After their late-night patrol, Alain had accompanied Belinda back to the house and made her a hot chocolate.
‘Things, they always look better in the morning,’ he’d said, handing her the drink. ‘Take this and go to bed and try to sleep. I told Hervé that I’d make sure the vide-grenier signs were all in place tonight for the morning. Twenty minutes and I return.’
Obediently, Belinda did as she was told and five minutes later she was sitting up in bed nursing the mug and sipping the rich drink. Sadly, despite the fact she felt emotionally exhausted, sleep didn’t come when she turned off the light and snuggled down under the duvet. Everything Anouk had told her was going round and round in her head, throwing up new questions. Did it matter that her parents had never married? No. Had her dad loved her? Yes, she was sure he did. But why hadn’t he kept in touch with her? Why hadn’t he divorced Helena? Surely the five-year separation rule came into force here? Why had her mum turned on her dad and run away? Why? Why? Why? The questions kept coming. It was 3 a.m. when Belinda admitted to herself that if she wanted answers to at least some of her questions, as selfish as it probably was, she needed to visit her father before it was too late.
The smell of coffee woke her Sunday morning from the fitful sleep she’d finally sunk into and Belinda dragged herself out of bed at eight o’clock, feeling drained. A quick glance in the bathroom mirror confirmed she looked as bad as she felt. A hot shower went someway to making her feel better and a careful application of foundation and eye make-up managed to camouflage the worst of the lack of sleep damage to her face.
Alain was in the kitchen when she went downstairs and poured her a cup of coffee. ‘Croissant?’ he said, pointing to the plate on the table.
Belinda pulled a chair out and sat at the table before helping herself to one. ‘Thanks.’ She took a mouthful of coffee. ‘Thank you for last night too,’ she said. ‘You make a mean hot chocolate.’ She smothered a yawn. ‘Sorry, I didn’t get a lot of sleep. What time can we expect the hordes to arrive?’
‘Hervé should be here any time soon and people wanting to set up in about twenty minutes.’ Alain looked at her. ‘You okay? You prefer to stay ’ere? ’Ave a day off?’
Belinda shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I prefer to be doing something.’
A car door slammed outside and a minute later Hervé knocked on the door. ‘Bonjour à vous. Ready for a fun day?’
‘Oui. Allons-y. Belinda will follow us later,’ and to Belinda’s relief, Alain ushered Hervé away before he came into the kitchen. She needed the caffeine to kick in before she was up to meeting and greeting people properly.
It was half an hour later, after two cups of coffee, before she felt ready to face the busy day ahead. Checking she had some money in her pocket and clipping BB’s lead on before locking the cottage door behind her, she ventured outside to find the campsite bustling with activity.
Alain had nailed signs to trees pointing to the parking area and also roped off the area where people could set up their tables. Belinda knew that Hervé was expecting about fifty stallholders to set up their individual tables and already most of these were in place, ahead of the official opening at ten o’clock.
As she wandered around, Belinda walked past tables selling children’s toys, clothes and games, books, bric-a-brac, plants, kitchen utensils, furniture, pictures. Everything, in fact, including the kitchen sink, was for sale. Belinda stopped by one particular seller who had simply set out her things on two large cloths on the ground. In amongst the plates, the coffee grinders, the pictures, the candles and the miscellaneous cutlery the woman had laid on the second cloth, was a battered and chipped painted plaster cast of a horse’s head. Belinda bent down and picked it up as her mind went straight back to her childhood.
For her tenth birthday, she’d received a modelling kit with several different horse moulds, a large bag of Plaster of Paris and paints. Her favourite mould had been a horse head just like this one that her dad had helped her to make. Once it was ready, she’d painted it to look as much like Lucky as she could. She’d mixed colours until she’d obtained just the right shiny chestnut colour for the head and carefully added the long white baize down the face once it was dry. She’d been so proud of herself. The finished head had sat on the shelf in her room until…
‘C’est five euros.’ The stallholder’s voice brought Belinda out of her reverie.
She smiled at the woman before pulling a five-euro note out of her pocket and handing it to her. She didn’t really want the chipped ornament but couldn’t find it in her to say so. It had brought back a precious happy memory. ‘Merci.’ Belinda turned and moved away. She’d put it on the table in her room and take it back to the UK when she left.
The car park was filling up and more people were milling around, laughing and joking as they met up with friends and family, all scanning the tables and stalls for that elusive item that could be worth a fortune, or at the very least be a bargain they couldn’t refuse.
Because the café wasn’t open, she and Alain had agreed to Yann setting up his catering van, selling coffee, cold drinks and, later in the day, there would be glasses of wine and beer for sale. She could see Alain was over there, talking to Yann and Hervé, and she wandered over to join them.
‘Something tells me that you were horse-mad when you were younger,’ Alain said, looking at the head.
‘I was. I even made plaster models like this one,’ Belinda confessed. ‘Trip down memory lane. A happy one,’ she assured him when she caught his anxious glance.
‘Peut-être you ride these days?’ Hervé asked. ‘I ’ave two horses.’
‘I haven’t ridden for years,’ Belinda said, shaking her head. ‘But thank you.’ She turned to Alain. ‘I thought I’d go and see if Marie would like a break from the office and have a look round. I’ll see you later.’
Wandering back to the office Belinda delighted in seeing the campsite brought to life with people milling around, searching for bargains on the stalls and generally enjoying themselves. There was even a game of boule being played on the pitch at the edge of the entertainment area. Maybe Alain was right – access to traditional things was vital and that a feeling of community was still important in these days of hi-tech.