Chapter 7
7
I had imagined it would be more difficult. Like a Mission Impossible film, where there is an insurmountable set of obstacles to get past. Guard dogs and minefields and computer passwords to figure out. In the event, I just told them I was going to visit Aunt Isabel in Brittany for an indeterminate stay, and everyone said ‘ okay, great, have a good time .’
Two days later I packed up my car and drove off. Leaving Sara and the girls waving cheerfully on the doorstep. I had wondered if I would regret my decision, but I didn’t. For the first time in years, it seemed as though some burden had been lifted from my shoulders. I was still able to do this, make a choice, do something different, spend my money how I wanted to. Dare I say it, just for a change, put myself first instead of always last?
I caught the overnight ferry from Portsmouth to St Malo, leaving the rain behind and arriving early the following morning to a bright, French day. Even that made me feel better and more positive. I leaned over the edge of the ship’s railing, watching the ferry approaching the quayside while anxious people rushed down the iron staircases to their cars. It felt odd to be doing this on my own, everyone else seemed to have a family or at least a companion.
The air felt fresher too. The sky bigger, and bluer. None of this was probably true, but I felt an unexpected leap of relief that no one was nagging me, asking for anything, or complaining about something. This immediately made me feel anxious all over again, that I was leaving Sara and her daughters to sort themselves out. Although yesterday the three of them had seemed unusually ebullient as they watched me leave.
I had driven a lot in France over the years because Stephen refused to, and I was looking forward to the journey to Isabel’s house, where I was sure I would find the tranquillity I needed. Even if a tiny part of my brain reminded me that Isabel was anything but tranquil.
After the first few miles of jangling nerves, I settled into the journey. I had set directions on my satnav, and it piped up from time to time to encourage me on my way.
I was driving along the rather splendid N176, which apparently also liked to be called the E401, but I soon got used to its tricks. And I felt an unexpected leap of happiness that I was doing this. I was proving to myself that I was just as capable and organised as the next person.
The sun was shining, there wasn’t much traffic and I gradually relaxed as I passed industrial estates, wooded slopes, and the occasional isolated farmhouse. I even thought about putting the radio on but decided against it. I found that if I was listening to the radio in the car, I sometimes needed to turn it down to see better. And that wasn’t something I was prepared to risk in France, where one wrong turn might send me off to Nantes or Bordeaux or any number of towns where I might get completely lost.
The relative quiet and the beautiful scenery were enough entertainment for me then, and by the time I passed Lamballe, I was feeling quite relaxed. Despite it reminding me of the unfortunate Princess de Lamballe, favourite of Marie Antoinette, who came to a very unpleasant end.
After a while I turned off onto a new dual carriageway where the traffic was sparse and the scenery changed to broad, flat fields, with still the occasional farm or garage. It felt more familiar now, and my excitement grew with every mile. It felt as though I was heading for a place where I was going to be able to – what did the twins call it? – chill. Chillax. That was a very encouraging thought.
It was wonderful to be doing something different, not just plodding through the weeks, remembering which bin to put out on a Friday, not just cleaning the house and tweaking the garden. This was an adventure.
Perhaps there would be a cassoulet bubbling away in the oven, a basket of delicious bread and salty butter, some rough local wine from their friends’ vineyards. Isabel would hug me and make me welcome. That night I would be sleeping in a quiet, comfortable bedroom, with perhaps just the echoes of the old house timbers creaking contentedly as I slept. Or maybe in one of the g?tes , knowing that no one was going to barge in crying or asking me to settle a dispute.
In the morning it would be sunny, with a brisk, refreshing wind coming from the river. Maybe the sounds of a few chickens scratching in the dirt. Did Isabel even have chickens? I didn’t remember any but then it had been three years ago. She had been talking about getting some to go with the other animals that roamed around their house. Perhaps by now the dogs would stop leaping up at me every time I appeared in the kitchen…
I went back to my pleasant thoughts. I remembered the kitchen table that Felix had made many years ago out of an old barn door, where I had drunk perfect coffee from a pottery bol , the distinctive café au lait bowls that Isabel collected and displayed on her dresser. I imagined mounds of organic vegetables spilling out of a trug, waiting for Isabel to work her magic, making delicious meals.
I was distracted from my daydream of huge cushiony croissants and apricot jam by a massive, green tractor veering around the corner in front of me. Just as I was about to honk the horn and let fly with a fruity oath, I realised I was in the wrong, I had drifted onto the left side of the narrow road.
There was a screech of my brakes, a similar but industrial strength noise from the tractor, and then a volley of French words from the driver which I was pretty sure was not a cordial greeting. The tractor passed on, kicking up some clumps of gravel which peppered my windscreen like gunshots. I flinched, came to a spinning, abrupt halt on the grass verge, stalled the engine and sank down in my seat. Then I closed my eyes in relief that the whole event hadn’t been worse.
The tractor sped away, probably with the driver’s rude language floating behind him like black smoke, and I took a deep breath. I could feel my heart thudding, and all too easily imagine what might have happened. Me in a ditch probably with the airbags deployed and a broken nose, the front of the car crumpled. Then the arrival of the police, swiftly followed by the Sapeurs-Pompiers to cut me out of my car, and then an ambulance to cart me off to hospital. And all this in French. It didn’t bear thinking about. Where were my insurance documents anyway?
I looked up and took an inventory of the damage. Apart from the fact that I was slewed at right angles across the narrow road, the worst thing that had happened was that my handbag had skidded off the seat next to me into the footwell, disgorging all its contents onto the floor. I heaved a heartfelt sigh, realising how lucky I had been, and got out of the car, going round the other side to open the passenger door.
Head down and bottom up I scrabbled around under the passenger seat to retrieve my purse, passport, various keys, two lipsticks that I hadn’t known were in there, a small notebook and three – no four pens, a tin of breath mints, which had spilled out everywhere, a dry-cleaning ticket I thought I’d lost, a folding umbrella with a broken spoke, which had wedged itself into the carpet with the impact and my spare glasses. How could one reasonably ordinary handbag contain so much rubbish? And I thought I had cleared it out before I left home. Obviously not.
I paused from retrieving all the detritus and lay across the seat for a moment with my head in my hands, actually enjoying the break from the drive and the noise of the car engine.
I was startled by the irritated honking of a car horn somewhere behind me, and I jerked upright, banging my head on the door frame.
Stunned for a moment, and actually seeing stars, I rubbed the sore spot and looked around. A red truck sort of vehicle was waiting in the road, blocked of course by my car and the open passenger door. A man leaned out of the driver’s window.
‘ Dépêche-toi! Qu’est-ce tu fais ?’
Hurry up, what are you doing?
Bloody cheek, I would have thought it was obvious.
I backed out, rear end first, from my less than elegant position across the car seat and stood up. Ooh. a bit woozy there. I rocked gently for a moment and the newcomer beeped his horn again.
‘ Seras-tu beaucoup plus longtemps ?’
‘I don’t know if I am going to be much longer. I’ve just had an accident!’ I shouted, searching around in my memory banks for the right word. ‘ Un accident. ’
The man rolled his eyes and after a moment got out of his car. He was tall and long-legged, wearing the sort of blue boiler suit a lot of French farmers wear. He pulled off his baseball cap, revealing grey hair cropped close to his head.
‘ êtes-vous d’accord? Okay?’
‘Oui, ’ I said stiffly, not wanting him to take me for a complete fool. What other French words did I know? ‘ Pas mal. Not bad.’
‘ Alors, je suis pressé, ’ he made some encouraging hand signals towards me, and slipped into English, which was a relief, ‘I’m in a hurry. Perhaps you could move? Now?’
He sounded very annoyed, and I was suddenly cross. It felt as though a dam of frustration had suddenly burst inside me, and it all came flooding out in a torrent of irritation. It was absolutely not like me at all. Perhaps it was the adrenalin rush. The possibility that I might have been injured, my car written off, my holiday ruined before it had even begun.
I turned and faced him.
‘And I’ve had a very early start, I didn’t sleep very well on the ferry and nearly had a bad accident. Which, okay, might have been my fault because I was on the wrong side of the road, but I’ve only been here for a couple of hours, and everyone knows it takes time to get used to it. And I’ve had a really difficult time recently, with my family all being considered, and if you farmers didn’t try to drive like Emerson Fittipaldi there wouldn’t be a problem. And on top of that I might well be concussed, but don’t let that bother you, you rude, obnoxious man. I’ll gladly get out of your way and then I’ll probably collapse in the ditch with a brain haemorrhage. How would that suit you?’
He pushed out his lower lip thoughtfully. I wondered how much of that he had understood.
‘I cannot see any blood,’ he said after a few minutes.
This made me even crosser. I felt like a stroppy child being admonished for not doing their homework.
‘Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry about that. If I had known I was going to inconvenience you I would have bashed myself a bit harder, so it would have made it worth your while.’
He laughed. He actually laughed. The nerve of the man.
‘I’m glad you didn’t,’ he said. ‘Do you need an ambulance? Médecin ? To see a doctor?’
I did a quick mental check on all my limbs and faculties.
‘No,’ I said, ‘I don’t.’
‘ Bon. Good. So perhaps you could…?’ he made some vague, encouraging motions with his hands and I did some flouncing and slammed the passenger door closed, unfortunately catching the side of my coat and crunching on my favourite reading glasses (which had been in the pocket) at the same time.
I looked up at him and could see him biting back a smile that made me even more furious.
I opened the car door and freed myself with as much dignity as possible, and then I retrieved the mangled remains of my glasses and shoved them into my handbag, scattering some of the breath mints out onto the road.
‘It’s not funny,’ I said.
‘No, indeed,’ he agreed.
‘Right, I’m moving,’ I said.
‘Thank you,’ he said, with a little bow.
I got back into the driving seat and turned the ignition, which mercifully fired up the first time. The last thing I would have needed was for my car to play up in revenge. Then, still very rattled, I forgot to put the car into reverse and jerked forward, nearly catapulting myself into the drainage ditch. I slammed on the brakes just in time and reversed onto the road, my tyres spinning on the mud. And then I pulled to one side, lowered my window and waved him past me. I don’t think I trusted myself to move while he was there looking, and I certainly didn’t want him following me down the lane.
He drove past me with another toot of his horn and a rather jaunty wave. He was definitely grinning. I resisted the urge to make a rude gesture at the back of his truck and bent and rested my head on the steering wheel for a moment. I’d been in such a great mood too before all this. That sort of outburst wasn’t like me at all, and it wasn’t his fault that I’d had an accident, I knew perfectly well it was mine. I’d been driving along, dreaming about what a lovely time I was going to have with my sister. Why hadn’t I allowed myself to get this cross with my family? I evidently had a lot of pent-up rage and unfortunately that man had been the lucky recipient.