Chapter 34
Nicola parked the car just outside the garden gate and looked at the house.
There, in the bright winter sunshine, it looked very much like the painting Lucien had produced – colourful and full of light and hope.
She sighed, thinking of the sadness inside, of the desperate situation that her friend and his family were facing.
Next to her on the seat was a box of mince pies Mum had forced her to bring, as well as a chunk of the family Christmas cake wrapped in tinfoil and a bottle of mulled wine. She’d bought some chocolates from the supermarket en route, hoping they’d be to Matthieu’s taste.
All her gifts seemed trivial and insignificant under the circumstances. But she had woken this morning with a desperate need to do something, to at least show her friend that she was there for him, that she could support him and Matthieu, if there was anything she could do.
She hoped it was the right decision. The house was devoid of any signs of life. The shutters on the downstairs window remained closed – only a top window was open, the shutter broken free from its catch and blowing slightly in the light breeze.
Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and climbed out of the car. Then, looking again at the blank face of the house and wondering whether she ought to have called first, she gathered herself, opened the gate and walked up to the front door.
One of her university friends had lost her mother when she was eight years old.
Nicola still remembered the night when her friend had told them the story of what had happened.
‘The worst thing was that everyone stayed away,’ she’d said.
‘People didn’t know what to do, what to say, so they just didn’t come around any more.
They thought they’d be in the way. But we needed people more than ever. ’
Her words had stayed with Nic, and as she knocked on Lucien’s door, they replayed in her head.
Her instinct, too, had been to stay away, to give the family space.
But it was the last thing they probably needed.
And Lucien hadn’t stayed away when she’d been lonely and sad in the past few weeks.
He’d shown up. The least she could do was offer him the same.
There was a scuffling sound and the door opened, revealing Matthieu who looked up at her confusedly.
‘Hi, Matthieu,’ she said. ‘Is Lucien… Is your father here?’
Lucien appeared behind his son in the hallway. ‘Matthieu, you know not to answer the door…’ he began. His eyes brightened a little when he saw Nicola standing there. ‘Oh, hello,’ he said.
‘Hi. I hope it’s OK for me to call around.
I just wanted to… bring you some things.
’ She was embarrassed suddenly about the bag, about the gifts.
Everything seemed too trivial, too light.
But she’d done it now. She drew the chocolate out of the top of the bag and handed it to Matthieu, who grabbed it and raced away as if worried she might change her mind.
‘Sorry,’ she said, making a face, ‘I hope he’s allowed…’
Lucien nodded. His skin was pale, his eyes shadowed. ‘At this moment, he can have anything he likes,’ he said sadly.
She followed him into the kitchen diner where a fire roared in the grate. The room was dark and the flickering flames danced in light and shadow on the dimly lit walls.
‘Sorry,’ Lucien said, opening a window and lifting the catch on the shutters.
‘I just haven’t organised myself properly today.
’ He pushed back the concertinaed wood and the crisp winter daylight flooded in, revealing a kitchen that was in disarray, still carrying some of the debris of their Christmas dinner less than forty-eight hours before.
Annabelle’s bed remained, its covers creased and flung to one side, and the glasses were still half filled with wine.
Lucien took it all in as if for the first time. ‘Sorry,’ he said again.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. My place is probably at least as bad as this and I haven’t…’ She couldn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she placed the bag gently on a chair and began to stack the plates from the table, bringing them over to the sink.
Quietly, Lucien filled the sink with soap and water and began to wash the dishes as she cleared. She scraped food into the bin, poured wine away, gathered up the place mats and tablecloths. Then, when everything was next to the sink, she picked up a tea towel and began to dry.
She wasn’t a fan of washing up, but there was something soothing in simply standing there next to him, taking each plate and drying it, creating a stack of fresh, shiny crockery out of the mess she’d seen when she arrived.
They didn’t talk much during the work, simply moving together to create cleanliness where there had been mess.
When they’d finished, the kitchen looked bright and purposeful, the table clear and ready for whatever happened next.
Lucien filled a kettle and put it on the stove to boil.
‘Coffee?’ he said. It was the first time he’d spoken in several minutes and his voice cracked slightly, as if from underuse.
‘Yes please.’
She sat at the table next to her bag and waited.
Then when he came over with two small cups, balanced delicately on porcelain saucers, she pulled out the treats her mother had bestowed on her.
‘Mince pies,’ she said, brandishing the Tupperware, ‘and Christmas cake – it’s got a lot of brandy in it, so be warned.
And honestly, don’t feel you have to eat any of it if you don’t want to. It might not be to your taste.’
‘Thank you.’ He looked at the plastic box. ‘It will be fun to try. You made this?’
‘Oh no, it was my mum.’ She told him about her family, how they’d surprised her when she got home and he’d smiled, although even this was tinged with sadness.
An almost unbearable silence fell over them. Finally, she made herself ask, ‘Is Annabelle… Any news?’
He shook his head. ‘But we hope.’
She reached out and squeezed his hand gently. ‘I know.’
The bag was half open on the table, and she saw Lucien’s eyes flicker on the bright paper inside.
‘I brought you something else,’ she said, feeling embarrassed and almost ridiculous.
‘It’s stupid, really. I just…’ She pulled out the package.
‘I hope you don’t think…’ She had no idea how to explain it, really.
Looking a little confused, Lucien pulled the paper open to reveal the porcelain angel. Its golden halo almost immediately caught the light from the window and seemed to shine. ‘Your angel!’
She felt her cheeks get hot. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time. But… now… Look, people say it’s good luck. And I’m not really a believer in that sort of thing. I just thought if there’s even a kernel of truth in that, then…’
‘Then I need it.’ He set the angel down. ‘You’re right. It’s kind. Thank you.’
‘I mean, things seemed to work out for me, so…’ But her face felt even hotter. Was she seriously comparing her brief period of loneliness to his situation, a time when he might lose his wife, his son’s mother? ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No. Don’t be.’ He put the angel on the kitchen windowsill, where it was drenched in the bright sunshine.
‘I have done some things I never thought I’d do recently.
I lit a candle in the church, but I don’t really believe…
I tried to tidy the garden and found myself looking for four-leaf clovers.
’ He reached forward with both his hands and clutched hers.
‘Matthieu, too. He believes in Père Noel of course, and wrote him a letter. He asked for no presents, but just that his mother is made better. He drew a picture of a heart.’ Lucien’s voice dipped at the final words.
‘It was hard to see his sadness when his hero didn’t deliver what he asked. ’
‘Oh, Lucien,’ she said, feeling the threatening sting of tears in her eyes.
‘It is hard to feel helpless, so we do what we need to do. And the angel is appreciated. After all, as you say, you never know.’
She nodded sadly. ‘Well, we’re all praying for you.’
‘Your family is religious.’
She shook her head, smiling. ‘No. But we’re doing it anyway.’
Half an hour later, she left. Matthieu, less shy of her now, appeared from his bedroom, his fingers and face covered in chocolate, and waved enthusiastically.
‘Oh God, sorry,’ she said as she imagined the mess he must have made in his room too.
‘It is my fault. I let him run off with the chocolate. Annabelle would kill me,’ Lucien said, smiling sadly. ‘But it is hard to care about it right now.’
‘I know.’ She leaned in and gave him a hug. He responded, his arms wrapping around her tightly, as if needing the comfort.
‘Is your family… Is anyone coming?’ she asked.
Lucien nodded. ‘Annabelle’s parents are coming tomorrow. They are angry with me, as we asked them to stay away at Christmas. I was worried it would be too much. And now she is so very sick…’
‘It’s impossible to get these things right.’ She touched his arm again, looked into his eyes. ‘I want you to call me if you need anything. I can watch Matthieu, I can help with food, shopping. Anything you need, OK? Day or night.’
‘Thank you.’ Lucien seemed to want to say something else, but shook his head almost imperceptibly.
‘What is it?’
‘I wanted to say it is strange. You are a new friend, we do not know each other very well or for very long. Yet you are the only one of my friends to really… well, to offer these things. To come around. To be there.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘People struggle.’
‘Well, thank you. Because it means a lot.’
‘And you were there too, for me,’ she said. ‘When I was lonely. It meant a lot to me too.’
The winter sunshine had begun to melt the stubborn snow, and green was showing through on the fields in patches as she drove back to Eymoutiers.
Cars passed, going faster than they had been able to recently, on the clear, wet roads.
Water from the melted snow sprayed up, and she put on her wipers to clear the screen.
The sun was almost offensively bright, and she wished she’d thought to bring a pair of sunglasses with her.
She thought about Lucien, of Annabelle and Matthieu.
Then her thoughts returned to her own family, waiting for her at home.
She’d promised they’d explore the town today, that she’d show them all the sights – what few there were.
Tomorrow they’d visit the market in Limoges which remained in situ until 31 December.
She wanted to give them the best Christmas possible while they were here.
It was difficult to know that, in a few days, they’d have to make the journey back to England, leaving her once again alone.
But she wasn’t afraid of that any more. She’d found new friends, new resilience within herself.
And spring would soon come, Steven would be here and their life together in this beautiful new place would finally start.