‘I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start over all over again’
F. Scott Fitzgerald
From sallyvickers89@gmail.com
To joannagrant@thestickybun.co.uk
Subject: Time to Move On
Come on JoJo, you can’t ignore me for ever. Can’t we be grown up about what happened and put it all behind us? I understand you’re jealous that I was the one who got to be with Aiden in the end, but we all need to move on.
I would like the three of us to meet up, to sit down and have a civilised chat, like adults. Talking of which you need to tell your sister Annabel to grow up and stop yelling insults at us. It’s very undignified and her language is atrocious.
All the best,
Sally
From annabelgrant@thestickybun.co.uk
To joannagrant@thestickybun.co.uk
Subject: Miss you
I miss you lovely. Are you ever coming home? Dad said to let you know there’s been an offer on the café and will you get in touch with him? I hope you will. He misses you too, you know, and I think you’re going to have to get some documents witnessed, to do with the sale?
Maybe I’ll have to come over to France to see you if you haven’t got time to come to me. I could bring the papers with me. Your very own personal courier!
Lots of love and xxxx
Annabel
I’ve read Sally’s email five times and I’m still boiling inside. She wants me to be grown up about it? Why can’t they just leave me alone? I’m so angry I want to throw something or yell, but I can’t without Poppy hearing, and she’d be upset for me. It’s like she actually feels what I’m feeling and then I end up having to comfort her and it’s all messed up frankly.
I wish I could go for a run – that usually helps me cope with overwhelming emotions – but I haven’t time. Callum O’Connor is arriving any minute now and this really isn’t the emotional state I want to be in when he does. Why do Aiden and Sally want to see me? It can’t really be because they want to have an ‘adult’ conversation. As if. With anyone else I’d think they want my forgiveness to make themselves feel better. Maybe Sally does, a bit. I’d like to think there’s a little bit of guilt or regret in there given we were friends, we saw each other every day, danced together, drank together and cried together. I can imagine how Aiden manipulated her. He’s good at that.
He certainly doesn’t care about my forgiveness. He’s completely amoral. When the empathy gene was being handed out he didn’t get in the queue. I really think he believes life is one big Aiden show, and everyone around him is just a bit-part actor in the drama of his life.
I think it’s much more likely they want to create more drama out of this somehow. I always used to joke that Sally was a drama queen. Hearing her exaggerated tales used to be funny. Until I became a victim of her rewriting of events. Well, she can send as many emails as she likes, I’m not going back to talk to them or do some stupid spin-off show. Joanna Grant, One Year On.
I look in the mirror and stare at the beautiful turquoise sundress Poppy bought me from the market at Mirepoix. I smooth the fabric down over my hips. I love it. It’s knee-length so not too revealing but it’s pretty figure-hugging. Having larger than average breasts can make some dresses look almost indecent. I don’t think I’ve got a vest top that would go underneath it though. Most of my wardrobe is still in England at my parents’ house. I stare critically at the cleavage-hugging bodice and try to tug it up a bit. Sod it, I’m wearing it. I can’t meet Callum O’Connor in ripped denim shorts and a T-shirt. He practically oozes Gaelic charm from every pore and he’s pretty damned sexy.
But that’s not the reason I’m determined to look nice. It’s for my own benefit. I shouldn’t have to hide under baggy clothes. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.
So there. I address my reflection in the mirror.
At least I think I know my motives. It’s so confusing being me nowadays. I overthink stuff, I know I do. It comes from spending too much time alone and not really sharing things with anyone, except Poppy. I’m not sure I recognise the woman looking back at me in the mirror. My face is thinner and tanned and my long, light blonde hair has turned a shade of white blonde in the sunshine. I’ve regained the weight I lost in the early months. That’s the effect of French patisserie combined with weak will power for you. I look healthy though, just different from the old me.
Maybe if I don’t recognise myself then Callum O’Connor won’t either. I’m ‘Just Joanna’ who helps in the guesthouse. No one special. Move along, nothing to see here and all that.
I run a hand over the beautiful turquoise cotton fabric that skims the curve of my hips and an unwanted image of the sex tape video comes to my mind. It’s forever burned into the hard disk of my memory banks, the image replay of me putting on a show for Aiden. He used to like watching me strip and touching myself. It’s why it looks like I’m staring right into the video camera. It’s why most people think I was complicit. That I did it to extend my fifteen minutes of fame.
It’s why most people seem to think I got exactly what I deserved.
I was, in fact, staring directly at Aiden who was leaning back against his desk, just to the right of his open laptop. The laptop that was recording footage of me. I didn’t think anything of the laptop at the time. I mean, who would? It was always on his desk and usually open.
I know, because I’ve been told, that it goes on to show me enthusiastically giving my narcissistic boyfriend a blow job and then getting fucked by him, doggy style. He always did have a high opinion of his bottom.
I say I’ve been told because I couldn’t bring myself to watch the rest of it. Annabel watched it for me and told me what was in it. I had to know. Quite why I’m a slut for having sex with my boyfriend in the privacy of a bedroom I don’t know. Maybe my ‘sin’ was to enjoy it. I like sex and I miss it but the humiliation was far too high a price to pay for a sex life.
It’s why, despite wanting to look attractive today, I don’t have any designs on Callum. Dating someone you’re working with is never a good idea but dating someone whose celebrity would put me straight back into the firing line would just be suicidal.
I won’t ever let myself be humiliated like that again.
I try again to hike up the neckline of the dress but to no avail. It’s like the dress is saying, ‘You have boobs. Live with it!’
Fine, the dress wins the argument. I have boobs and I refuse to be ashamed of them. I head downstairs, Pickwick, Peanut and Treacle following at my heels like my own personal entourage. I feel slightly sick. I’m excited to meet Callum but I’m also nervous. I’ve built myself a safe life here. I don’t want anyone upsetting the balance just as I’m finding my feet again.
By the time I get outside Leo’s jeep is pulling up, back from the airport, and both Leo and Callum are getting out of the car. The dogs desert me instantly and converge on Callum, mutt-mobbing him. Even Barney trots out of the kitchen and heads towards the group, picking up on the excited woofs of the others. Callum picks up Pickwick and is cuddling him. He certainly gets full marks so far. Poppy really ought to get a sign made for the guesthouse: ‘Must love dogs’. It’s a bit of a house rule around here.
‘I’m glad you changed your mind and decided to come after all.’ Poppy greets Callum by kissing both his cheeks, French style, while Leo grabs Callum’s bags from the boot. ‘I think you’ll like it here.’
I hadn’t realised that Callum coming was ever under any doubt. I wish I didn’t have mixed feelings about him being here, but I suppose it’s natural. I just need to rise above them and be brave, new life and all that.
‘Cal, this is Joanna,’ Leo introduces me. I fold my arms across my chest, suddenly self-conscious about the amount of cleavage my extrovert dress is showing.
‘Yes, I know, I recognise you from Sex in the Suburbs. My twin sister is a fan of the show. I thought you normally preferred to be called JoJo, or was that just on TV?’ Callum is smiling politely and he looks friendly but there’s something cool in the way he’s appraising me that unnerves me.
I know he can be tough, I’ve been watching downloads of Callum O’Connor’s Kitchen Cook Off on my iPad ever since Poppy said he was coming. In that series he goes into restaurants and tells the head chef everything they’re getting wrong. To be fair he does then help them to make improvements before they go on to compete with other restaurants, but he can be pretty … intense. It didn’t help any anxiety I felt about cooking this evening. I thought maybe it was hyped up for the camera, to create conflict, but there’s something in his expression now that unnerves me.
‘You can call me JoJo if you like.’ I smile at him, hoping to encourage a thaw. ‘Should I call you Cal?’
I instantly feel like I’ve been over-friendly, like I’m coming across as a fan girl he needs to fend off. The brief pause before he answers surely confirms it. Or it’s even worse, maybe he’s seen the sex tape. I hug my arms even tighter around me and do my best to avoid direct eye contact. He really does have the most piercing blue eyes; the camera didn’t lie about that. He also has the kind of penetrating gaze that makes me feel like he can see absolutely everything.
‘Sure, no problem.’ Cal flashes me the same polite smile as we make our way into the kitchen and then he turns to greet Poppy. I can’t help noticing she gets treated to a genuine, wide smile that makes his eyes crinkle just a little bit.
Hmm.
‘We’re going up to the Château to see my parents before dinner,’ Leo says. ‘Would you like to join us?’
‘No, I’ll stay with the dogs,’ I say quickly, even though we all know Barney is happy to snooze in his basket and the little ones are always welcome up at the Château.
‘I think I’ll stay here too, Leo, in case Joanna needs a hand with dinner.’ Poppy stands close to me. I know she’s worried about me from the frown lines on her forehead. ‘We’ll see you later, okay?’
Once Callum and Leo have gone I let out a sigh. I hadn’t even realised I was holding my breath, nor how tense I was. It’s the first time I’ve met anyone from the celeb scene since I moved here. The fact he says he’s seen Sex in the Suburbs makes it so much worse. He probably watched my life implode. I was naive to hope he might arrive without any preconceived ideas or prejudice about me.
I bite my lip and try to swallow down my irritation. Then I turn to Poppy and make sure there’s a smile on my face for her benefit.
‘You’re going to help with dinner?’ I ask, raising an eyebrow. Poppy isn’t exactly known for her culinary skills and is basically happy to leave the kitchen as my domain.
‘Well, I can make you a cup of tea if you’d like one?’ Poppy asks. ‘I just didn’t feel right about going off and leaving you on your own.’
‘I’m fine, Poppy, honestly, you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll have that tea though, thanks,’ I say, sitting down at the table and getting out my phone so I can run through my checklist for dinner. I’m determined it will be perfect.
‘And maybe a tiny bit of chocolate?’ Poppy heads for the kettle. ‘After all our mothers aren’t here to tell us we’ll ruin our dinner.’
I think my consumption of chocolate is probably low down on my mother’s list of the things she worries about with me. I’ve heard plenty about Poppy’s mother though and can appreciate Poppy might have had to move to another country to escape the constant criticism, or at least keep it at a distance.
‘Go on then. I’m always happy to be plied with tea and chocolate. You’re very good to me. Can I marry you?’ I ask and smile when Poppy giggles.
‘I would but I’m already marrying Leo.’ She turns from the kettle, leaning back against the counter while it boils, and faces me. ‘Should I be calling you JoJo? Is that what you prefer to be called?’
I look up from my list, considering my answer.
‘I don’t know. My family and friends call me JoJo but I’ve got used to being called Joanna. Honestly I don’t mind. You can call me what you like, it’s no biggie.’
I left JoJo behind in England and thought I was happy to see the back of her, to reinvent myself. But I’m in a better place now so maybe I could be JoJo again. Odd that Callum ‘Cal’ O’Connor should be the one to reintroduce my nickname.
‘Did it go okay, do you think?’ I frown down at my list. Have I played it too safe? Maybe I should be trying something more complicated for dinner but I’d rather cook something I’m confident about and do it well. I’m feeding Cal, not trying to win his approval.
Yeah right. I grimace inwardly.
‘Of course. It was fine, nothing to worry about,’ Poppy says firmly.
‘I wasn’t a bit … you know?’
‘Absolutely not.’ She places a bag of Maltesers next to my phone.
She must’ve got them in specially, which is so sweet of her. She knows they’re my favourite.
‘And you look gorgeous in that dress,’ she adds.
‘Hmm.’ I glance down at my cleavage. ‘Maybe I’ll go and get changed.’
‘Absolutely not.’ Poppy snatches the bag of Maltesers and holds it out of my reach. ‘And anyway, if you change now it will look like you dressed up specially to meet him.’
‘Which I did.’ I roll my eyes. ‘You made me.’
I don’t add that I didn’t need too much persuading. I was hardly going to meet the cool celebrity chef wearing my old leggings and bobbly cardigan.
‘Yes, but you don’t want him to know you dressed up for him. Play it cool.’
‘Poppy, I’m not playing it any way. I told you I’m not interested in a relationship, I’m just interested to meet a professional chef.’ My cheeks heat up as I remember Cal’s intense blue eyes and that penetrating gaze. If anyone is playing it cool it’s him, only I suspect he’s not pretending. I’m a little bit disappointed about how meeting him went. He thinks I’m just another fan girl, which I kind of am, a little bit, but that’s as far as it goes. ‘So, no attempts at matchmaking, okay?’
‘I s’pose.’ Poppy nervously chews her lip as she places two mugs of tea on the table and lets me have the chocolate back. ‘Actually, there is something else I wanted to talk to you about, while Leo isn’t around.’
‘Oh?’ I pop a Malteser in my mouth.
‘You know I want another dog?’
Ah, so that’s it. She’s clearly been looking at rescue websites again.
‘You always want another dog.’ I laugh, relaxing as I realise the subject is moving on from Cal.
‘Well, I could do with some help, to, you know, support my position.’ Her eyes are wide and hopeful. ‘I’m not asking much, just a little discreet lobbying perhaps.’
‘In other words, you want me to help you gang up on Leo to persuade him to give in?’
‘Something like that.’ Poppy chews her lip again. ‘You see, there’s this puppy.’
Her grin is half pleading, half rueful and I can’t help grinning back.
‘And I suppose this puppy is exceptionally cute? Yes, of course, ask a silly question.’ I roll my eyes. ‘What’s his story then?’
‘He was abandoned when he was only four months old, poor little thing.’ Poppy’s eyes flash with uncharacteristic anger.
‘You really think Leo will say no?’ I ask. ‘You could dig your heels in. Say there’s always room for a little one … ask for him to be your wedding present?’
‘I can try. I mean we’ll be a five dog household once we’re living together full time and six isn’t really that much more than five.’ Poppy shrugs. ‘I can’t bear to leave him in rescue, he’s a sweet little thing. I can’t stop thinking about him. Maybe if I can’t, you could possibly …’
‘You know I would love to but … well, it doesn’t seem fair to the dog, given I don’t know when I’ll have my own home again or where I’ll end up. Say I had to get a full-time job somewhere and had to leave the dog at home or try to afford dog day care. It doesn’t seem right when I’m not settled.’
‘You’ve got a home, here with me.’ Poppy uses her no-nonsense tone. ‘It’s your home for as long as you want it to be. And I promise there will always be a job for you here. With The Barn opening we’re going to have more work than ever.’
I wish I could be sure of her words, but I don’t even know where Poppy and Leo are going to be living after their wedding. I don’t think they even know yet. The last time I asked Poppy she replied vaguely that they hadn’t talked about it yet. They’re not going to want me hanging around if they choose to live here instead of in Leo’s barn conversion. And there’s the fact they’ve brought Callum O’Connor in. Who knows how he’s going to upset the status quo? I have a feeling I can’t shake that things are going to change now he’s here.
Thinking about what all the changes might mean for me makes my stomach clench. Until I arrived in France and found St Quentin sur Aude I didn’t even know I wanted this. No one in my family has ever lived abroad but now I’ve got a taste for life in France I can’t imagine going back to England. Despite what I said to Poppy this does feel like home. The truth is, now I’ve got a lovely home with people I care about and a job I really enjoy in this sunny corner of rural France, I’m terrified of losing it.
I think about all the things I’ve come to love – my early morning runs around the lake, drinking wine on the terrace, watching the sun set behind the mountains, putting dance music on and dancing with Poppy and the Chihuahuas, shopping at the markets and cycling past field after field of sunflowers in the summer, revelling in the feel of warm sunshine and fresh country air on my skin.
Not to mention that the French really couldn’t care less who I am, something I’m wholeheartedly appreciative of.
‘Thanks, Poppy. What you said means a lot to me.’ I force a smile. I know she means it now, but things change and maybe Leo won’t want me around once they’re married. Has she even asked him? Knowing Poppy, probably not. I don’t want Leo to feel like I come as part of a job lot with the house, like a resident elderly aunt no one can face putting in a home.
‘I really do mean it, you know.’ She stares at me thoughtfully in the uncanny way she has sometimes of seeming to read my mind. ‘You know you can trust me, don’t you?’
‘What’s not to trust?’ I reply honestly. Poppy has well and truly earned my trust over the past year. Her total lack of interest in all things celebrity has been pretty refreshing too.
Pickwick is tapping determinedly at my leg again, asking for a cuddle. I reach down to scoop him up, easily forgiving him for succumbing to Callum O’Connor’s charm. His little pink tongue is sticking out as usual and he’s looking particularly cute. I plant a soft kiss on the top of his head. I love him but at the back of my mind there’s the reminder that he isn’t really my dog, he’s Poppy’s. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a bond with my own dog too? The seed Poppy has planted has already taken root and I think she knows it. I’m already wondering about the puppy and worrying that he might be feeling sad in the dogs’ home, wondering why his humans have disappeared.
Arghh, she’s got me, well and truly hooked me.
I try to focus on making sure dinner is as perfect as I can get it. I haven’t planned anything pretentious or showy because I didn’t want it to look like I was out to impress the celebrity chef. Even though I kind of do. Who wouldn’t? Hopefully my grilled goat’s cheese and cherry tomatoes on brioche French toast, spinach and ricotta risotto and individual strawberry tarts will do the trick.
We eat out on the terrace. It’s a beautiful temperature for outdoor dining. Poppy and I have decorated the table with wild flowers from the meadow and Leo provides the wine from the Château cellar. I’m hoping Cal will comment on the food but as we eat he and Leo spend the time catching up about their time together in Paris. Cal entertains us with stories about harsh training conditions with verbal abuse often reinforced by a bit of physical abuse in the form of flying saucepans or fists.
‘So why are chefs seen as so bad-tempered?’ Poppy asks.
‘It’s a high-pressured environment. It’s the chef’s reputation at stake so if an underling messes something up or isn’t mindful of presentation they are effectively ruining the reputation of the chef. Also, most chefs really care about producing good food that will be appreciated and take pride in it. I know I do.’ Cal’s eyes gleam and he leans forward towards Poppy. There’s something of the animation, the passion he displays in his television shows, evident in his features and hand gestures. ‘If you’ve busted a gut in a hot kitchen getting a dish perfect and then someone lets it get cold or drops it you can imagine why tempers flare.’
‘Yes, it would be like someone smudging one of my illustrations.’ Poppy nods thoughtfully.
I can’t help wondering, with all this talk about producing food that will be appreciated, if he might say something about my risotto but beyond a polite thank you when I served him he hasn’t said a word directly to me. I wasn’t imagining the slight coolness to his attitude towards me. It’s not there when he talks to Poppy and I can’t help feeling miffed. I should be used to being prejudged by people, but it still annoys me just as much as it ever did. I might be ready to start over and face the world again but I’m not sure the world is necessarily amenable to giving me the fresh start I want.
I wish I could say that I don’t care what Cal thinks, that his opinion doesn’t matter, but the fact is I do care. I serve the dessert, trying my best to keep my feelings undetectable. Poppy obviously picks something up because she gives me a big thumbs-up and raves about the strawberry tartlet. If she’s hoping Cal might take the hint and praise me it doesn’t work but I do appreciate her making the effort.
Pickwick is under the table, rubbing himself against my legs like he thinks he’s a cat. I’m sure it’s his way of offering support, not just him making his presence known in case there’s any spare food going.
Feeling awkward I decide to turn the conversation away from food.
‘How is Only Dogs and Donkeys at Christmas coming along?’ I turn to Poppy and try to give her all my attention but a part of me is still hyper-aware of Cal. I’m wearing another of the sundresses Poppy found for me at the market in Mirepoix. It’s red with a tiny floral print, feminine but also a little bit sexy.
Now I feel like the girl who tried too hard which is doubly annoying because I’m not out to snare Cal but to learn from him, something I hoped would develop naturally and easily given we’re going to be working together.
Hmm. That fantasy is dissolving fast, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth that no amount of strawberry tartlet can fix. I guess my hope that the labels I was given last year had worn off was a vain one. It’s like Cal has already decided I’m not worth getting to know, like he decided that before he even met me.
You don’t know me.
I feel like interrupting his conversation with Leo to tell him so but just about manage to restrain myself, clearing the plates and heading inside to make coffee instead. Quite how people come to the conclusion they know who I am from the heavily edited highlights on Sex in the Suburbs or a sex tape filmed without my consent, I don’t know. I deposit the plates in the dishwasher rather more heavily than I should but the thunk of crockery and clatter of cutlery is strangely satisfying and one way of expressing my irritation without mortally offending Leo’s friend.
‘He obviously hated my cooking.’ I frown morosely at the clearing up waiting to be done, the dishes that need soaking before they can go in the dishwasher and the few obstinate items that insist on remaining in a previous century and want to be washed up by hand.
‘Why on earth do you think he hated it?’ Poppy helps with loading the dishwasher.
‘When I asked him if everything was okay he said the meal was “fine, thanks”.’ I scowl at the detritus in the kitchen, and all the effort it represents. All that work dismissed in one sentence and by someone who knows what he’s talking about, that’s what really bites.
‘You’re upset because he said the meal was fine?’ Poppy laughs. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yes, seriously.’ I sigh. ‘He didn’t even do me the courtesy of a proper critique. I’d rather be told what was wrong than be dismissed and damned with faint praise.’
‘So, you’re annoyed he didn’t praise you and you’re also annoyed he didn’t criticise you?’ Poppy frowns and stares at me, biting her lip thoughtfully.
‘I know it sounds a bit loopy when you put it like that, but you haven’t seen his programmes.’ I squirt washing-up liquid into the sink and turn the hot tap. I prefer to get all cleared up before I sit down to relax in the evening. Leo and Cal are still outside, lingering over the coffee. I can’t escape the nagging sensation that they are talking about me but that’s pure paranoia and I try to ignore it. ‘In his programmes he comes down quite hard on the amateur chefs, and he’s even more forceful about it in the shows where he’s going into restaurants. The point is it’s always constructive criticism, aimed at helping them to be better chefs. The fact he didn’t bother with me makes me feel … well, not great. But it’s okay, really. I’ll get over it.’
I swallow down my disappointment and try to hide just how upset I am from Poppy. She’d only want to fix things and that could be truly excruciating. I imagine Cal’s disdain if he was forced to take my cooking seriously and my jaw tightens. I know I’m just an amateur but so are all the people on his shows. Poppy’s passion is her art; my creativity has always been channelled into cooking and baking.
‘Perhaps when he’s not working he just keeps his opinions to himself?’ Poppy suggests. ‘He could just be trying to be polite.’
‘Because his real opinion would offend me so much?’ I ask.
Poppy looks stricken. ‘I didn’t mean that … I …’
‘You’re okay, Poppy, I know you’re just trying to cheer me up,’ I say. ‘Anyway, enough about Callum O’Connor. How about we have hot chocolate once we’re cleared up?’
‘If you do your white hot chocolate with salted caramel swirls I’ll do the rest of this clearing up,’ Poppy offers.
‘Okay, it’s a deal. Shall I do a dog count? They’ve been in and out begging all evening. Shall I make sure everyone’s back in?’ I offer.
‘Good idea, remember to check the cushion covers.’
Treacle took to using the cushion covers as sleeping bags last winter, climbing in and sleeping on top of the cushions. As he is so tiny he’s not actually visible once in place and, as Poppy discovered one particularly fraught night when she woke me to tell me he was missing, you actually have to pat all the cushions to find him.
Pickwick and Treacle are on the sofa in the living room together and Maxi and Barney are both squashed onto one dog bed in the kitchen. Peanut, however, is missing. She’s got into the habit of playing hide and seek lately, only she doesn’t ask us if we want to play first, which can be a cause of anxiety. I don’t tell Poppy as she’ll only stress, I’ll look in all her favourite hiding places first. At just over two kilograms she’s the smallest dog in the pack, the tiniest dog I’ve ever seen, in fact, and that means she can hide in the smallest of places.
I check under the sofas, one of her favourite haunts, and a place to hide treats from the other dogs who can’t fit underneath. I’m determined to let go of my bad mood. So what if Cal doesn’t take me seriously? We are going to have to work together and I’m determined he’ll come to appreciate my worth. I’ll just have to prove myself. I know I shouldn’t have to and I don’t have to but I’m determined to get praise from Cal’s lips if it bloomin’ well kills me.
I check the log pile, another of the dogs’ favourite places to play. I hear the faint tinkle of metal dog tags in a bush over by the terrace, approach quietly and kneel down to peer into the gap beneath the foliage. Cal and Leo are talking so I don’t want to call for Peanut and have to engage in conversation with Cal again. In my current odd mood, I might embarrass myself by insisting he tell me what was wrong with my risotto.
Peanut’s eyes gleam in the darkness. I stretch out but can’t actually reach her. Without equipment to cut away the branches or a way of shrinking myself, Alice in Wonderland style, I’m going to have to rely on her deciding to cooperate with me.
I tap the ground in front of me, frowning at her. She stares back, implacable. I try to look friendly instead of cross and tap my lap instead, the signal all the dogs know as an offer for a cuddle.
She remains unmoved. ‘Is that all you’ve got?’ her expression seems to say. It’s half battle of wills and half game.
‘What’s this?’ I whisper very quietly, pretending to fiddle with my pocket, as though just about to fish out one of her favourite duck treats.
She tilts her head, contemptuous of my bluff, the insult to her intelligence. It always works with Pickwick but then he is very stomach-orientated.
There’s a root digging into my bare knee and I am tempted to speak a little more sharply to her but then Leo and Cal would come and find me hiding in a hedge like a stalker.
That’s not going to happen.
I swivel round and turn my back on Peanut, pretending to ignore her. She’s bound to crack first. She loves her comforts, particularly going under Poppy’s duvet at night with her favourite weasel toy. She’ll crack first.
Or I’ll be spending tonight under the stars.
I find myself tuning into Leo and Cal’s conversation.
‘She represents everything I hate about celebrity culture, everything I came to France to get away from,’ Cal says.
Is he … is he talking about me? My heart pounds and I feel very hot all of a sudden. Everything he hates? But he doesn’t even know me.
‘JoJo really isn’t like that,’ Leo protests. ‘She’s a total star. Poppy wouldn’t know what to do without her. Without JoJo she really would’ve struggled to get Les Coquelicots up and running.’
‘Really. That surprises me,’ Cal says and adds something in a lower tone I can’t make out.
‘God no, there’s no way she knew she was being filmed. She’s really not like that. She’s not some fame-seeking celebrity-chaser, you’re perfectly safe …’ Leo defends me. ‘Do you really think I’d saddle you with someone like that? When you get to know her properly, you’ll see I’m right about her. At least give her a chance.’
There’s a pause. My fingers dig into my legs and I burn with humiliation and anger. My chest is painfully tight until I remember to breathe. Peanut has crawled out of her hole and climbed onto my lap, snuggling into me. I know she senses I’m upset, she always does. For all her cheekiness she’s an affectionate, sensitive little creature.
‘I suppose I trust your judgement,’ Cal says, breaking the silence. ‘You can’t blame me for being careful. JoJo got famous dating a celebrity. I told you about the problems I had with Daria, my last girlfriend?’
‘What happened?’
‘All she cared about was going to parties and clubs where there’d be photo ops and she could see other famous people and be seen.’ Cal’s voice is scornful, but I can’t help wondering if he’s more hurt than he’s letting on. After all I’ve dated someone like that myself. ‘She really had me fooled and she’s part of the reason I wanted to take some time out. I need some time away from that scene, so I can work out what I really want from life.’
‘Well, it’s good news for us you’re taking that time here. Any help you can give us we’re very grateful for and of course you can stay as long as you like.’
My jaw clenches and I grind my teeth a little, seething silently. As long as he likes?
Peanut tilts her head back and looks up at me, her serious little eyes seeming to communicate vast depths of wisdom and knowledge. That or she’s telling me it’s past her bedtime and asking me why we’re faffing about.
‘It’s probably just as well things are over with Daria,’ Cal muses. ‘Given I’m not sure exactly how long I’m going to be here. In my experience long-distance relationships don’t work, it just ends up being an incredibly slow and drawn-out break-up. Well, I’ve got other things on my mind at the moment, more important things. Did I tell you my twin sister Caitlin is pregnant? I can’t believe I’m going to be an uncle.’
Leo and Cal lapse into a lament for the days of their youth and are now talking about a mutual friend from their time in Paris together. I tune out. My heart is pounding and I realise just how awful it would be to be found eavesdropping, especially after that conversation, and decide to creep away while the going is good. My knee throbs painfully where I’ve been kneeling on the root and I bite my lip to prevent any vocalisation of the pain giving me away. There are plenty of other things I’d like to vocalise to Cal’s face. I have a hundred scathing but poised retorts swirling around in my head, as well as some not so poised insults. So Cal is worried I might be after him? Or rather after the reflected glory of his fame?
As if.
After all I’m ‘everything he came to the south of France to get away from’. After that remark I’m not even sure I can be polite to him, never mind wanting to be intimately involved with him.
You don’t know me.
How many times has that thought echoed in my mind over the past year? Enough that it stirs me up, disturbing the emotional silt I’ve been successfully keeping well below the surface since I moved here.
What about the fact that I came here to get away from the world Cal belongs to? He is the one disturbing my peace, not the other way round.
I was here first.
That childish argument almost makes me smile at my own belligerence but I’m too upset. I had hopes of a professional working relationship with a man I admire and want to learn from. I set out this evening to impress him and I failed. Big time.
Suddenly I’m really, really tired. I feel a familiar pressure behind my eyelids and squeeze my eyes tight shut. I refuse to let that man make me cry. He doesn’t know me, so his opinions mean nothing.
But still they niggle and prick at me to the extent that I have to lie to Poppy and tell her I have a migraine.
I can’t tell her what I overheard. She’d fret and it might cause problems between her and Leo. After all he’s Leo’s friend and I’m her friend. Maybe this will seem less terrible after a good night’s sleep. Most things do.
Except I don’t get a good night’s sleep. I get a terrible one, unable to switch off the repeated conversation going around and around in my mind. I think of all the things I’d like to say and that leads me to older feelings, to the anger I never expressed to Aiden and Sally. I swallowed it all down then, like I’m trying to do now, and my body isn’t happy.
I’m still feeling grumpy when I’m unloading the dishwasher the next morning. Cal, on the other hand, is making an effort and I really wish he wouldn’t. It’s too late now I know what he thinks of me. He’s rolling round on the floor with Barney in a way I would have found adorable only yesterday. In a way I’m glad I overheard him because now, if I feel my hormones fluttering and quivering in response to his very manly pheromones, all I have to do is recall what he said about me and the temptation is easy to turn down.
‘He’s a great dog.’ Cal gets up off the floor and sits at the kitchen table. ‘They all are, super cute.’
Humph. I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously, feeling like channelling my inner Miss Piggy. She wouldn’t have put up with any nonsense from Cal.
He rubs the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. ‘Do you know where I can get a razor around here? I left mine at home.’
‘There’s a supermarket outside Mirepoix,’ I say. Yesterday I would have offered to drive him, but I really wouldn’t want to inflict my company on him.
Never mind my inner Miss Piggy, my inner bitch is out and dealing with the situation just fine.
‘You know, Barney’s old owners were going to have him put down because he’s getting on a bit and has gone blind,’ I add and reach down to stroke his huge floppy ears when he ambles over in response to hearing his name. ‘But you know, he’s the happiest dog I’ve ever met. Just goes to show you shouldn’t make assumptions, doesn’t it? It’s why labelling people … or dogs … isn’t very kind. Don’t you agree?’
I don’t meet Cal’s eyes. I’m not interested in confronting him for Leo and Poppy’s sake. I focus on Barney instead, stroking him and appearing casual.
‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ Cal replies at last and I glance over at him. He’s studying me quizzically. The coolness of yesterday isn’t there in his eyes. He’s looking at me, not through me. Maybe he decided to give me a chance after Leo stood up for me. That’s all good except I’m not sure I want one any more.
My good manners battle with my bruised pride and sleep-deprived mind and reluctantly I relent.
‘I’m going to the supermarket later. I can pick up a razor for you if you tell me what brand you want. Or you could come with me, but I’ve got an awful lot to get and you’d be hanging around for ages so …’
‘I don’t mind hanging around.’ Cal smiles and I’m sure there’s a glimmer of humour in his eyes; they sort of crinkle at the edges, like he’s someone who smiles and laughs a lot. Like he’s taking pleasure in disconcerting me.
Okay, so the truth is he is so bloody sexy my hormones are swooning all over the place. I fancy him but I’d rather die than admit that now. No way am I going to give Cal the satisfaction of saying he was right, that I’m some kind of career celebrity girlfriend, looking for my next meal ticket.
Our eyes lock and my cheeks feel warm.
I do my best to ignore the flipping sensation in my stomach. He came to France to get away from ‘people like me’. I have to remember that; I can’t get swept away. And I came to France to get away from people who think they know me, who make judgements based on lies and prejudice, so this … this cheek-burning, stomach-churning hormone-induced head-fuckery is going to have to stop.
I bite my lip and Cal’s gaze fixes on my slightly parted lips. Time seems to slow down, neither of us speaking. Even the dogs are silent, watching us solemnly.
Then the kitchen door opens and Leo and Poppy arrive, dispelling the weird tension between Cal and me, plunging me into confusion.
Later I’m throwing Pickwick’s ball for him in the garden while the Chihuahuas and Barney sunbathe. The grass is long and needs cutting but I haven’t had time to get round to it yet. As a result Pickwick is bouncing along like he’s on springs, for reasons best known to himself, and he does look very cute, which is why I can’t resist him when he brings the ball back to me and looks adorably hopeful again and again and again …
‘You’ll be doing that all day.’ Poppy joins us and flops down onto the grass next to Barney. ‘He’s got you wrapped around his paw.’
Pickwick then drops the ball at Poppy’s feet and proceeds to take it in turns who he gives it to.
‘He’s got both of us wrapped around his paw,’ I comment.
‘True. Well, they love you like you’re one of the pack, so until you get your own dog you know you’re welcome to borrow my little horrors any time you want, yes?’ Poppy says, watching the Chihuahuas mutt-mobbing me, her lips quirking into a smile. ‘In fact, I’m kind of counting on it given the gallery work, finishing my next book and arranging a wedding … I’m not sure how I’m going to get everything done. My to-do list is humongous and it never seems to shrink.’
I’m amazed she’s left it a full twenty-four hours before bringing the subject of me rescuing a dog up again.
‘That’s why I’m here. I’m your spare pair of hands,’ I say. I’ve been selfish, focusing on how unsettled I feel by Callum O’Connor’s presence in the house. It’s time to stop thinking about myself and be what Poppy needs me to be. ‘Why don’t we relabel it and call it your “do it” list? Much more positive. We could use an app to sync the list to our phones and split the tasks between us. If we’re sharing the list, it means we both stay accountable.’
We both know I mean she stays accountable and I’m being kind in not saying it. Creative and lovely Poppy may be but organised and practical she isn’t.
‘Thanks, you’re a star.’ Poppy gives me a quick squeeze of a hug and turns abruptly away, bending down to pick up Pickwick’s ball.
I swear I see unshed tears in her eyes. I thought she was taking on too much and I’ve tried to say so but Poppy was adamant she could do it all. I’m not sure she would’ve listened to me or Leo, however we approached it, she’s been so fired up about her new projects.
After she’s thrown the ball again for Pickwick and he’s gone bounding off she turns back to me.
‘You really are a star, you know,’ she says seriously, a tiny frown line in between her eyes. ‘And I don’t think I’m the only person around here who thinks so – you know, there was a definite frisson in the kitchen earlier. I’m sure he fancies you. We didn’t interrupt anything, did we?’
‘No, he definitely doesn’t fancy me and no, you absolutely didn’t interrupt anything.’ I snort. ‘Trust me, you’re way off base there. Besides we only just met.’
I wrap my arms protectively around my body. I’ve had no end of people who think they know me because they’ve seen me on television or, worse, online. The ones who feel the need to tell me about it usually either hate me or think they’re in love with me, rarely anything in between. The ones who supposedly ‘love’ me have seen my naked emotion on the TV show or my naked body in the sex tape, or both, and imagine themselves in love with a version of me that only exists in their head.
‘Really? That’s odd. Hmmm,’ she muses. ‘You know, I’m rarely wrong when it comes to picking up those kinds of vibes between other people. I read about this scientific study that says it only takes us three seconds before we decide if we’re attracted to someone. So the length of time you’ve known each other really doesn’t mean anything—’
‘Stop,’ I cut her off before she has me and Cal married in her head. ‘I mean no, don’t go there, please, Poppy. I really think you’re wrong in this case.’
I think about what Poppy said, the three-second factoid. If I were a pre-Aiden version of JoJo, meeting Cal for the first time, would I or wouldn’t I? The answer is obvious: of course I would. He is exactly my type. Which is exactly why I’m not going there.
I’m sure Poppy thinks I’m protesting too much and secretly I’m dying for a man to come along and sweep me off my feet, but she couldn’t be more wrong. The whole sweeping thing is overrated. I’d rather keep both my feet firmly planted on the ground.
I’m never going to let a man unbalance me like that again.
Poppy bites her lip and then drops down onto the grass next to the Chihuahuas. I sit down next to her, recognising the look on her face. There’s something she wants to talk about. I do my best to ignore the flutter of alarm deep inside me.
‘You know, I’ve been thinking …’
‘Uh huh?’ I eye her with wary caution, wondering if we’re still on Callum, or me adopting a dog, or whether she has a brand new topic on her mind.
‘I’ve been thinking about how you can move on,’ she says.
Move on? The flutter is instantly upgraded and my stomach twists in a sharp response. I try to control my breathing.
‘But I thought you said this was my home … Have you spoken to Leo since we talked, is that it?’ I keep my voice as calm as I can but even so all the dogs stop what they’re doing and watch me, ears pricked and eyes curious.
Poppy frowns, her face a mask of incomprehension.
‘Of course this is your home.’ She pats me on the arm. ‘What’s wrong, why are you upset?’
‘You said move on … like you want me to leave here.’
‘I meant metaphorically, of course,’ Poppy says, looking at me like I’m nuts for misunderstanding her.
‘So …?’ I steady my breathing again, reassured I’m not about to be turfed out with nowhere to go except the one place I can’t.
‘I was thinking maybe you should look up what other people who’ve been victims of sex tapes have done, how they’ve moved on,’ she suggests, her tone becoming more confident as she gets going. ‘I’m sure some of them must have found it empowering, eventually.’
I hate to burst her bubble and I know she’s only trying to help but I have to be honest with her. Nothing else will stop her once she’s got an idea in her head.
‘The thing is, Poppy, except for those who’ve actually made the tape themselves and sold it for cash, it seems to pretty much universally lead to a desire to die.’
Peanut must hear the catch in my voice because she gets up from where she’s sunbathing and comes over to me, hopping back onto my lap and rubbing her head against my chest like she’s a cat. Actually, all of Poppy’s dogs seem to think they’re other species. They also do good impressions of parrots, meerkats and even baby kangaroos.
I stroke Peanut’s head. She’s the tiniest fully grown dog I’ve ever seen but she has the biggest heart.
‘Seriously?’ Poppy deflates and frowns, scooping Treacle up onto her lap, absentmindedly stroking him and not noticing that Pickwick has come back and has dropped his ball by her feet.
‘Yep, I tried researching it a while back to see if anyone else’s story gave me hope.’ I sigh. ‘Apart from a few celebrities who went on to put it behind them and become even more successful it was pretty much doom and gloom. After the fourth suicide I stopped reading.’
‘Oh, Joanna.’ Poppy plops Treacle onto my lap, clearly deciding that this is a two-Chihuahua kind of situation.
Pickwick also brings me his ball, so I’m inundated with cute.
As if sweet pupsters can make things better. Though actually they kind of do. There’s plenty of room on my lap for both the Chihuahuas and they stare up at me, concern shining in their big eyes as I stroke them both, trying to reassure them that I’m okay, it’s okay, everything’s okay.
They’ve both got a history of abuse in their past and they can get anxious, Treacle in particular. I stroke his head and he settles down contentedly next to Peanut, a big smile on his face. He’s one of the few dogs I’ve met who really does smile.
‘Even the celebs who went on to recover admitted there were times when they wanted to die too,’ I say quietly, looking down at Treacle and Peanut as I stroke them and not meeting Poppy’s eye.
‘But you’re … okay, yes? You know you can always talk to me if … well …’
‘Yes, I know, thanks, and I’m fine,’ I say.
‘Because for all the people who couldn’t cope there must have been plenty of others who have coped. It’s just that you’re not going to find those stories online.’ Poppy eyes me hopefully.
‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right.’ I tell her what she needs to hear.
It’s partly true. Though I can’t imagine anyone taking it completely in their stride. They might look okay on the outside but I’m sure they’ve had their moments. I’ve long abandoned the myth that most people are coasting along the surface of life. I’ve been under water and I’ve seen the frantic thrashing. A lot of people have ‘stuff’ that they just don’t talk about.
I am fine though, certainly getting there. There are lots of days when I can almost forget anything bad happened, when the sun is shining and I’m browsing in the market with no one recognising me. I love cooking here and doing up the accommodation, and helping Poppy set the guesthouse up has been a lot of fun. Having a project to occupy my mind really helped. Poppy is always saying how much I’ve helped her. She really doesn’t get just how much she’s helped me.
I’m not going to mention all the nights I woke at two or three in the morning and lay awake until the first note of birdsong provided a soundtrack to the soft light of dawn. On those days I would get up and go for a run as soon as there was enough light.
Running has helped. I’ll never tire of watching the sunrise reflected in the surface of the lake, or marvelling at how still the world is at dawn. There can be movement all around me from nature but there’s a particular type of stillness that the absence of other humans creates and I love it.
In the early days here in France it was the only way to stop the anxiety from eating me up. Running takes me out of my head somehow, away from the thoughts that do me no good at all and could drive me mad if I let them. Poppy loathes running and has made it plain she thinks I’m nuts for being a runner, but then she always loses herself in her artwork when she’s stressed. I guess we all have our way of coping with things.
‘You’re okay really?’ Poppy breaks into my thoughts, her gaze searching.
‘Yes, I am. Maybe not all the time but I’m certainly getting there,’ I reply more truthfully.
Pickwick has given up trying to get Poppy’s attention. When actually putting his ball on her foot doesn’t work, he brings it to me again instead. I can’t resist his hopeful little face and throw the ball for him, watching him bouncing through the grass undaunted, his optimism undiminished by the fact he’s lost the ball. I know he’ll keep looking until he finds it too.
I wish I had that kind of bounce. People talk about bouncing back, and hey, you know, that sounds fantastic to me, but they hardly ever talk about how you do it.
‘Didn’t your friends in England help you at all?’ she asks.
‘Well, Sally was my best friend. We were in each other’s pockets ever since the first year of primary school. Maybe that was partly the problem: we were friends simply because we were put together and we both liked the colour pink.’ I shrug. ‘I can’t help feeling we can never really know someone else, not really. We might think we do but … Anyway, I don’t want to talk about Sally.’
We both watch Pickwick trotting around, leaving no clump of grass unexamined until he finally finds his ball and seizes it triumphantly. I turn my face up to the sun and wish life could be as simple as this all the time. Poppy, the dogs, the garden … But Poppy is getting married, Callum O’Connor is in residence and I don’t know what happens next.
‘What about your other friends?’ Poppy sounds hopeful and I hate to disappoint her.
‘You remember that thing I said about not really knowing people? Ex-boyfriends and friends sold their stories about me and their photos of me. Most of the stories weren’t true and I honestly didn’t see that coming either.’
I stare down at Treacle where my fingers are buried in his sandy, soft fur. Peanut has turned to rest her tiny muzzle on my chest, her eyes tiny pools of concern. I manage to give her a small reassuring smile, albeit wobbly. Poppy and I don’t usually talk about this kind of stuff but I don’t mind opening up now. Not to Poppy anyway.
Those months after the first blow last year felt like a rapidly growing snowball, gathering up one betrayal after another as it hurtled out of control and became an avalanche, capable of sweeping my whole life away.
Okay, maybe not my whole life. I don’t want to be overly dramatic about it and I know some people lose absolutely everything in life in terrible ways, including losing the roofs over their heads. I wasn’t homeless and I had food. Also, my family remained reliable. They couldn’t look me in the eye, but they stood by me all the same. To be fair, my sister Annabel was great about it all and she understood when I just had to get away. I think she would’ve come with me except I needed her to cover for me at the café. At the time it was ‘just until things blow over’. Except that moment never seemed to arrive.
‘They can’t have been very good friends then.’ Poppy wrinkles her nose as though unable to comprehend selling out a friend for cash. It’s one of the many reasons I love her.
‘I suppose not.’ I shrug and meet Poppy’s eye, trying to give her the same reassuring smile I gave Peanut. ‘I’m okay, Poppy, honestly. It’s behind me now. I’ve got a new life here and new friends, both human and furry. I’m happy being single too. The absolute last thing I want is for you to matchmake for me. I know that’s hard for you to understand in your current loved-up state.’
She has the zeal of a new believer since she fell in love with Leo. Her matchmaking is probably just a symptom of getting engaged. It seems wedding planning has only increased her desire to see everybody paired off and as happy as she is. I overheard her asking Leo about Angeline’s love life the other day.
Or maybe she’s feeling it too, that the wedding will mark the end of the time we’ve spent together, just the two of us. Our safe little hideaway where we both licked our respective wounds, painted walls and drank hot chocolate is changing. Maybe she’s worried about me. That seems much more like her than an assumption that a man is all we need to make everything better.
She doesn’t reply and I glance over at her. She’s staring into the distance and hasn’t seen Pickwick drop his ball at her feet again.
‘Sorry, Poppy, I didn’t mean it. I appreciate you trying to help, really I do.’
I shift up next to her on the grass and rest my head on her shoulder, awkwardly giving her a half hug. Only awkward because the Chihuahuas insist on being in the middle of it and the logistics are difficult.
‘Is it too early for a drink, do you suppose?’ Poppy asks, finally noticing Pickwick and throwing his ball for him again.
‘Definitely not too early but I’ll have to wait until later, I’ve got a supermarket shop to do.’ I rub at my temples.
‘Have you still not got rid of your migraine from last night?’ Poppy asks, solicitously. ‘I can do the supermarket shop today if you like?’
‘Have you got time? I might be all right if I take more meds.’ My offer is half-hearted though. I am starting to get familiar stabbing pains behind one of my eyes. I don’t mention I’m supposed to be giving Cal a lift. I really wasn’t looking forward to having to make polite conversation for the duration, pretending I don’t know what he really thinks of me. Holding my tongue for Poppy and Leo’s sake is going to be hard but I’ll try. I owe them that much.
It’s all my own fault that I really do have a migraine coming on now, karma for saying I had one last night, or maybe it’s my body giving me an out. I throw the ball that has just landed on my foot.
‘Don’t be silly, it’s fine,’ Poppy says, as I knew she would. ‘Why don’t you go and take your meds and lie down? If you’re okay this evening we’ll have that drink.’
‘Okay.’ My sleep-deprived mind readily accepts. We get to our feet, both watching Pickwick as he heads off into the grass that’s taller than he is in places, utterly undaunted and relentlessly optimistic. Bounce, bounce, bounce …