CHAPTER 11
As the heat of the day sets in, I call time on the pickers in the lavender field.
‘That’s it for today, guys.’ I stand up straight, back aching, hands stiff from the secateurs. The sun is packing a punch as it reaches higher into the sky.
‘Everyone, grab some water. I’ve put it with the bread and cheese in the barn kitchen for lunch.’ We leave the field where we’ve made great progress and amble towards the barn.
Inside, everyone helps themselves to a bottle of water and drinks. Then we use the outside tap to wash our hands and faces, splashing water onto our hot cheeks. As I shake my hands to dry them, I decide to tell the pickers Jen’s idea for a new eating arrangement.
‘Erm, about dinner tonight—’
‘If it’s okay with everyone,’ Ed cuts in, taking me by surprise, ‘I’d like to try to make something. I didn’t know if you’d be interested, but I loved what you did yesterday, Maria, with the chicken. I just …’ he says, and then, a little shyly, ‘… I wondered if I could share this dish with you all.’
‘We’d love that,’ Jen and Keith say together, clearly delighted, and I wonder if they’ve spread the word about taking turns to cook.
‘Only if you’re sure,’ I say.
‘Of course I am!’ He grins, and it’s as if he’s suddenly come to life. ‘In fact, I’d like to very much.’
‘I’ll organize a kitty for ingredients,’ I say quickly.
‘As long as it’s not burned beef, like we had on the first night,’ says Marco. ‘I ended up with a sour cream and onion Pringles sandwich.’
‘You’re lucky!’ Keith joins in. ‘We had stale baguette dipped in wine to soften it!’
They laugh, but not unkindly. Marco has managed to break through my embarrassment and I like him for that. ‘Clearly if I was left to my own devices right now, you’d be on the same again tonight!’ I joke.
‘Like I say, I loved what Maria did.’ Ed smiles at her.
Marco looks up from his phone. ‘What’s that?’
‘Your girlfriend is one heck of a cook!’ Ed tells him.
‘Oh, yeah,’ he says, and returns to his phone. ‘She’s the best, if you don’t mind spice all the time.’
After lunch, I plan a shower and a siesta. Some are walking into town. Maria decides to go for a bike ride in the countryside. Ed is going shopping in town and Marco decides to join him. Graham is off for a walk. Keith is emailing their son, he tells me, just like he does every day, keeping him up to date with their adventures, but he doesn’t hear back very often.
I lie on the bed after my shower and attempt to FaceTime Fabien, hoping now is a good time to talk.
The phone rings and rings … but finally he picks up.
‘Hey, how’s it going?’ he says, and my stomach flips.
‘Better. You?’
‘Great! I’d forgotten how much I missed this. I even remember the chords and which order they go in!’ He laughs. ‘Thank you for making me come. I didn’t think I’d ever do this again, but now I have, it’s like riding a bike!’ He looks really happy, and so attractive. ‘And how is everyone there? Any news of a funeral for Henri yet?’
I shake my head. ‘No. I’ve been giving Rhi some time, but I think I need to say something. Everyone is asking.’
‘Yes, it would be good to get it sorted. People want to talk about him, make it real, and then, I suppose, start to move on.’
‘Fabien!’
I hear a call from outside his tent. ‘Who’s that?’ I say, my interest piqued.
‘Just Monique, our lead singer. We’re going to get something to eat in the town here. It’s a cute place. You’d love it.’
‘I’m sure I would.’
‘I’ve got to go,’ Fabien says. ‘Speak soon.’ He’s getting ready to head off and there’s only time for me to say a brief goodbye.
As I hang up, I pause. I vow things will be very different when he’s home. We’ll make time for each other. Visit the little towns together. Take time to go out and eat. Before it’s too late.
By evening, I’m drawn to the outside kitchen by the beautiful smells coming from it. I can hear chatter and laughter too. The kitchen in the farmhouse seems very quiet and empty. I fill two jugs from the wine boxes, the red that’s sitting on the side and the rosé in the fridge, and take a deep breath. For a moment I wonder whether to call up to Rhi but decide that space is what she needs. She’s done an amazing job of bundling the cut lavender today and hanging it in bunches in the drying barn. Working slowly, steadily, alone with her thoughts.
‘Ed, this smells amazing,’ I say, arriving from the stone-covered driveway with the jugs of wine, one in each hand, and Ralph bounding happily around me, excited by the company.
‘I hope you like it. I saw the recipe on the Food Channel and just wanted to give it a go. The town here has amazing produce! I went in this afternoon. I could have just stayed in the one shop all afternoon tasting cheese and wine.’
‘Have you always cooked?’ I peer over his shoulder at the pan on the stove and breathe in the scent of slow-cooking duck, herbes de Provence, green olives, celery, bay leaves and thyme.
He laughs and shakes his head. ‘No. My parents didn’t spend a lot of time in the kitchen. It was only when I got to uni I started to cook, tried to make things go further, that kind of thing. But, well, I don’t really have anyone to cook for at the moment.’
This is a completely different Ed from the guy who’s been here so far. He’s hardly said a word, but over the stove, he’s a changed man. It’s like the tongs he’s holding have magic powers. He’s lit up.
‘What were you studying?’
‘Law,’ he says, focusing on the food.
‘What kind?’ asks Graham, pouring drinks and handing them round.
‘Conveyancing,’ he says, losing his spark.
I chew my lip. ‘Is that what you plan to go into?’ I ask, picking up an olive from a bowl on the table. I think Jen may have put it there.
‘Erm, yes. I start with a law firm when I get back. I just needed some time away.’
‘I didn’t mean to intrude,’ I say, throwing the olive stone onto the driveway.
‘No, it’s fine. I might as well tell you. I was coming here with someone. I told you. My … fiancée,’ he says.
‘Wow!’
‘Everyone I meet says we’re young to be engaged. It just sort of happened. We were together from the sixth form, went to the same uni and both stayed at home to save money. My parents were so proud. Then a house came up for sale in the same street as them. They used their savings to lend us the deposit to buy it. It was all sort of mapped out. We went on holiday to Center Parcs and everyone expected us to get engaged so we did. When we came back, the house had been decorated from top to bottom by our parents to celebrate.’
‘Whoa …’ says Jen, eyebrows raised.
‘They meant well,’ he says, clearly understanding our reaction but also feeling for them.
No one speaks.
He sips some wine. ‘Then the wedding plans started. All I’d done was buy a ring. I thought that would be it for a couple of years, but it was like this whole big machine whirred into action. Venues, dates, register offices, licensed premises, guest lists, themes …’
‘God, what a waste of money. Just have a party and spend the money on a good trip, like we did,’ says Marco. Maria’s looking thoughtful. ‘Marriage is for mugs!’ he adds.
‘But we plan to do it at some point,’ she says firmly, putting a large bowl of green salad on the table.
‘Not for a while. A long while,’ says Marco. ‘I mean, I just wanted a holiday. It was you who wanted to do all this picking.’
‘I wanted to be a part of a community, not just sit by a pool, eating all-inclusive meals and drinking cheap beer all day,’ she says quietly.
‘She’s got this mad idea that if she keeps travelling around Europe she’ll find out where she really belongs.’
‘I was adopted,’ Maria jumps in quickly, ‘by my parents, obviously, so I don’t know much about my background. European is all I have,’ she tells Jen, Graham and Keith. ‘Then, growing up in the UK, when my grandmother died, as I said, we moved to Australia. I’m kind of a mix of all sorts.’ She tries to smile. ‘But what about you, Ed? Where’s your fiancée now?’ she asks.
He takes a deep breath. ‘I’m not proud of it, but … the closer the wedding got, the more I knew I couldn’t go through with it.’
We all hold our breath.
‘I had to get off the bandwagon. It was the petits fours that did it. I mean, they were lovely – but the wedding was all about everyone else. What they wanted. We’d just become bit parts in this huge event. I couldn’t do it. So I told Kim, my fiancée, and then my parents. I may have broken their hearts.’ He goes red and wipes his eyes.
‘And the job?’ Graham asks.
‘Gave me a sabbatical. Said I needed time for my mental health.’
‘So …’
He shrugs. ‘I couldn’t bear it, everyone looking at me. The one who’d walked out on his wedding, the big plans. I sat inside, watching cookery programmes. I didn’t even know I liked cooking. But it seemed to get me through the day. That and Facebook. To be honest, I wasn’t in a good place. So I booked to come here. Even asked Kim if she wanted to come, just some time on our own, without wedding talk. She thought about it, but turned me down. Said it was probably right for both of us, and I just needed some time out. Work out what happens from here.’ He goes back to focusing on the pan in front of him.
I’m about to ask him what will happen when he goes back when I hear a car coming up the drive. My heart doesn’t so much skip as practically trip over itself as I turn, hoping to see Fabien’s truck, hoping they’ve finally found a replacement bass player and he’s come home.
But it isn’t Fabien. And my heart dips lower than before. I think about what Ed said, about getting off the bandwagon and letting the world slow down. Maybe this is what we need, some time apart, I tell myself. I need to focus on what has to be done here. And being apart is reminding us of what we need for ourselves. But the age gap between us seems to taunt me as much as the physical distance between us. Suddenly Fabien seems closer in age to Ed than he does to me and I feel … How do I feel?
I watch the little white car pull up. Carine slides out, effortlessly stylish, despite bringing up Clémentine on her own and running the estate agency in town. She waves and I wave back. She and Fabien were best friends when we met. At first I assumed they were a couple, growing up together and staying close. But they weren’t. Carine kept her lovers close to her chest. Still does. But Fabien wasn’t one of them.
I walk across the white stones of the driveway to meet her. She kisses me on both cheeks. ‘Where’s Clémentine?’ I say, looking into the car.
‘With her father and his wife,’ she says, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It might not have been what Carine was expecting after a long-term relationship with the mayor, but they have worked things out and all seem happy with the arrangement. What works for one couple may not be right for another. Look at me and Fabien. Again I think of Fabien at Ed’s age and everything he may have hoped for the future, the band, his lifestyle. His commitment to the family made him give up life on the road for the brocante, and then he threw in his lot with me. Does he regret it? I remember Monique calling to him to go out and eat. He sounded relaxed, able to enjoy some time in the sun … I shake off the thought.
‘How are you?’ Carine says to me, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head.
‘Hmm.’ I tilt my head from side to side, as I’ve learned to do here when things aren’t going as well as we’d like. ‘How about you?’ I ask in return.
She lets out a long ‘Phffffffff,’ then follows it with, ‘It still doesn’t seem real. Everyone is talking about Henri in town, wanting to pay their respects. Like, they can’t believe it’s happened. It seems he’s still just away, travelling.’
She looks out at the fields of purple, undulating down the hill towards the river. In days gone by a still would have been taken to it and oil made there with water straight from it. One day, there will be another still at the farm. I wonder if this was how Henri and Rhi felt when they gave up everything to go travelling. ‘One day’ became ‘today’.
‘I know what you mean. I think it’s the same for Rhi. She’s still in shock. And Henri is still in her handbag.’
Carine sucks the end of an arm of her sunglasses. ‘I have a question to ask you – and Rhi, of course.’
‘Okay,’ I say, intrigued. ‘Come in, she’s here.’
We walk around the farmhouse and stop to take in the beauty of the setting sun over the purple field and enjoy the warm lavender-scented air.
‘How’s the harvest going?’ she asks.
‘Good. The weather’s just right. We’re picking in the morning, and we’re on schedule to finish on time.’
She nods approval in typical Carine style.
Rhi is sitting on the terrace, freshly showered and alone. She stands to kiss Carine on both cheeks.
‘Wine?’ I ask them.
‘Oui,’ Carine says, in her strong southern accent. The word sounds more like ‘whey’. ‘Un petit verre.’ She takes a seat, sits back, crosses one leg nonchalantly over the other and swings her sunglasses from her hand.
Ed arrives on the terrace. ‘Hi – oh, sorry, am I interrupting?’
‘Not at all,’ I say. ‘I was just pouring wine. Would you like some?’ I raise the jug at him.
‘Actually I was wondering if you had any parsley I could use.’
‘Of course. Here, you pour the wine and I’ll get it. I’ve got some growing out here.’ I point to a terracotta pot on the far side of the terrace.
He takes the bottle and glasses from me and pours, handing one to Rhi and one to Carine, who looks at him with interest, I note, as I come back to the table and hand him the parsley pot. Ed is evidently nervous.
‘Keep it over there. I can get anything else we need for the outdoor kitchen. Just let me know.’
‘Are you not cooking?’ Carine attempts to raise her eyebrows, but they stay where they are. She must have had some recent treatment there.
‘Ed is,’ I say, smiling. ‘He’s making duck and green olives.’
‘I saw a recipe for it and wanted to give it a try here, with the fresh ingredients.’ He seems to be blushing. Carine can have this effect on men.
‘It sounds good. Did you add orange?’ she questions.
He smiles. ‘I did.’ He’s seemingly finding his feet again. ‘Are you staying to dinner? Perhaps you could tell me what you think.’
I still can’t believe this is the same quiet Ed who has been here for the past few days.
‘Oh, yes, do, Carine!’ I say.
‘Well, if there is enough …’ She smiles back at Ed.
‘There’s plenty,’ he says.
‘Let’s go and join the others,’ I suggest. We stand and walk slowly with our wine glasses. The sun is starting to set over the lavender field. The view comforts me as it always does, filling my head and my soul.
‘What were you saying, Carine? You wanted to ask Rhi something?’ I ask, as we walk. We stop, our heads slightly lifted to take in the heady scent of pine, wild rosemary and lavender, the sound of cicadas, the sight of the swifts dipping and diving over the cut lavender plants, and the cooling air on our faces.
‘It’s just that people are asking about a service, a funeral for Henri. Everyone wants to come together to grieve.’
I look at Rhi. ‘It’s been on my mind too,’ I say. But I’m glad it was Carine who brought up the subject. I haven’t felt able to mention it yet when Rhi’s just getting upright again.
Rhi takes a sip of the light rosé. ‘You’re right. He can’t stay in my handbag for ever,’ she says, and we all laugh.
‘I can make the arrangements, if you like. Speak to whoever. He wasn’t one for church, but it would be good to have some kind of a formal send-off,’ Carine says.
‘It would,’ agrees Rhi. ‘Thank you. I’ll let his family know once the arrangements are in place. It would be great if they came. I know Henri didn’t see eye to eye with his children but he never stopped loving them. You don’t, do you?’
Everyone agrees, reminding me of the children Fabien and I never had. I feel the tiniest of holes for them that I try to forget about, but every now and again it lets me know it’s there and will never completely go away, no matter what. I wish it would. We agreed it didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t. We have each other and it’s all we need. We are a family and I’m grateful for that. But every now and then I grieve for the baby I never held in my arms. But that time has gone. We have more than enough on our plates and hardly see each other. That’s what needs to change when – if – he comes back.
‘How’s Fabien?’ Carine asks, breaking into my thoughts.
‘He’s fine.’ I stumble over my words. ‘The tour’s going well. But they’re trying to find a bass guitarist to take his place so he can come home. But he’s really enjoying it. Even if his back is aching from sleeping in tents or on the bus. And he’s enjoying being with old friends. It’s good for him, I think.’
‘Ah, don’t tell me. Monique!’ Carine shakes her head.
‘Monique? The saxophonist and singer? Yes. She’s on tour with them.’
Carine tuts.
‘What’s wrong with Monique?’ I laugh, but it sounds forced. I think back to his phone call, Monique calling to him. They were going out for lunch. They’re just friends, I tell myself. So why am I suddenly feeling … jealous? Is it her or the band he’s enjoying being with, making him feel young again?
Carine’s still sucking the arm of her sunglasses, a habit she’s got into since having Clémentine and cutting down on her smoking.
She gives another tut and a phffffff. ‘Monique and Fabien were together for a while in the band’s early days. Just sort of casually. But she never really got over them finishing, him coming to live here and take over the business.’
Suddenly my heart is thundering. ‘He didn’t mention that,’ I say.
She waves a hand. ‘It was ages ago. She’s probably married with children by now – and, besides, Fabien is with you.’
I think briefly of Carine’s relationship with the mayor but I don’t mention it. It does nothing to put my mind at rest.
‘So, Henri’s ceremony,’ says Rhi, moving the conversation onto safer ground.
‘Yes, the ceremony. We’ll make it a town event.’
‘Fabien has promised to be back for it.’ And now, no matter what’s happened or been said, that is exactly what I want. I want him to come home.
‘Now, who’s ready to eat?’ says Ed, as we head for the table. I try to push away the thought of Fabien with Monique. My earlier ravenous appetite gets up and leaves the table. The sooner we arrange the funeral for Henri, the sooner the harvest is done, we can all get back to normal. Just as we were.