CHAPTER 14
I’m so cross. Cross with Henri’s son for his rudeness, cross with Henri for not being here, the voice of reason when I need him. Most of all I’m cross with myself for doubting Fabien. I want to ring him and tell him to take all the time he needs, and to put things right with him.
I’ve spent the afternoon with Rhi. After she had handed over the ashes to Zacharie, he drove off at speed. I told Stephanie what’s been happening, then had little Louis so she could work in the baking unit. And all afternoon my fingers have been itching to call up Fabien’s Facebook page on my phone. Just to see what Monique looks like. But why? I ask myself crossly. This is Fabien! He’s not going to cheat on me. Maybe not, says another voice, but does he still want to be here with you?
And as the sun starts to set I realize I’ve dropped another ball. I haven’t organized any food for the pickers. We said we’d take it in turns to cook, but I should have gone out and bought what they needed. ‘Shit!’ I say. Everything at Le Petit Mas is going backwards. Just a few weeks ago I cooked in the bistro every day, spoke French, had a partner I loved and trusted. Now I can’t think of a single thing to cook and am wondering if my partner still wants me or if he’s hooking up with his ex, a woman ten years younger than me. Everything has gone wrong since the mistral.
‘Sorry!’ I say, running into the open-side barn where the outdoor kitchen is. ‘I just lost track of time. I can go and get us pizzas …’ I stop in my tracks. I look at the table, which is laid, with jugs of water and wine, and the kitchen area is a hive of activity.
They stop what they’re doing and turn to look at me. Maria pours a glass of wine and hands it to me. ‘It’s a bit of a pick-and-mix this evening,’ she says. ‘I hope you don’t mind but we went through your fridge and cupboards while you were walking in the lavender field with Rhi and little Louis.’
I stare at the table and take in the setting, complete with pots of lavender.
‘We thought you might need a bit of … Well, we just wanted to help.’
‘We thought you could do with a bit of cheering up,’ says Keith.
‘Mind? Of course I don’t mind! This is amazing!’ I say, tears prickling my eyes yet again. ‘And it definitely has cheered me up! Thank you!’
‘We couldn’t decide what to make, so we all suggested different dishes to bring to the table,’ says Ed.
My heart swells. ‘This is so kind! So thoughtful!’
‘Well, we could see that it was … a difficult time for you and Rhi. And what with you having Louis to look after too, it was the least we could do.’
‘Yeah, that Zacharie was a right knob!’ says Marco. ‘Felt like decking him.’
Although I’m not sure I like Marco’s approach, I suddenly feel very fond of him. Perhaps I can understand what Maria sees in him, after all. He can be funny, and loyal.
‘Indeed,’ says Graham.
There’s a murmur of agreement among the group.
I feel a bubble of laughter rise in me, dispelling my tension. ‘So, what’s on the menu?’ I clasp my hands together.
‘I’m cooking samosas,’ says Maria.
‘And I’m doing cauliflower risotto, with truffle oil,’ says Ed.
‘I brought more crisps,’ says Keith, ‘but I’m doing it like nachos, with melting cheese and salsa. That was Jen’s suggestion.’
I love it!
‘I haven’t cooked since my husband died and I took off in the van,’ Jen says. ‘I just live off beans and sausages.’
‘Well, that’s almost a cassoulet!’ I joke, and the cassoulet recipe I’ve cooked time and time again flashes into my head and out again, there and gone. But it was there, and that brings me a sense of warmth and desperation mixed. A bit like the meal being put on the table right now, a mix that makes no sense, but was born of caring.
‘Exactly. That’s what I said!’ Ed’s eyes are glistening with enjoyment.
I hear a car and turn around.
‘Papi Fabien?’ Louis asks, and points to the driveway.
‘Soon,’ I say, and kiss the tips of his fingers. ‘Soon.’
It’s Carine. Clémentine is running around with Ralph.
‘I came straight after work to see how things were after your meeting with Zacharie.’
I take a deep breath. ‘Not good. He came for the ashes. Didn’t even stay for lunch. In fact, he was very rude. How did the valuation go? Did he say why he wanted it?’
Another car comes down the drive. It’s the mayor. I walk over to greet him as he gets out. Carine and he kiss each other’s cheeks, like good friends do. Clémentine rushes over to greet her papa.
Then Stephanie arrives in her little van, with the purple lavender sprig painted on the side. Tomas and JB are getting out.
‘Fabien?’ Tomas looks around and I have to tell him that Fabien is still away with the band. My heart twists. I wish he was here and could see how much the family are missing him. I explain that he’ll be back soon. Very soon, I hope.
‘Join us,’ I say to the mayor, having introduced him to the pickers. Then I look at the group. ‘If that’s okay?’ After all, I didn’t cook any of this. ‘They made all of this,’ I say, with pride.
He peers at the heavily laden table.
I raise a questioning eyebrow at Maria.
‘Of course,’ she says, and the others move around the table. Keith fetches a chair from the farmhouse, then finds cushions and plumps them, making sure they’re comfortable. The mayor sits next to Carine, Clémentine between them, as if this was perfectly normal. But what is normal?
‘So, Carine texted me and told me about Henri’s son arriving,’ says the mayor, accepting a glass of red wine and looking at the array of small plates as they’re put on the table.
‘Yes, it wasn’t an easy meeting. Especially as I thought he’d come to mend the smashed window!’ I half want to laugh at my case of mistaken identity, but I can’t, not yet, and it’s sticking in my throat like a ball of bile.
‘And he took the ashes?’ asks the mayor, sipping his wine from a turquoise blue tumbler.
‘He wants nothing to do with any of us.’ I turn to see red-eyed Rhi behind us.
‘Come and join us,’ I say, budging up on the bench. And Graham stands and pours her wine from the jug, already knowing her well enough to give her rosé.
‘And he wanted the bistro valued,’ says Carine, giving her usual Gallic shrug.
‘But that’s the thing, we don’t know why,’ I say. Then I pause, admiring the full table. ‘Thank you, guys, for this. It’s fantastic.’ I want to make sure they know how much it means to me to be sitting with a table of strangers who are now so much more than that. ‘Tell us what’s on the table.’
We begin to serve the food, everyone explaining what they’ve made and why.
‘I’ve made salads, carrot, then chickpea and, last, tomato. The chickpea one is my favourite,’ says Maria, ‘to go with the samosas.’
‘Bet it’s got spice in it!’ says Marco, and laughs. She doesn’t, I notice.
She shrugs. ‘It’s just one of my favourite go-to recipes. Reminds me of—’
‘Now, come on, they don’t need to hear about your family and your grandmother again,’ Marco says. I want to say, I do. I want to hear whatever you were going to say. ‘This is why we’ve come away. Just to be on our own, without any reminders of home,’ he says, and the mood darkens a little.
‘Ed?’ Jen says kindly.
‘I’ve made cauliflower risotto.’
‘Wow! It looks amazing.’
‘I could have done some things differently, given the time again.’
‘No one’s judging here!’ Jen laughs.
‘I’ve poured the wine. I’m afraid I don’t cook. But I’m really good at clearing up!’ says Graham.
‘And I’ve made nachos and cupcakes,’ says Keith.
‘Keith’s always baking,’ says Graham.
‘Reminds me of when our son was at home.’
‘And where is he now?’ asks the mayor.
‘University,’ says Graham.
‘He doesn’t come home much, these days.’ I hear the dip in Keith’s mood.
Graham jumps in. ‘He’s having the time of his life. Which is why we decided to have this adventure. Our gap year!’
But Keith doesn’t look like he’s enjoying it. I see him wipe what I think may be a tear.
‘But he’ll be home soon,’ says Graham, ‘after this year, so we have to make the most of it.’
Carine fills a small plate for Clémentine with salad and the dish Ed has made. Although she didn’t think she would be, she’s a natural mother, always thinking of Clémentine and putting her first.
I pick up one of Keith’s crisp nachos and bite … Interesting, paprika Pringles, I think, and something else … Maybe peanut.
I contemplate the group around the table. Jen looks like the sort of person who leads from behind. Maria seems tired, confused, and certainly needs to tell her boyfriend, Marco, a thing or two. I get the impression she’s the brains behind their trip and he’s just along for the ride.
Graham and Keith seem an odd couple. Graham seems to be driving this gap year.
And Ed. Clearly he’s unsure where life will take him next.
A small group, none of us having quite what we want at the moment, but with this meal, the company, we all know exactly what we need.
We tuck in.
‘This is amazing,’ Maria says to Ed.
‘I wish I’d been a bit more careful, made it look like fine dining,’ he says, excusing it again.
‘It really is lovely,’ I say, but I don’t think he hears me.
‘And the spice in the chickpea salad is gorgeous. Just right,’ says the mayor.
Graham agrees, ‘Yeah, perfect,’ and spoons in another mouthful.
There is that wonderful lull in conversation when people are enjoying what they’re eating, interrupted only by the occasional crunch of the crisp nachos. Finally, we’re passing round the cakes with a jug of coffee.
‘Henri would have loved this,’ I find myself saying out loud.
‘This is excellent, really excellent. Even the crisps sandwiches. You could charge people to come here and eat at this table,’ says the mayor.
We laugh.
‘I’m not sure people would pay for crisps sandwiches!’ Graham says.
‘Or Batman fairy cakes!’ Keith laughs.
That night, in the warm, sticky summer air, I ring Fabien. He answers and it sounds noisy again, and fun.
‘I can’t really hear you!’ he says, laughter in his voice.
‘I just rang to say I miss you!’ I shout.
‘Come and join us!’ he shouts back.
‘I can’t. I have too much to do here. We can’t all be off having fun,’ I say, and suddenly bite my tongue.
‘You told me to go.’ Fabien sounds annoyed. ‘I thought this is what you wanted.’
‘I did. But … I want some time for us too.’
‘You are always too busy, Del. Too busy to make time. You are so busy helping others. You can’t help yourself!’ The noise gets louder from whichever bar they’re in, or whatever festival, and I’m more infuriated with every peal of laughter that floats down the phone. Is that a woman’s voice I can hear, right next to him? Is it Monique?
‘Just go and have fun, Fabien,’ I say, knowing now isn’t the time to tell him what’s been going on here.
‘Wait! This is work! You cook and love it! I play guitar!’
How can I tell him I can’t even cook any more?
The signal breaks up and the call finishes. I feel wretched, harassed, my ears ringing from the noise of the festival.
I look towards the barn and see lights. Someone must have left them on again, I think and sigh. Or is it midnight popcorn once more? I enjoyed it last time. I slip my feet into my flip-flops and grab my dressing-gown. I could do with some popcorn. In fact, popcorn could be just what I need. If Fabien is out having fun, I will too. I head away from the terrace and am nearly at the open-side barn when I smell something amazing. Something is cooking, or is it the lingering smell of dinner? And then I hear it. A deep, sorrowful sobbing. I stand, stock still, wondering if I should just turn and leave whoever it is in privacy. But I can’t. I can’t let someone be that upset and not offer comfort. I step out of the shadows and, to my surprise, see Jen standing over the cooker, crying as she stirs the pot on the stove. She seems so together that it’s a shock to see her like this.
I may reconsider and leave her to it. She’s here at this time of night because she wants to be alone. I begin to turn, and Ralph suddenly barks, making me jump, Jen too. She looks up. ‘Hello?’
‘It’s just me, Jen,’ I whisper, so I don’t wake anyone else. She’s trying to wipe away the tears as she stirs the pot and sniffs. I’m not sure what she needs right now. Do I hug her, pretend nothing has happened, that it’s perfectly normal for the woman who doesn’t cook to be standing here at one in the morning, cooking and crying? I do what instinct suggests and say, ‘I thought you might be cooking midnight popcorn again.’
She lets out a big sob.
‘Jen, what on earth is the matter?’ I hug her as I speak.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Again!’ She rubs the back of her hand under her nose. The smell of whatever she’s cooking is making my mouth water.
‘You didn’t. I was awake. I just saw the lights.’
‘Sorry, sorry …’
‘Jen, stop saying sorry. It’s fine,’ I pull back from her. ‘But what are you cooking? That’s not popcorn. I mean, why are you cooking? You don’t cook!’
For a moment she doesn’t say anything. Then she takes a deep breath and looks up from the floor to me. ‘I didn’t,’ she says flatly. ‘After Trefor …’
‘Died.’ I finish the sentence for her. ‘I’m sure Rhi knows exactly how you’re feeling. She’s in the same boat. I’m glad you have each other right now.’
She takes another deep breath, part sigh, part fortifying herself. ‘He left me.’
‘Oh, Jen, he didn’t mean to go. It’s not his fault. No one can help dying.’
She sniffs again. ‘He left me, for somebody else.’
‘Before he died?’
She shakes her head. ‘He’s not dead. It’s just been easier to say that somehow. And now, what with your friend Henri dying, who I never even met but feel sad for, it feels like an awful thing to lie about. I feel so guilty. And your poor friend Rhi.’
‘He’s not dead?’ I say incredulously.
She steps away from me. ‘He left me, just before taking early retirement. For someone else. I had no idea. We were planning the next phase in our lives together. Packing up and going travelling in the camper van.’ She juts her chin towards it.
‘So …’
‘Yup, I did it anyway.’ She gives a derisory snort. ‘It just seemed easier to say he’d died and I was doing what we’d said we’d do. Instead of “He left me, and I thought I’d do it anyway.” And now I feel even worse for lying to people.’
‘Oh, Jen!’
‘I should never have left my first husband. It was a moment of madness. We were busy. We’d forgotten to make time for each other. I was flattered by the attention. I thought I was in love! I wasn’t! I loved Dan, my first husband. We just lost sight of that on the way. Life was so busy in Spain. So when Trefor showed me lots of interest … I was an idiot. I miss Dan. I was thinking about the popcorn. And this! This is what I used to cook all the time when we were together. It was our celebratory dish. Spanish omelette, like it should be made.’
‘I didn’t think you cooked at all.’
She looks at me. ‘I haven’t cooked at all, not for me or anyone else since Trefor left. Gave away all my cookery books, pots and pans when I downsized and moved into the van.’
I look into the pan. ‘It smells amazing.’
‘I kept the saffron, didn’t give that away.’
We breathe in its fragrance.
‘Would you like some? I’ve made a bit too much.’
I smile. ‘I would.’
She takes two plates to the table, then places another over the frying pan and flips the omelette like a pro. After browning the other side, she slides it onto the plate under the festoon lighting. The bats flit to and fro, in and out of the barn. She cuts a slice for me and then for her.
We sit, and then we taste.
‘This is amazing,’ I tell her.
‘He always said it reminded him of our honeymoon. When we first went to Spain.’
‘And what happened to your Dan, your first husband?’
She sighs. ‘He eventually remarried. Had a family. They still have the bar in Spain.’ She looks round at the camper van. ‘And here I am, trying to make a living by designing wedding invitations and social-media posts and living in a clapped-out camper van. I’d say that was just desserts!’
She makes me laugh.
‘I don’t think you should be too hard on yourself. I’m quite sure that your partner leaving you is as much like grief as it gets. Especially when there’s so much hurt and betrayal in there.’
She looks at my empty plate. ‘Thank you. That was the first time I’ve cooked for someone since I started this whole van-life thing.’
‘And how does it feel?’
‘The cooking? Fabulous! It’s like a little bit of me has come back.’
‘And what about van life? Must be great, just you and the road, going where you like, carefree.’
‘Honestly?’
I’m running my finger around my plate, then licking the buttery remnants off it.
‘I hate it!’
Suddenly we both laugh, which I haven’t done for a while. And it feels good.