CHAPTER 30
I knew exactly where to go to find him. When I realized he wasn’t at the brocante, I knew where he’d be. Where we’ve all found solace at one time or another: down at the riverside, clearing up around the hut, sweeping the litter from the doorway. I watch him for a moment, then walk up behind him. He’s deep in thought. I reach out and touch his arm. He stops sweeping, and I don’t know if I made him jump or just interrupted his thoughts. I wish I knew what they were. It’s quiet here at the riverside. Just a couple of ducks on the water, paddling along, making it all look easy, while under the water they’re working hard. ‘Be like a duck. Remain calm on the surface and paddle like hell underneath!’ Michael Caine said that, and Henri liked to quote it when service in the restaurant got busy. I smile at the memory.
‘I thought you might have gone,’ I say quietly.
‘Gone where?’ he says.
‘I don’t know. Back to find Monique? To the band. Maybe I drove you away.’
He leans the broom against the shed and turns to me. I’m trying to read his face while wanting to hug and kiss him. He hasn’t gone. Not yet. A tiny glimmer of hope is flickering in my stomach.
He sighs and looks up at the larch tree. ‘I told you. I realized what I knew all along. I didn’t want her. I wanted you. But you just don’t have room in your life for me.’
I shake my head and reach for him.
‘You told me to go, Del, so I went. I thought you needed space to work things out for yourself. See if you wanted “us”. I just don’t know what to think any more, except that the only thing that seems to matter to you is the bistro, getting it back. Getting one up on Zacharie, even if it means climbing into bed with him.’
‘I did not climb into bed with him! It was a kiss. One kiss and I regret it more than anything. But I was alone, thinking you were with Monique. Which you were!’
‘It was just a kiss.’ He reaches for my fingertips. ‘And one I regret very much. It’s in the past. All of it. I need to know about now … the future.’
The little glimmer of hope is becoming a growing flame inside me, warming and comforting me. ‘Me too. I want us. Wherever that may be. If you want to go on the road with the band, I’ll come with you.’
He laughs. ‘You’d hate the sleeping arrangements.’ And I get a glimpse of Monique undressing in a tent and shake it off. I’m not going back there.
‘I mean it. Henri’s was part of the journey, my journey. And you have to know where the journey ends.’
He hesitates. ‘Are you talking about us?’
‘No. It’s not about Henri’s. It’s all about us being together, wherever.’
He takes a moment and the flame dies a little. ‘I can go. If that’s what you want. If it was just part of the journey. The band has another tour coming up, America. Hoping for the big-time. The door is open for me.’
‘And do you want to go?’
‘Do you want me to?’
‘I want you to do whatever you want to do that makes you happy. If that’s going back on tour, so be it. I’ll support you and be here for you when you come home.’
He lets out a long sigh. ‘What do you want, Del? I want what makes you happy.’
Without realizing it I have taken his hands.
‘Del, if you want Henri’s, I’ll support you. We’ll sell Le Petit Mas. Live above the bistro.’
‘You-and-me is far more important, Fabien. I just need to know that you want to be with me.’
‘There is nobody else I ever want to be with.’
‘Nor me, only you.’
‘And is it what you really want, to sell Le Petit Mas?’
‘No.’
‘If it is, I’ll support you. We’ll go for it.’
‘Do you want to be back on tour?’
He shakes his head, and we move closer, our foreheads touching.
‘There’ll be other restaurants. Or you can keep going at the brocante, get a licence for the summer, making it a more permanent feature. Do weddings maybe,’ he suggests.
‘I like that idea.’ We kiss as the wind weaves through the trees, making them whisper, like passing on a message, letting us know the mistral is on her way back into town, like a returning diva to her home.
‘Le Petit Mas is our home, Stephanie, JB and the children’s too. Henri’s bistro was about me, not about us. It was part of my journey to find myself.’
And I think about Maria, finding her wings. Maybe I found mine, too, in this year’s lavender harvest.
‘I don’t ever want to lose you.’
‘But you were in love with Monique.’
‘Monique and I were a thing of the past.’
‘But you loved her.’
‘Maybe once. But not now.’
‘But she’s your age … I’m older.’
‘More beautiful and way more intelligent. I love the way you are a mother to Stephanie, how you help others, not thinking of yourself, how you are there for people when they need you. I promise you, nothing happened. I enjoyed revisiting my past, being with the band, remembering the times we had, but that’s all. You and I, we need to slow life down. Take time for each other. Anyway, my back aches from sleeping on bad beds during the tour. I never want to do that again. I want to wake up every morning with you beside me.’
‘I don’t want you to regret being with me.’
‘No regrets, ever! Think of all the men you could have settled with. Instead you went for a penniless brocante owner, who plays bad guitar so has to play bass.’
‘I love you for your guitar playing. The way you play with the children …’
‘I want us to grow old together.’
I look at him. ‘But right now, we have a supper club to organize and we need to make tomorrow, the last night with everyone, really special. The end of a journey. A goodbye to the pickers. And a celebration of Henri’s life. We have not had a funeral so this will be our way of saying goodbye.’
At last he leans in and kisses me, and I kiss him back.
‘Now, let’s get to the brocante and get ready.’
‘Tomorrow is our night to say goodbye to everyone,’ I say sadly. I’m going to miss the pickers, my new friends.
‘I won’t invite the band,’ he says. ‘It was great to go back, but I want to move on. I can start a teenagers’ band – get some of the youngsters who are hanging out down at the riverside. Get them playing music. I’m going to talk to them. We don’t need a licence for a youth project. My days of being on the road are done. I’m happy to be home.’ He kisses me gently but fully on the mouth, and my whole body comes alive, despite the exhaustion I’ve felt of late.
‘Come on, let’s go and tell the others. Tomorrow night is for Henri! A celebration of a life well lived.’
That evening we run the supper club as usual. There’s a relaxed feel to the evening. The harvest is at an end, and soon we’ll be moving into autumn. The place is calm, despite the wind slowly building, bringing with it a welcome coolness.
We fight a losing battle with candles on the tables and the bunting is attempting to take off, but none of us seems worried, perhaps melancholic at the end of our time together.
‘No regrets about not going for Henri’s?’ Jen asks me.
‘I’ve barely thought about the place this evening,’ I tell her. And although Graham and Keith have taken their nightly stroll to look at the menu at l’expérience and report back on the people sitting there this evening, I haven’t wanted to go and see for myself. I haven’t stood at the top of the alleyway to count how many customers they have. According to Graham and Keith, there are hardly any tonight.
A napkin takes flight. Ed catches it and attempts to pin it down with a heavy silver butter knife. Another follows the first. Glasses clatter on the table. Suddenly we’re chasing napkins and picking up glasses as tablecloths lift.
‘Putain!’ I say. ‘Le mistral!’
As we run around to try to save everything and gather it safely into the warehouse, I gasp, ‘I don’t think we’ll be having many diners here tonight.’ A hat lifts off a man’s head and flies down the road. Dogs bark and the chestnut tree sways and waves.
‘Maybe we should take a plate of food to Serge,’ I suggest.
‘I’ll go,’ says Fabien. ‘Then we can all eat together in here, out of the way of the wind.’
‘Good idea.’ I kiss him.
Maria serves a plate of food, a selection of all tonight’s treats. Spanish prawns and chorizo, Greek salad, pakoras and chicken pot-au-feu, followed by Ed’s trio of desserts that he and Keith made.
As Fabien takes off, Serge’s dinner wrapped in foil, we lay a table for ourselves out of the wind.
Graham sets out glasses, fills them and kisses Keith as he passes, much to Keith’s delight.
Keith makes sure the table is laid to perfection.
Maria and Ed are studying their phones.
‘Everything okay?’
‘Yes … just, y’know, getting ready to go home,’ says Ed. ‘My new job’s in touch to welcome me.’
Maria looks downcast. ‘And I’m just working out where to go next.’
‘It’s home for us,’ says Graham.
‘I don’t mind,’ says Keith. ‘It’s hard to go home to an empty shell. Maybe we should look at renting for a while. Somewhere I can enjoy being, and make a home. Not always moving.’
‘We could.’ Graham smiles.
‘Somewhere with an oven so I can make custard tarts!’ Keith beams.
‘And you won’t stop cooking, will you?’ Maria says to Ed.
‘Not likely! Just a matter of finding someone to cook for.’ He looks up at her and she smiles.
‘Or share the cooking maybe.’ Then, ‘But I’m not sure there’s much I could be doing in South Wales. I should head home really.’
‘And me.’
I want to dive in and tell them they’re perfect for each other and need to follow their hearts, but that’s for them to work out. Not me … not any more.
I promised Fabien that it’s time for us to think about us. We’ll let others work things out for themselves.
‘And what about you, Del?’ asks Keith. ‘What will you do when Henri’s sells?’
I frown. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘You don’t mind not getting the place back?’
‘I thought that was all I wanted, until I realized it’s not about the place but the people. That’s what’s important. Henri brought us together and that won’t change. We don’t need the building to tell us that.’
The wind whips up stronger and harder. The warehouse doors slam shut.
‘Whoa!’
‘Gosh, I don’t know what Zacharie’s cooking tonight, but it smells like he’s burned it!’ says Ed.
‘Yes,’ we all agree, sniffing.
‘Definitely like burning!’ I say.
And we laugh.
‘It’s all about l’expérience!’ I smile. I breathe in the smell again and suddenly I’m not smiling. ‘It’s burning!’
I run out of the gates and to the end of the street, but I don’t need to be told twice what’s happening. The wind whips up my hair and the edges of my dress. The blood drains from my face.
‘No, no, nooooooooo!’
I hear someone’s voice behind me. It may be Jen, calling to the others. ‘Henri’s is on fire!’