I UNEXPECTEDLY RAN INTO FRANCK, the estate agent, a few days later when I was in the village doing a pregnancy-craving-fuelled pastry run. If I was forced to eat another scone, I was sure I’d give birth to one.
“Bonjour, Ella. Bonne nouvelle, non?” he said after kissing me hello and eyeing my rather bulging bag of chocolate croissants.
“Good news? What do you mean?” I asked in French.
“You haven’t heard? Your father put in an offer on a house just down the road. It’s been accepted.”
“Excusez-moi, but I think you’re mistaken. I don’t have a father,” I said.
He looked at me like I was crazy for a few long moments.
Oh, shoot, maybe he means Ray . . .
“Ray?” I asked.
“Yes, your papa, non?”
“No, well, not really. My soon-to-be-stepfather,” I clarified, to which Franck looked baffled, but undeterred.
“Well, he’s soon to be the proud owner of a three-bedroom house in Chinon,” he soldiered on.
“You’re joking, right? Did you set this little prank up with Serge?”
“Mais non, I did the paperwork yesterday. It is a very good purchase. A great price.”
“But why wouldn’t he have told me? Mum certainly hasn’t mentioned it.”
“This I cannot know, Ella. Perhaps you should ask Ray yourself?” he suggested.
“Oh, I will,” I said, walking out of the bakery furiously.
As I drove home, I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that both Serge and Ray had bought surprise houses in the same village in rural France. It was almost like a bad joke.
“Ella, I have the most wonderful news,” Mum told me when I called to ask her about the house.
“I know,” I said. “At least I know you have news. I’m just not sure how wonderful it is.”
“Ray bought me a holiday house in France!” she squealed. Obviously she was delighted with the turn of events. “He was going to keep it a surprise, but he got your message earlier. Clearly that real-estate agent he’s been dealing with has a big mouth. It’s a wedding present! Can you believe it?”
“No,” I said honestly. As much as I loved Mum and Ray, I still wasn’t sure I wanted them living down the road.
“So, I’m thinking we’ll spend a few months there this year, and then when Ray retires in a few years, we’ll spend half the year in France, and the other half in Australia.”
“Mum, I don’t even know if we’ll still be here in a few years. I don’t even know if we’ll stay on the farm.”
“Oh,” she said. “Why not? I’ve already spoken to Serge, and he confirmed that he doesn’t want to move to Australia. And this way we’ll get to spend lots of time together. I’ll get to spend half a year with my grandchild! It’ll make up for the other half when we’ll be separated.”
“But what if we move back to Paris?” I asked, thinking back to Serge’s and my discussion after Christmas.
“But things are going well on the farm, no?” she asked.
“Things are better, but not perfect.”
“Nothing is ever perfect,” she said.
“So, the deal is already done?” I asked.
“Deposit has been paid. We can move in in a couple of months, in time for the arrival of the little mademoiselle.”
“Well, I guess there’s no stopping you now,” I said, resigning myself to the fact that I’d now spend six months of the year living a few minutes from Mum.
And then I realized that I’d spend six months of the year living a few minutes from Mum—a source of love, support, and kindness. Yes, she’d likely drive me insane, but she’d be here to drive me insane. And she’d be here to help with the cheese room and the baby. Could this actually be a good thing? I wondered.
I made a note to email Ray and let him know what a great guy he was. I wondered how he felt about living in France for half the year. I’d have to come up with some interesting gardening projects to keep him occupied. And I’m sure Chuck could do with a gardener. Perhaps he could even start a little gardening business. My mind was suddenly racing with possibilities. A slice of home was coming to my village. I hurried off to find Serge and tell him.
“Oh,” was the only thing he said after I’d explained Mum and Ray’s plan.
“What ‘oh’? What does that mean?”
“Well, we don’t even know if we’ll stay on the farm,” he said.
“I tried to explain that to Mum but she won’t be deterred.”
“And you’re happy about this?” he asked.
“I am. I wasn’t too sure to begin with, but the more I think about it, the happier I feel.”
“Well, good. And it will be good for the baby to spend time with his grandparents,” he said.
“Her grandparents,” I said. Given the word “baby” in French was masculine, Serge occasionally mixed up the pronoun. Either that, or he knew something I didn’t.
“Yes, that is what I said, non?”
“Not quite, but it doesn’t matter. Are you sure you don’t mind about Mum and Ray?” I asked. I couldn’t help wondering if Serge was just being generous. Perhaps he’d thought that by staying in France he’d avoid the “in-laws.” But then, if he hadn’t understood how headstrong my mother could be when he first met her, he was the one to blame. Regardless, from experience I was sure he’d be happy to have the extra support when the time came.
“It will all be OK, Ella.”
“Thank you,” I said, and I hugged him for being such an understanding boyfriend. “And I’ll be the best gatekeeper. I’ll make sure Mum and Ray never impose,” I promised, although the likelihood of me keeping my mother in check was slim. It’s the thought that counts, I told myself.
Serge kissed my head. Surprisingly, it seemed like the prospect of Mum and Ray living around the corner might actually turn out to be a good thing for both of us.
In the weeks that followed, Serge and I settled into a productive period. We both felt the pressure of the baby’s due date approaching and wanted to make the most of the time that remained. While I’d hoped the cheese room would bring Serge and me closer together, we mostly worked independently, with me looking after customers and Serge busy with the goats or making cheese. He kept telling me that he was proud of what I’d created, that it would bring a lot of value, but then he would also insist that I couldn’t maintain the same devotion to the cheese room going forward, and often spoke about getting Marie to come on board earlier.
I reassured him that, for now, I felt fine, and that if anything changed, we could reassess. Our life was about to go through a pretty dramatic change with the arrival of the baby, and I figured it was best not to plan everything out when there were still so many variables.
And then, just when I’d finally managed to stop worrying about the future, the past came back, once more, to bite me in the arse. It had been a sleepy morning in the café, and I was on my second pot of chamomile tea when Françoise reared her not-so-ugly head. She arrived in a panic.
“Where’s Serge?” she demanded in French.
“Bonjour,” I said. The French insistence on always saying hello was well drilled into me by this point, and her lack of greeting felt abrupt.
“Bonjour,” she said, apologetically. “Can you please help me find Serge?”
“I think he’s down in the milking shed,” I told her.
“I’ve already looked there,” she said.
How presumptuous to walk around our farm uninvited.
“Did you try calling him?” I asked, knowing full well that Serge had never given her his number.
“Can you call him for me?” she pleaded.
She had more than a couple of hairs out of place; I got the impression she’d had a rough morning.
Over the phone, I told Serge that Françoise had stopped by. Again.
“I’ll put her on,” I said to him, hoping that they would both hear my begrudging tone. Better I don’t become the intermediary between the two, I figured.
I passed the phone over and resigned myself to only hearing Françoise’s end of the conversation. She then proceeded to speak so quickly and in such blurred French that by the time she’d hung up all I’d understood was that she’d driven directly here, and something about a hospital.
She handed the phone back and went to sit down, calling out to me: “Un café, s’il vous plaît.”
I picked my jaw off the ground and then set about making her coffee. I also warmed her up a scone, hoping a little comfort food might soften her up.
Thankfully, Serge appeared five minutes later. After kissing Françoise hello, he explained to me what was going on.
“Clovis, her father, fell over last night in his house. Apparently he is in a lot of pain but will not go to the hospital with the ambulance.”
I nodded, trying to figure out how all this related to Serge.
“She doesn’t have anyone else to help her,” he said. “Do you mind?”
“Mind what?” I asked.
“If I go and assist?”
“Right. And do I have a choice?” I asked.
He looked at me with his big eyes.
“Fine, go,” I said, shooing him away.
I saw Françoise gathering up her bag to leave with Serge.
“Merci, Ella,” she said before leaving. “Très bon,” she added with a half-smile, motioning to the remains of the scone.
I couldn’t decide if she was being genuine or just polite. As I watched them go, I hoped I wouldn’t come to regret allowing my boyfriend to go and save the day.
When the sun started to set and I still hadn’t heard anything from Serge, I began to worry. I cleaned the cheese room and locked up for the day, then waddled back to the house. My belly had been weighing me down, and I felt slow and heavy. It’s nice of Serge to help everyone but his pregnant girlfriend, I thought, my fatigue muddling my emotions.
I collapsed on the couch with a bag of popcorn and scrolled Instagram for pictures of Paris and yearned to be in the city again. It was surprisingly lonely in the farmhouse without Serge, and I couldn’t find anything to distract myself with.
He returned home around eleven o’clock that night after I’d gone to bed, and I pretended to be asleep. He slipped into bed and wrapped his arms around me.
“Are you OK, Bella?” he asked quietly.
I murmured that everything was fine and squeezed his hand.
“And you?” I asked.
Serge explained that Françoise’s father was now at the hospital.
“She’s planning to stay in the area for a while, to pack up his house, and get him settled into a more permanent care facility,” he confirmed.
Great, I thought, imagining more interactions with Françoise.
Serge fell asleep quickly, and I was left staring at the wall, trying to undo the knot that had tied itself in my stomach. I was thinking about Serge and the baby and our life out here.
One of the things that had attracted me to Serge in the first place was his kindness. I’d never dated a man who was as selfless and thoughtful as he, and I was beginning to realize that his sweet nature extended beyond me.
I wondered how often he’d make himself available to help others once the baby arrived, and how often I’d be left alone to sort things out by myself. Yes, I could manage the cheese room by myself, and the house if I needed to, but I wasn’t sure how I’d cope with a baby added on to all that. Does Serge even consider me as his priority? Or will the goats, Françoise, and anyone else that comes looking for help always be more important?
I tried to convince myself that these worries were all in my head, but Françoise’s dependency on Serge and his willingness to be there for her still made me nervous.