September 2016
Eve drives me home in time to pick up Mollie from the after-school nursery. She refuses an invitation to supper but agrees to a drink. I don’t have any chilled white wine so I pour her a glass of red, and orange juice for me and Mollie. As I carry the drinks into the sitting room, there’s an acidic smell of pear drops in the air.
I overhear Eve saying to Mollie, “How would you like me to pick you up from school sometimes and look after you while Mummy’s working?”
“Yes!” Mollie claps her hands.
I give a tight smile. “I’m thinking about it.”
She’s sprawling on the sofa next to Eve, who puts out a restraining hand. “Oops careful, babe.”
I notice an open bottle of blue nail varnish on the coffee table and see Eve is painting Mollie’s fingernails.
“Look, Mummy.” She twirls her hand for me to see.
Eve dips the brush into the pot, takes Mollie’s hand and applies a second coat. Mollie’s nails sparkle and I wonder how I’ll remove it before school tomorrow. So neglected is my own beauty routine, I don’t have a bottle of nail varnish remover.
“Will you come every day?” Mollie asks Eve. “Can I stop going to the garderie? Can we talk in English?”
Mollie’s final request spears my heart. Some school days must be like Babel to her, when she comes home, she deserves to unwind and speak her native language.
“I can’t promise to come every day,” says Eve. “I’m still looking for a house, remember. I’ll plan the days with Mummy, okay?”
I give Eve a grateful smile. “I wish you’d let me pay you.”
“Absolutely not.” She lifts a hand and waves the idea away. “If I move here, I’ll know more people—as well as Justine.”
I’m not sure who she means but I wonder what the school gate mums, who were so wary of me, will make of Eve.
“We could call into school tomorrow and register your details,” I suggest. “Have you got a small photo of yourself?”
Mollie’s school is diligent about keeping a record of people authorised to collect pupils.
“Sure. Let’s do it. It will take some pressure off you.” Eve smiles enigmatically at me.
After she leaves, I remember—Justine is Madame Gaspard.
Pressure release is exactly what I need. My ‘to do’ list is procreating. Paul has topped up the bank account and the Berger brothers have restarted work on Les Quatre Vents. Now they’ve been paid, the Bergers are no longer boycotting the bar, but I’ve been too busy to go to the site and check up on their work.
On the day Eve arranges to pick up Mollie for the first time, I leave Lilianne to finish clearing up and make an impromptu site visit. As I drive up our track, I see the outside front walls have been rendered, concealing the ugly joins between new and old masonry. There are still yawning gaps where the windows and doors should be, but it can’t be too long before our home is ready.
The Bergers are sitting in their van with the engine running and a bass beat pounds against the closed windows. Guy nods at me and stays put in the driving seat, but Giles jumps down and beckons me to follow him around the side of the building to the yard. He jabs his finger in the direction of the flower bed, churned up by the digger they hired for the ground works.
“The inspection is next week.”
He strolls closer and kicks at a crumbling ridge of concrete poking up above the flattened earth.
“You mean the old fosse septique?”
He nods. “I think the authorities will order that you get a new one.”
“But it’s been there for decades!”
“Exactement.”
More expense! Henri once tried to explain to me what the latest septic tank technology involved. I followed what he said about new tanks being made of polyethylene and we’d need one with a capacity of three thousand litres but, once he started describing that three pits would have to be dug for the complex bio-cleansing process, I was lost.
Giles is anxious to get going so I don’t ask him any more questions. I wave them off and turn to enter the building. As a reflex, I duck but it’s no longer necessary—the lintel has been raised. The open plan space with its high ceiling sloping up into the apex of the roof is light and airy. Parts of the interior will be reformatted with plasterboard walls to make three bedrooms, but not the lounge, kitchen and diner and, after the cramped cottage, it feels vast and a bubble of excitement forms inside my chest.
I gaze out at the coarse meadow at the back. Inhaling deeply, I catch the smell of cattle on the wind but there are no cows in view in the adjacent fields. This landscape is rolling and rough, its dips and curves hiding the secrets of centuries.
When I arrive home, Mollie is curled up on Eve’s lap, sipping hot chocolate and reading aloud from an illustrated book in simple French. She never reads to me—always expects me to read to her—but for Eve, anything is possible.
“Will you stay for supper?” I ask.
It would be good to have company. My tentative friendship with Lilianne fizzled out when Paul returned and Henri’s going through one of his chilly phases. I can tell he’s not keen on Eve, though he still ferries her around to view properties.
Mollie pipes up, “Tante Eve, please stay.”
“Well, in that case—how can I refuse?”
I pour two glasses of wine and leave mine in the kitchen.
“Anything I can do to help?” asks Eve but having an audience while I cook throws me off balance even though dinner is food from the bar freezer that needs eating.
“No thanks, but Mollie can lay the table. Place mats are in the drawer.”
During supper, Mollie entertains us with anecdotes about her friends. My mind drifts and I relax. Most evenings it’s just the two of us and my mask of cheerful positivity stretches ever thinner.
As I fork the last piece of chicken into my mouth, Mollie’s voice draws me back, “Every night I make a wish.”
“What’s that, sweetie?” Eve asks her.
“I don’t care if I have no friends.”
“I’m sure that’s not true, Mollie.” I jumped in too fast. My daughter flashes me a look I’ve not seen before. Something like anger.
Mollie flings down her fork and slides from her chair.
“I want my brother back. I want Owen, and you don’t care!”
Her small finger points at the centre of my chest: my heart. I freeze. Mollie has never, ever mentioned that wish to me, yet every night, before sleep, I recite an identical mantra inside my head.
Eve stretches out an arm and reels Mollie towards her like a slippery fish. She lifts my daughter onto her lap, strokes her hair and soothes her until the moment passes.
“Wanna get down.” Mollie wriggles free.
I rouse myself but I’m still rattled. “Go on then—play in your room. I’ll be up to read your story soon.”
“I want Tante Eve to read my story.”
Eve flicks me a glance. “I’ve been testing her on the French words for family. She knew most of them already.”
Mollie nods and recites, “Tante Eve, Maman Emma, Papa Paul, Maman Eve—”
“No, Mollie, you were right first time. Tante Eve.”
I hold out my arms for a hug, but she dodges round me and kisses Eve, before sprinting up the narrow staircase. I draw the wine bottle towards me and cradle it between both hands.
“Oops, sorry. I’ve confused her.” Eve puts a hand over her glass. “Got to drive back into Limoges.”
I pour one for myself. How did I get into the habit of drinking every day?
“How’s the house hunting?” I ask.
She leans back in her chair and sighs. “I’m still waiting for Henri to come up with something. I can’t take on a renovation project. I’m not resourceful like you.”
“It’s Paul who has the vision. To me, Les Quatre Vents looked like a wreck.”
“He knows about property renovation?”
“He’s a surveyor but his background’s in construction. Offices and commercial buildings.”
She puts her empty glass on the table and slides her plate away. “What’s he doing now?”
“Working on a project in Kent. He’s staying with a friend in London.”
“You must miss him.”
I nod. She’s caught me off guard. She waits, not settling for silence, so I say, “I wish he was here with us but I guess this is what the future holds. He may need to take short contracts from time to time. Renovation costs have outstripped our savings and we haven’t yet started on the gîtes.”
“Mummy—when are you coming to read my story?” Mollie calls from the landing.
At least she’s asking for boring old me, not her exciting new Tante.
“Soon, sweetheart.” I half-rise from my chair.
“What about the bar?” asks Eve.
“Cashflow is strong but Paul doesn’t believe it will make enough to support us. That’s the difference between us—he’s used to a high income but I’m happy with a more modest family life.” I walk towards the stairs but pause before going up to settle Mollie. “Let me make you a coffee.”
Eve shakes her head and reaches for the wine bottle. Odd, I thought she said she wasn’t having another drink.
“No, it’s okay.” She gives a tight smile and pours herself a glass of red.
I was hoping to relax this evening but it seems she’s planning to stay a while longer.