we hear it. It’s like a warthog’s snorting.
‘You see?’ he says. ‘No one believes that a man with a beautiful face like his can snore so loudly!’
We laugh again. I cover my nose and mouth with my hands, as does Jen.
‘Join us,’ I say quietly. ‘We’ve got Coke.’
‘I can do better than that,’ he says. ‘I have vodka in our room!’
He slips back in. For a moment we hear Graham snoring, then the door shuts and Keith returns waving a bottle. Jen grabs him a glass from the dresser and he offers the vodka over our glasses. We nod.
‘Oh, God! This popcorn is amazing!’ he says, munching a handful, then washing it down with vodka and Coke. ‘This is like a sleepover party!’ He beams.
‘How’s your gap year going?’ Jen asks.
Keith’s smile slips. ‘It’s okay. Frankly, I’d rather be at home,’ he says, then adds apologetically, ‘Not that it isn’t lovely here. It is!’
I wave a hand. ‘Home is special. And when you find it, it matters.’
I see Jen look down.
‘It’s not just the house, really,’ Keith goes on. ‘It’s, well, our son. He’s gone to university, and Graham had the chance to take early retirement, so here we are.’ He sips his drink. ‘But I’d rather be back to where we were before our son left home. I loved it. I baked on my days off from the care home so there was always a tin of cake and biscuits on the side when he got in from school.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be back soon, wanting a taste of your cooking,’ says Jen.
He shakes his head. ‘I think … I think he’s embarrassed by us.’
‘Surely not!’ I frown.
‘I’m certain of it. He’s hardly been home all year and now, this summer, he says he’s going travelling with friends. I was hoping for plenty of time with him at home, going to the beach and for meals out. He was offered a really good job at the local pub for the summer. But he’s taken off. He has new friends and we’re probably a bit of an embarrassment in our small house.’
‘Oh, Keith, I’m sure that’s not the case,’ says Jen, putting her hand over his.
‘So Graham decided we should do something. Get motorbikes or climb a bunch of mountains. I agreed to go Interrailing and stay on farms. At least I know I’ll get fed.’
‘How much longer will you be away?’
He shrugs. ‘Until … I don’t know … until it doesn’t hurt any more? It’s amazing how time flies.’
Jen squeezes his hand. ‘So … what about favourite films?’ She puts us back on steadier ground, clearly used to doing so.
‘National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation,’ says Keith.
‘Love it!’ I say. ‘And The Holiday!’
‘Give me a Bond any day!’ says Jen.
With the popcorn eaten, we say goodnight.
‘See you in the morning nice and early. As usual, we’ll pick before it gets too hot, once the dew has dried,’ I say, feeling more confident.
‘I was thinking …’ Jen hesitates.
‘Yes?’
‘… maybe we should take turns to cook,’ she finishes.
‘What? Everyone does a night?’ asks Keith. ‘I do a brilliant fish-finger sandwich! And my cinnamon swirls …’
‘We could all pitch in. Only if everyone wanted to,’ says Jen.
Does she know I’m struggling? Is she just being kind? Or is this a really lovely idea?
‘Sometimes a change of location can help us when we’re feeling stuck,’ Jen says, and I think about her on the road after her husband died. ‘We could eat out here in the barn kitchen.’
I look around. It’s lovely with its thick beams, furniture that Fabien has put in from the brocante, and festoon lighting strung across the ceiling.
‘I’d love that,’ I say quietly, standing. ‘Although I’m not sure how Marco will feel about it.’
‘I think as long as Marco is fed, he won’t care,’ says Keith, and Jen laughs. I wish them bonne nuit.
Maybe we can make this work after all. Maybe moving out of the kitchen is what I need for now. Just until the bistro is up and running again. I head back to the farmhouse with Ralph at my side, following me upstairs to bed. I really don’t have the heart to tell him no.