Chapter 12
12
The metal storage shed was huge, with an old tractor and some bales of straw taking up a lot of space at one end, and wooden crates and metal trunks at the other. Plus there was a number of carboard boxes, several terracotta pots and garden ornaments, and some bulging black bin liners hung from the rafters.
Marcel and Antoine, far from being worn out by their morning walk, came too and as soon as Isabel opened the doors they shot into one corner of the barn and started barking.
‘Mice I expect, although there are a couple of semi-feral cats somewhere. Minou and Chou are pretty good hunters, or of course, it might be rats,’ Isabel said, ‘which is why some of the things are hanging from the ceiling. I think both those dogs have lurcher or terrier in their ancestry. They love coming in here.’
Glad to not be the focus of the dogs’ attention for once, and ignoring the sounds of scuffling and excited yipping, I went with Isabel to start investigating the contents of her new boxes.
‘How will you fit all this into the barn?’ I asked, amazed at the amount of things she had collected over the winter.
‘Oh, I won’t do that. I like to put out a really good display to start with, of course, but if a customer says they are looking for bed linen or lace, I tell them I shouldn’t be telling them this, but I am expecting a new delivery, and they should come back in an hour. And then I find what they are looking for and put it out.’
‘And do they come back?’
‘Nearly always.’
‘My sister the entrepreneur,’ I said, full of admiration.
‘The one thing I’m not very good at is display, you know, making things look enticing? Some people can make a pile of crockery look good, but I’m not one of those people. And you are. You only have to compare our dressers. Yours is a beautiful display of Spode blue and white china with a couple of quirky touches, mine looks like a Saturday night drunk has thrown stuff at it.’
‘You did a lovely job in my bedroom,’ I said.
Isabel pulled a face. ‘That was mostly Margot, Sylveste’s girlfriend. She’s very artistic and clever.’
I pulled out a length of hand-stitched bunting from one of the boxes, it was absolutely delightful in shades of blue and cream. I was sure I could do something with that. And then there were exquisite lace panels and crocheted throws. Admittedly, they were rather grubby and scrunched up, but they could be laundered. I began to feel rather excited at the prospects.
There were some lovely old patio pots, with cherubs and lions’ heads on the side. A miniature three-shelf étagère made out of curly ironwork and behind that a proper auricula theatre of faded painted wood. The possibilities were endless. And there was nothing I liked better than tidying things up, making rooms look attractive and welcoming. I’d always been like that, even my student room had pictures of Alphonse Mucha’s four seasons on the walls and a new lightshade. And I’d found a fabulous patchwork bedspread in the local market for 50p, which had been perfect once I had washed and mended it.
The scenario in front of me suddenly stirred something I had almost forgotten. Yes, I had done all I could to make my home ‘family ready’, but no one ever seemed to notice it. Look at the Christmas I’d just had. No one but me bothered to turn on the battery illuminated nativity on the mantelpiece, or the fairy lights strung up the bannisters. And I don’t think my granddaughters had switched on their own little attic Christmas tree once. Surely people other than me liked such things?
I peered inside a plastic crate that contained twenty-four miniature milk bottles with ‘ Lait de campagne’ on the side in a suitably rustic, faded green paint. I could almost see it; a long table set with a red gingham cloth, the wicker baskets open to show off delightfully pretty teacups and saucers (I’d noticed some in a box), the milk bottles (minus the dead spiders) arranged artfully around. Perhaps a couple filled with wildflowers, or ears of wheat. And that hand-made bunting would be ideal as a backdrop.
Just as I was letting my imagination spin off into creating a tableau of French rural life, using the ornamental enamel pails to hold some shining red apples and the faience bowl decorated with a man in bloomers, perhaps full of lemons – the bowl not the bloomers – there was a terrific racket from the corner of the barn, and a lot of growling from the dogs.
‘Sounds like they have got something,’ Isabel said.
‘Do you have a lot of rats here then?’ I asked rather nervously.
‘No more than anyone else,’ Isabel said, ‘they do say you are never far away from a rat. Or mouse. And we have bats too although I haven’t seen any yet this year. It’s been too cold.’
We then went over to the display barn, leaving Marcel and Antoine barking happily over something, and Isabel opened the doors. It didn’t look too promising. There were a lot of dead leaves blown in over the winter, one dim light bulb in the middle of the ceiling, no windows of course, and a lot of spiders’ webs. There was also a musty smell of dust and possibly damp. But there was a wonderful long oak table covered in pigeon droppings, the surface gouged with scratches and even a chunk missing from one corner, which after I cleaned it up, could be perfect for the sort of display I had been imagining.
‘So, what do you think?’ Isabel asked after a few minutes.
‘I’d love to have a try,’ I said, dragging my mind away from the old enamel signs for Mobilgas petrol, Le Train Blu and Grand Marnier I had seen propped up against the wall.
‘You’re hired,’ Isabel said, pleased.
Marcel and Antoine suddenly raced past the door, barking loudly and a moment later, we heard a truck pull up outside.
‘That must be the boys,’ Isabel said, ‘they were supposed to call in the other day but didn’t. Come and say hello to your nephews.’
Outside there was a truck, the back of which was covered with a tarpaulin and had ‘ Travaux de Jardin’ inscribed on the bonnet.
‘Pierre! Sylveste! Tante Joy est arrive !’
Aunt Joy has arrived.
Well that made me feel positively ancient, especially when the two very tall and well-muscled young men jumped down from the cab. They were very welcoming, coming to give me a hug and the obligatory double-cheek kiss, and they seemed genuinely pleased to see me.
Pierre swept off the woolly cap that was pulled over his dark curls respectfully, and Sylveste was very muddy, something for which he repeatedly apologised.
‘ Nous avons creusé des fossés . We have been digging ditches, for the professor,’ he explained.
My ears pricked up. Did they mean the Harrison Ford lookalike from the other side of the river? It seemed they did.
‘He was in a good mood today,’ Pierre said, pulling out a tin and rolling a cigarette, ‘and he paid us without any argument.’
‘This is not always the case,’ Sylveste added, ‘Luc is sometimes grincheux – grumpy. But today, even a smile. He said he saw you both in town yesterday. And he asked about Aunt Joy.’
Luc had asked about me? It was on the tip of my tongue to ask for details, but I didn’t want to appear too keen, because undoubtedly someone would tell him.
Sylveste gave a meaningful nod towards his mother who raised her eyebrows in surprise.
‘Perhaps you made an impression,’ she said.
‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘You’re both looking very well. Is business good?’
Pierre took a long puff at his cigarette.
‘Pretty good, now the better weather is coming. But today we need to finish off the g?tes, otherwise nous serons grondés – we will be in trouble.’
‘Indeed, you will,’ Isabel agreed, ‘would you like some lunch first? I am making soup.’
Unsurprisingly they said they would. We left them shouting at each other and unloading their tools from the back of the truck and went back into the house.
When we got there, Isabel paused in the doorway to admire our handiwork of earlier that morning.
‘This is amazing,’ she said, ‘I can see the table, it doesn’t look like my kitchen at all. And all the washing-up is done and put away. You are a treasure, Joy. I wish you had been here over Christmas; I could have done with someone clearing up.’
‘I was a bit busy doing that at home,’ I said.
‘Didn’t anyone help at all?’
‘Not really. Vanessa had just had a manicure and said she couldn’t help because I don’t own a pair of rubber gloves, and Sara was too busy making wine glasses dirty and leaving them all over the house. I even found one in the downstairs loo. And I’m afraid none of the girls or John for that matter, would have thought about it. I am only now realising what a doormat I was, so really, I should blame myself.’
Isabel went to resume the leek chopping, putting a big pan onto the stove, and melting a sizzling lump of butter.
‘I’m not expecting you to clear up,’ Isabel said quickly, ‘I’m just grateful you do.’
‘I don’t mind doing it, I just didn’t like being taken for granted.’
And that was the truth of it, I guessed. When I was doing all those meals and all that food preparation, I didn’t necessarily want anyone to help me, I just wanted the occasional offer or acknowledgment, perhaps a thank you.
Isabel tipped the chopped leeks and garlic into the pan and there was a wonderful aroma which filled the kitchen in seconds. Moments later there was a familiar brief knock on the door and Eugénie – dressed in a very smart, navy-blue coat and red gloves – came in.
‘Did you get your letters written?’ Isabel said from her place at the stove, ‘and did you go into town to post them.’
Eugénie sat down and pulled off her gloves, which she laid neatly on the table.
‘I changed my mind. I thought it possible I would have a trip or fall. I was about to go out and I saw those lovely boys arrive. What are you making?’
‘Leek soup. Without the potatoes before you ask.’
‘ Bon ,’ Eugénie said, ‘everyone is fat enough. I will join you if I am invited?’
‘ Bien s?r . Of course,’ Isabel said.
Half an hour later the soup was made – with a running commentary from Eugénie and interference from Pierre and Sylveste – and we were sitting around the table enjoying it. There was a large pain de campagne loaf too with a criss-crossed, crusty top, and a big wedge of brie, which Eugénie looked at as though it was poisonous.
A lot of the conversation was in French, but I was beginning to remember quite a bit, and I was even beginning to understand more than I thought I would. Still, I was grateful that out of politeness to me, they spoke English too. And even though it was quite a simple meal everyone was being pleasant and appreciative. Why couldn’t it always be like this?
‘We will start on connecting up the water,’ Pierre said, ‘it won’t take long. And the work on the roof is nearly finished.’
‘Knowing how you two get distracted and wander off, I will believe it when I see it,’ Isabel said, cutting herself a slice of brie under the disapproving gaze of her mother-in-law.
Eugénie was quick to come to their defence.
‘These boys are hard workers,’ she said, ‘you have nothing to be cross about. They are just like their grandfather, my Bastien, God rest his soul. Now there was a man who knew what hard work was.’
Sylveste grinned at her across the table. ‘ Mamie, thank you.’
Eugénie fished in her handbag, pulled out two five euro notes and pushed them over the table.
‘ C’est pour les bonbons. ’
Buy yourself some sweets.
Nothing changes, not really.
Pierre and Sylveste got up from the table and put their bowls in the sink.
‘ Mamie , you don’t need to give them pocket money,’ Isabel said, ‘they are grown up. They earn more than enough, mostly from me at the moment, if they ever get on with the job.’
Eugénie ignored her.
‘ Du café if it’s convenient, and then I must get on with my day.’
‘What have you got planned?’ I asked. ‘Anything exciting?’
Eugénie gave me a look. ‘I need to post my letters and then see the priest about my funeral. I want to be sure it will all be done properly.’
‘A bit premature, don’t you think?’ Isabel said.
Eugénie gave a look at the ceiling as though she was St Joan at the stake waiting for the flames.
‘It’s as well to be prepared. On ne sais jamais. We never know…’
Pierre went to give his grandmother a hug and her face creased into a delighted smile.
‘My good boy, I will remember you in my will.’
‘Nonsense, Mamie , you are as strong as I am,’ Pierre said, ‘you can come and help us move the pipes if you want?’
Eugénie giggled rather girlishly and flapped a hand at him.
‘Terrible boy,’ she said dotingly.
She watched them go, a fond and proud smile on her face, and for a moment I rather envied her. She evidently was, and always had been, a caring grandmother, and her grandsons loved her despite her prickly nature. But I loved my granddaughters, too, and yet they were not like that with me.
Perhaps I spent too much time worrying about them and clearing up after them and not enough on actually getting to know them? That was an interesting thought. But now two of them were thousands of miles away. I would have to go and see them in New York, that was the answer.
It must be quite a change for them if I thought about it. They had left everything and just about everyone they knew. And in the same way, Sara’s daughters had been through a life changing event. Despite their bravado, it can’t have been easy for any of them.
I felt a sudden pang of regret and picked up my mobile.
‘Sara, it’s Mum. How are you getting on?’