Chapter 26
DAWN
Is one ever so happy as when one has a tambourine in their hand?
I defy anyone not to feel a lift in spirits whilst twirling around and shaking a tambourine to the rhythm of upbeat street music.
I had an absolute blast at the parade last night.
I wasn’t expecting to be lured in by a street band desperate for some audience participation, but when called upon, I did not let the band down, passing the box of ashes to Nico and happily taking the tambourine the merry trumpeter passed to me, jangling it with a level of musical ability that not even I was expecting.
I have to say, it’s obvious I would have made a bloody good busker.
The crowd was cheering, Nico was laughing in surprise and clapping along enthusiastically, Megan looked suitably mortified and admiring at the same time, oh it was fabulous.
When I danced over to Megan and tried to pass the tambourine to her, she looked similarly horrified to when she was in the hot air balloon basket yesterday.
‘Come on, darling!’ I called out, but she continued to shake her head, her arms locked to her side, her body all straight and tense like a pencil.
We’ve made such progress with our relationship recently, I decided not to push it, and instead offered the tambourine to a fellow spectator who took the mantle with great honour and pride, shimmying his way to the middle of the circle and letting loose to the encouraging whoops of his friends and family.
‘I can’t believe you tried to make me do that,’ Megan said through gritted teeth as I came back to join her and Nico at the sidelines.
‘It’s what Henry wanted,’ I replied through laughter, taking the box back from Nico.
‘There was nothing said about dancing with the bands and parade,’ she stated, before glancing up nervously at Nico. ‘Was there?’
‘Sadly not,’ he grinned. ‘But I think it’s a great addition.’
‘Me too. Henry would have been there with me, shaking a percussion instrument and dancing like no one’s watching,’ I claimed boldly.
‘That’s the last thing he would have been doing. He would have been here next to me, groaning into his hands and going, “Why must she always do this?”’ Megan huffed.
‘Yes, you’re absolutely right,’ I agreed, suddenly moved to tears as a wave of emotion tightened my throat.
Dear Henry, how I miss him and those weary looks he’d give me that only served to encourage me further.
He knew it, too, but he still never stopped giving me them.
‘That’s exactly what he would have said. ’
The street parade was a wonderful start to the festival, brightening the town’s streets with colour and music and laughter.
I watched Megan at ease in Nico’s company, talking to him openly and comfortably, the two of them drawn towards each other all evening, glowing within the other’s attention.
There’s nothing like it, that feeling of falling for someone who you begin to realise might be falling for you, too.
We can pretend all we like that romance is silly or frivolous, but it’s not, is it.
It’s a sense of belonging that we’re all striving for.
It has the power to break us or fix us or mould us into something better.
When Nico joined us last night at the parade, Megan saw him and lit up.
This girl whose heart has been splintered, who at one point probably thought she’d never love or be loved again. Something inside her heart lit up once more. It’s remarkable.
That is why I’ve only ever wanted to write romance.
***
‘Nico is going to join us at the festival this morning,’ Megan informs me as we wait in reception after breakfast. ‘He’s going to take us to the port but also stick around to watch the water games, too. He asked last night if that was okay.’
‘He didn’t need to ask,’ I say, as she rummages around in her bag for her sunglasses. ‘He’s always welcome. It’s been nice getting to know him again, hasn’t it?’
She glances up at me and frowns. ‘Uh. I guess.’
Ah, young love.
‘God, Mum, stop,’ she grumbles, perching her glasses on her head.
‘What?’ I ask innocently. ‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘You didn’t have to. Your face is so obvious. I know what you’re thinking.’
‘I’m not thinking anything! I only said it was nice getting to know him again.’
‘Yes, and then I could read what you were implying by your . . . dreamy expression.’
I burst out laughing and she glares at me as my cackle echoes around the chateau.
‘Megan, I think you’re looking into things, my darling, I was only saying—’
‘Mum, you are the easiest person to read on the planet,’ she states. ‘You can’t hide your opinions. Everyone knows how you feel about something by the look on your face.’
‘I may be a little less guarded than some, but I don’t think that’s entirely true.’
‘Okay.’ She lifts her chin, challenged. ‘What’s going on with you and Francoise?’
I swallow. ‘Excuse me?’
‘You and Francoise, what’s the story there?’ She studies me intently, as I fix a smile. ‘You used to be, like, best friends. Whenever we came here, you and her would spend loads of time together. I don’t remember Dad mentioning that you two had a falling out.’
‘That’s because we didn’t!’
‘Then why do you make that face whenever her name is mentioned or whenever you see her?’ she accuses.
‘What face? I don’t make a face.’
‘You do. You put on this weird, strained smile, like you’re royalty and you have to meet someone you don’t want to but all the cameras are pointing at you.’
‘What a specific analogy.’
‘It’s forced.’ Megan continues to watch my expression as I attempt not to move a muscle in my face. ‘You act polite but frosty around her, yet with Nico, you’re all, “Oh darling Nico, how grown up and gorgeous you are, remember all the memories, mwah, mwah.”’
I raise my eyebrows at the funny voice she’s put on and her over-the-top impression of me giving someone air kisses. She looks mighty smug at her attempt.
‘I do not act like that around Nico, thank you, and Francoise and I have not fallen out,’ I maintain haughtily. ‘I told you she helped me the other day and I told her about my diagnosis. We simply don’t know each other as well as we used to, that’s all.’
She sighs, almost disappointed. ‘It’s weird. I thought you admired her.’
I look at her in surprise, admittedly impressed at her observation. ‘I . . . I did. I do.’
‘Have you seen Mathieu at all? I know they’ve retired, but how come Francoise is here all the time helping Nico but Mathieu hasn’t even shown up to say hello. You would have thought he might if he knew we were here,’ Megan ponders aloud.
‘Maybe he doesn’t know we’re here.’
‘Surely Francoise or Nico has told him. I don’t know, something’s off.’ She shakes her head before addressing me again. ‘Anyway, if you’re not going to tell me what’s going on with you and Francoise, at least take my advice and try to control your face a bit more around her.’
‘There’s nothing going on and I do control my face! I’m very discreet.’
She snorts.
‘Okay, I’m discreet when I want to be,’ I correct, my feathers ruffled. ‘I’ll have you know that I was once told I’m a difficult nut to—’
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Nico calls out across reception, interrupting us as he hurries over, Francoise following him, the clack of her shoes echoing off the walls. ‘There was a problem with the flowers for the ball, but it’s sorted now.’
‘No worries,’ Megan says, spinning round to face him.
He stops in front of her, dimples appearing as he beams at her. ‘Hey.’
‘Hey,’ she says.
Without meaning to, I catch Francoise’s eye and we share something of a smile that means we’re both aware of what’s happening here and isn’t it lovely.
It’s nice to share that sort of moment with her but then I can’t help but think of the events of the final summer we spent here and my brain clouds with the sadness and anger that came barrelling towards us afterwards.
Neither of us reached out to the other, and I don’t think we ever forgave each other for that.
I drop my eyes to the floor, dragging the straps of my bag that have fallen down my arm back up to my shoulder, feeling the weight of Henry’s ashes.
‘Are you ready to go?’ Nico asks.
‘Yes,’ I say with a polite smile. ‘We’re ready.’
‘Oh!’ He grimaces, clicking his fingers. ‘I meant to say, you should bring your swimsuits.’
‘Swimsuits.’ Megan glances at me, looking as confused as I feel. ‘Why would we need those?’
***
2011: Fifteen years ago
‘I don’t want an argument, Henry,’ I say tiredly, knowing that we’re heading for one with the mood I’m in.
My publisher sent me my latest monthly sales figures today, despite me repeatedly asking them not to send them at all.
Failure is hardly conducive to creativity and I’m trying to plot my next book, but every month I get the same cheery email that makes me want to pack it all in, move to the mountains and keep goats or something.
‘We don’t have to argue about this, Dawn,’ he replies, his tone cold and clipped. ‘We don’t have to fight every time we disagree on something, we can discuss it like grown-ups.’
‘That’s my point, you never seem to want to discuss it! You’ve made up your mind,’ I cry, flinging my hands up in the air and accidentally knocking my wine glass, which shakes but I catch it before it falls and breaks.
‘For god’s sake, it’s a holiday, you don’t need to be this dramatic!’
‘I’m not being dramatic, I’m being expressive. You should try it some time.’
A muscle in his jaw twitches. It was a spiteful thing to say, but he makes me so mad.
‘Look,’ I say, cheeks flushing, ‘I know it’s a lovely problem to have, but won’t you even consider going on holiday somewhere else? It’s a bit strange to always—’
‘Dawn, you have sprung this on me out of nowhere and I don’t think I’m being unreasonable to want to stick to our original plan, the plan we decided on together.’
‘That’s my point,’ I argue, my voice a little calmer now, feeling guilty about my previous jab.
‘We didn’t decide on this together. You decided.
You always decide, Henry. Every single summer, we go to France, the same place, the same people.
I think we should do something different.
There’s a whole world out there that we could explore! ’
‘The chateau has everything we need, and Megan loves it.’
‘She might love somewhere else, too, if we gave her the chance.’ I sigh, leaning on the kitchen table. ‘I don’t understand, Henry, you never used to be so . . . set on one place.’
‘You’re talking about it as though you don’t love it at the chateau, too,’ he points out glumly. ‘Are you telling me that you don’t enjoy our holidays there?’
‘That’s not what I’m saying and you know it,’ I state, my voice hardened again as he tries to twist things. ‘I want a bit of a change. That’s not unusual.’
‘They give us such a good rate because we’re friends. There’s the beach on the doorstep, amazing weather, delicious food and wine, boat days, things to do for Megan, and she gets to see Nico, who I believe she’s forming a bond with.’
‘Don’t make this about Megan. If we talk to her, I think she’d love the chance to go somewhere else. Portugal or Greece. Or we could go further afield.’
My mood lifts now as I speak about possibilities, hoping my excitement might spark something curious in him, too.
Like me, he might consider how good it would be for us to go to a place we’ve never been before, somewhere different that has the potential to bring out a bit of spontaneity and fun in us, somewhere where we’d make wonderful memories with Megan, but also where we might find time for ourselves.
God knows our marriage needs a bit of a boost.
We’ve been getting on each other’s nerves for the past few years.
I’ve tried addressing it in different ways, but each attempt has been rebuffed by a husband who refuses to admit that something might be wrong.
I blame that on his upbringing. His parents were wealthy and proper, the sort committed to tradition and a stiff-upper-lip mentality.
A well-respected Christian family, they were committed to putting on a front, even when times were difficult, and no one could threaten that.
Henry and his two older brothers grew up in that knowledge.
Henry has never stopped craving the approval of his father, even if it made him miserable to do so.
There are times when I admire Henry’s lack of emotion, his ability to lock it all up somewhere and go about his day, but sometimes it kills me.
He may be content pottering through life, but I’m not.
We don’t have to go stale and end up as old friends with nothing more, which is how we’ve been acting. We can fight to find what we’ve lost.
‘How about South Africa?’ I continue, on a roll now. ‘I’ve heard great things about—’
‘No, we’re going to France,’ Henry says sternly. ‘I won’t let them down.’
‘Let who down?’ I cry in exasperation. ‘Francoise and Mathieu?’
‘Yes, I won’t cancel on them.’
‘We’re not cancelling when we haven’t booked yet,’ I point out, but then I read his tense expression and add wearily, ‘Oh. You’ve already booked, haven’t you.’
‘I assumed we were all on the same page.’
‘I’ve said so many times I wanted to try somewhere else.’ I run my fingers through my hair. ‘You make these sorts of family decisions without me.’
‘Megan wants to go, too. I checked.’
I press my lips together. ‘Of course she agreed with you. She’s always on your side because you’re never the bad guy. The two of you like to gang up on me.’
‘Don’t say things you’ll regret, Dawn,’ he scolds impatiently.
‘Me and you, we’re supposed to be a team.’
‘We are a team and the three of us love it at the chateau.’
‘You love it there,’ I seethe, hating when he speaks for me. ‘You love it so much, I wonder why you don’t move there to that bloody dream house.’
‘I would if I could!’ he snaps back.
I glower at him. ‘What’s stopping you?’
His expression softens and the real him reappears, the calm, kind one. He’s always the first to calm after an argument. My temper takes longer to cool.
‘My family, who are everything,’ he says, looking me in the eye. ‘Please, let’s not do this. It’s ridiculous. We’re arguing over where we’re going on holiday for Christ’s sake. This is not a real problem, Dawn. Let’s take a breather and discuss it later.’
Picking up my glass, I take a sip and lower it again, too irritated to speak.
Henry nods, then turns to leave the room.
He stops in the doorway and says over his shoulder, ‘You’ll love it once you’re there, you always do’, and then he disappears.
We don’t discuss it later. We never do. The decision’s been made.