Chapter 11
11
I woke the following morning just after eight o’clock. The high and stately sleigh bed might have been old and the mattress slightly uneven, but I think I slept better than I had for years. The sheets were embroidered with white thread and were probably some of Isabel’s vintage treasures, the cotton smooth and soft after years of washing and drying outdoors in the French sunshine. No practical duvet here. There were faded blue blankets and a quilted bedspread, which held the faint scent of lavender. Perfect pillows and a little gilt clock lay on the bedside table next to a ceramic pin tray decorated with May blossom. I’d thought I had been good at making my guests comfortable, but this was on another level.
Perhaps it was those things that led to an uninterrupted night’s sleep, or perhaps it was the effect of the apple brandy, or the deep peace of the old attic where the walls were so thick that no sound really penetrated.
I turned my head to look at the window and through a gap in the curtains I could see the sun had risen, and the sky was the delicious misty blue of a winter morning. Perhaps I should get up? Then I caught sight of the tea tray Isabel had given me, and instead – after a quick trip to the bathroom – I made a cup of tea, pulled back the curtains and got back into bed.
From my bed I could see out of the window and the fields below, which were still swirling with early morning mist. In the distance I saw a van looking as small as a toy, travelling along a road, busy with a delivery of newspapers perhaps, or taking vegetables to market. I wondered which vegetables they would be, and I didn’t have a clue. In my supermarket there was no seasonal rotation of vegetables and fruit. Everything was there all the time.
I drank my tea and relaxed. I spent a good ten minutes watching the branch of some climbing plant outside my window, the new leaves only tight buds against the dark wood. Sometimes my mind was busy with questions and thoughts, other times it seemed completely empty, which felt very strange. But then I was beginning to realise there is a certain value to just occasionally doing absolutely nothing, like giving my brain a rest from all those years of worrying and thinking.
It was nearly nine o’clock when I finally got dressed and went downstairs. In the kitchen the stable door was half open and there was the usual chaos of newspapers, paperwork, and the remnants of someone’s breakfast on the table, but no sign of Isabel.
I wondered if I should start to tidy up a bit while I was waiting for her. There was nothing that made me twitchy more than worktops covered in random stuff. The place would look so much better if a few things were tidied away and the washing-up in the sink – which was still jostling for space with yesterday’s muddy leeks – was done. I noticed there was even a cute wooden box on the table, with ‘ Lettres Importantes’ written on the side in curly script, but all it contained was a bottle opener and some elastic bands.
There was, however, a pot of coffee keeping warm on a hotplate, and I poured myself a cup. I went to stand looking out of the kitchen door and spotted Isabel in the distance at the bottom of the garden with the two dogs zooming around her.
She saw me as she came closer to the house and waved. Not just her hand or her arm, but it seemed with all of her; her enthusiasm for the day – perhaps just for being alive was so great.
‘It’s a lovely day,’ she shouted.
I waved back and was suddenly filled with affection for my noisy, disorganised, and generous sister. Last night she had voiced the opinion that we had been apart for too long, and at that moment I felt she was right. Over the last few years, I could have done with some of her energy, her optimism, her ability to see the funny side of just about any situation. How were we so different, I wondered. Two years younger than I was, she had been the unpredictable one, always late, always trying to add some personal and unacceptable touches to the school uniform, fond of taking risks and speaking her mind. And yet despite the fact that she constantly seemed to be in trouble, she had always seemed happier than I had. I might be more financially secure than she was now, but which one of us had found the better life?
‘Coffee,’ she panted as she reached the door, ‘I’ve been out with this pair for a good long walk along the river in the hope that they will be too tired to jump all over you. They might not be worn out, but I’m pooped.’
We sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee and eating some more of her honey and apricot cake out of the tin because she said she had run out of clean plates.
‘I want you to come and have a look at the g?tes. Like I said, they are going to need prettying up before the first guests arrive, and you’re better at that sort of thing than I am.’
It was on the tip of my tongue to mention the delightful place she had created in the attic bedroom and disagree with her, but then I realised she just wanted us to do something together and it gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling.
‘And come and look in the metal storage unit at the new brocante things I have collected over the winter. They’ve been in there because the actual barn is a bit damp, but I’ll be setting things up in there because it’s more attractive and has that rustic charm. People like that.’
‘Has Felix gone to work?’
‘About an hour ago. But the boys should be here sometime this morning. They still have the water to connect up in the g?tes and they promised they would be here,’ she glanced around rather vaguely, ‘I’ve got to find a couple of invoices for them… I wonder where they are.’
‘Well, shall we tidy up a bit?’ I said. ‘We might find them.’
Isabel looked around as though she was seeing the muddle for the first time.
‘I suppose so,’ she said at last, ‘I hate doing that. Do we have to? It only gets in a mess again.’
It was all the encouragement I needed and after we had finished our petit déjeuner, we set to.
I moved the leeks onto the only empty space, which was the windowsill, and then I collected up all the dirty crockery.
‘Have you got a washing-up bowl?’ I said, looking around.
‘No, I turned mine over one day and it was disgusting, all sorts of random stains and things on the bottom. I chucked it out.’
So, I filled the stone sink with hot soapy water and started on the washing-up. Isabel meanwhile sat at the table looking through the piles of paperwork and exclaiming in amazement when she found something interesting or important. Then she found a long letter from someone and sat with some more coffee reading it. Occasionally she read out snippets to me, insisting that this person had been at school with us although I couldn’t remember anyone called Sylvia Anders who used to be good at netball.
‘Listen to this bit. “ I went to the latest school reunion even though my arthritis was playing up and saw Jackie White – who is in a wheelchair – Susan Peacock who has just retired from some high-powered job and looked a million dollars, and Lesley Tims who doesn’t seem to have changed at all, apart from having blue hair.”’
I shook my head as I rinsed off the last plate. ‘They don’t ring a bell.’
Isabel sighed in exasperation. ‘Jackie White had more detentions than anyone in my year, even me. Susan Peacock was in your year, she was the one who pushed Miss Coyle into the swimming pool, accidently on purpose, and Lesley Tims was in my year. She got pregnant. She did her O levels swathed in a huge jumper because everyone knew but none of the teachers did. You must remember that?’
‘I don’t remember any of them.’
Isabel huffed. ‘Well, that’s your fault, you’re the one that left school and was never heard of again. Did you ever go to a school reunion? They happen every five years or so.’
‘No, I don’t think I did.’
‘You should. I didn’t go this time because things were a bit frantic here, but usually I do. You must come with me next time.’
‘I doubt anyone would remember me,’ I said.
‘No, probably not,’ Isabel agreed absentmindedly.
I was a bit annoyed at this. ‘Why not?’
‘Because you never did anything bad or rebellious, did you? That’s what people are remembered for. You know what they say, well-behaved women seldom make history.’
Was that what I had been? I took a moment to think back. Had I spent the whole of my life so far being so well-behaved that no one would remember me? How tragic.
‘I certainly don’t remember anyone getting pregnant,’ I said, ‘I’m sure I would remember that.’
‘They probably didn’t tell you because they thought you might rat on her and then she would have been expelled.’
‘I would never have done that!’
‘Oh well, it’s all ancient history now. Lesley married some red-faced landowner near Oxford and her son is an MP. Sylvia says he’s been on Question Time , talking about potholes, so it all came right in the end. Which just goes to show, it’s not where you start, it’s where you finish. What are you doing?’
‘I’m putting the plates away in the cupboard. This one is empty so I’m assuming that’s where they should go?’
‘Brilliant guess! And the small plates and mugs go in that big drawer.’
‘That’s empty too. Why don’t you just put stuff away?’
Isabel looked puzzled. ‘Because then people want them, and they have to get them out again.’
‘It’s not exactly difficult,’ I said, ‘and why haven’t you got a dishwasher?’
‘The boys kept offering to put one in but then somehow, we never got around to it. And then we would run out of plates and mugs.’
‘And at that point, you switch it on,’ I said.
Isabel raised her eyebrows. ‘Ah, I see. Anyway, it’s done now. Do you think I need to keep these catalogues?’
I took a look, flicking through the pages. ‘Not unless you are planning on ordering a lilac fleece jacket with hamsters embroidered around the bottom. But look, you could also buy a matching hamster scarf and hat and then you would be sent some fleece hamster mittens, free of charge.’
We exchanged a look, and I dumped the pile of catalogues into the recycling, along with booklets on sheds, fire extinguishers and lawnmowers.
We spent the next half hour tidying things up and Isabel managed to file the unopened letters without reading them all and put the envelopes in the yellow recycling bin. Miraculously some space on the table and worktops was beginning to appear.
Just as Isabel was voicing the opinion that we had probably done enough for one day and she was getting bored, there was a perfunctory knock on the door and Eugénie came in, bringing a cloud of floral perfume with her and a wooden box that she dumped on the table.
‘ L?derach Pralines,’ she said, ‘they were a gift from Charles. There are two layers, which is far too many. I have allowed myself only one, but now I am passing them on to you, because otherwise I will get fat and then probably die. I might fall over and lie undiscovered like a beetle on its back. With no one to hear my cries for help.’
Isabel ignored her, obviously used to this sort of maudlin comment, opened the lid and we both gasped at the exquisite selection of chocolates inside.
‘Contains nuts,’ Eugénie added, looking at us in a marked manner, ‘which seems appropriate. What has happened here? Have you been burgled?’
‘We have been tidying up,’ Isabel said proudly. ‘It’s what Joy loves to do.’
‘Thank heavens someone does,’ Eugénie said with an arch of one eyebrow.
I thought about this. Did I love tidying up, or had I just got into the habit?
Isabel made fresh coffee and poured one for Eugénie in her special cup, and then she pulled two pottery bols from the dresser.
‘Remember these? We bought them years ago, in Quimper. With our names on them. I did get one for Felix, but he never drinks café crème . Only you are allowed to use this one.’
I felt quite emotional for a moment thinking of my special bol left on the dresser unused for so long. And then we sat drinking it and eating some of the first layer of the horribly expensive chocolates as though they were Maltesers, while Eugénie watched us over the rim of her espresso, her mouth pursed like a cat’s bottom, and talked about her cholesterol levels.
‘We are going to look in the barn later,’ Isabel said, ‘start to get the brocante ready for the spring.’
‘ C’est ridicule ,’ Eugénie sniffed, ‘ridiculous that people want all that stuff. I cannot believe they give you money. Linen sheets no one wants to launder. Old milk bottles, metal watering cans that no one can lift when they are full and les torchons – nobody needs tea towels these days, everyone has dishwashers. Everyone except you. It is like living in the Middle Ages in this house. A washing machine that doesn’t wash properly, a vacuum cleaner that doesn’t clean?—’
‘Yes it does!’ Isabel said outraged.
Eugénie gave a very French pout and a pouf .
‘Well, it doesn’t look like it. I swear there is tumbleweed under this table that has been there since Halloween.’
‘I didn’t know your eyesight was so good. Anyway, people value old things these days,’ Isabel said completely unbothered by her mother-in-law’s words. That, in itself, was an eye opener for me.
How marvellous to be able to say what one thought, to be honest about opinions and preferences. Isabel had evidently found the right way to handle her mother-in-law, instead of Eugénie being in command, they spoke to each other as equals, and underneath it all I could sense the mutual respect and affection as a result.
‘No one values me, and I am an old thing,’ Eugénie grumbled. ‘I feel very old today, I think there may be something wrong with my liver. I may not be around much longer and then you will regret not appreciating me.’
‘And how is Charles?’ Isabel asked sweetly. She turned to me. ‘ Mamie has an admirer, Charles Verdun. He’s a retired bank manager and he used to be a very fine tenor.’
‘He still thinks he is,’ Eugénie muttered, her fingers drumming on the table while she resisted the chocolates, ‘he never got over being in The Lisbon Story at the town hall in 1977. He was outside my window the other night singing “Pedro the Fisherman”, and let’s be honest, he’s no Richard Tauber. I had to close the curtains and pretend to be asleep before he launched into “Donkey Serenade” .’
‘I would like to have heard that,’ Isabel said.
‘ Non! Not at three in the morning you wouldn’t!.’ Eugénie replied with feeling. ‘He thinks it is so clever, but the shock could have killed me. And sleep evades me at the best of times.’
I bit back a laugh and went to the sink to start washing the leeks.
Eugénie drank another cup of coffee and then, when Isabel asked if she would like to help us out in the barn, decided she had some urgent letters to write and left.
‘She’s quite a character,’ I said, slicing off the thick, green leaves from the leeks.
‘She’s a guinea a minute when she’s had a couple of Dubonnets,’ Isabel agreed. ‘Come on, leave that, let’s go and have a look at my latest treasures. I bet you don’t think they are a load of junk, and the American visitors love brocante . They are some of my best customers. They will spend fifty euros on some things and then spend three times that shipping them back to Boise, Idaho. I have one customer with a chain of stores, who comes back to France twice a year for her winter Cozy Momentz collection and then her summer one, Sunny Delight .’
‘Isn’t that orange juice?’ I asked.
Isabel looked blank. ‘No idea. I just know she likes decorated egg racks and bread bins. She bought six with “ Merci mes Poules” written on the side and twelve bread bins with “M Gustav – Boulanger au Roi” stencilled on the top. She sold them all in a week, apparently. So everyone was happy. That’s what I need, more customers like her. The trouble is, we are a bit out of the way here, I wonder if there is a way to get more noticeable.’
Instead of wittering on about making the soup, I dropped the half-chopped leeks, dried my hands and followed her outside. And I didn’t feel in the slightest bit concerned about leaving a job unfinished, instead I was enjoying being spontaneous, being with my sister, being a part of her life.