Page 27 of Falling for Provence

Le plateau de 5 parts, 12.00€

Visible flames and the glow from the wood fire within suggested that, while this might be a great way to make a living in the depths of winter, it was hot work for the middle of a summer’s day. It was also obvious that this local speciality was popular. A little before midday, having left her bike in a stand on the edge of the square, Ellie joined the queue in front of the socca stall. Pascal, on his lead, was sitting almost on top of her feet, which made it a little awkward to edge closer to the front of the queue.

She could see more of what was happening as they got closer. The owner of the stall was working hard, with two wide, shallow cast-iron skillets taking turns in the oven. When one came out, it was left to steam on the counter for a minute while he prepared the next, scraping out anything stuck, brushing the base with oil and then ladling three scoops of a thin-looking batter into the pan before pushing it into the open mouth of the oven and turning his attention back to the already-cooked platter with its browned top and slightly blackened edges.

He set out five paper plates and then used a square piece of plastic to divide up what looked like a huge, slightly overcooked pancake. A large triangle went onto each plate, and then a second one to make a generous portion. Ellie watched the interactions with customers, noting that most chose to have salt and pepper sprinkled on the top and that some had their plateswrapped in foil but others took them with no foil and began eating them straight away.

‘Une part?’

‘Oui. S’il vous plaît.’ Ellie smiled and nodded, handing over her money and hoping that she’d chosen the right response to a rapid-fire question she hadn’t understood. She was picking up a few words and phrases of the language now, but the speed with which French people spoke and any background noise or distractions made it so much harder.

‘Le sel et le poivre?’

Ridiculously pleased with herself for picking up the word for pepper, Ellie nodded and smiled again. ‘Merci.’

‘Et vous mangez tout de suite?’

This was another moment to nod and smile, and Ellie figured out the meaning as she received her plate with no foil. She followed the example of people she had been watching and moved to a bench seat to eat her lunch straight away, and, by the time she sat down, she could feel the weight and heat of the socca coming through the plate despite the layer of paper serviettes she’d been given. She tied Pascal’s lead to the end of the bench, and he sat directly in front of her feet this time, his expression much easier to understand than the French she’d been listening to around her.

‘Might be a bit hot for you,’ she told him. ‘I’ll test it, shall I?’

She tore a piece off the edge of one of the triangles and put it in her mouth. Itwasvery hot. It was also unexpectedly delicious. Crispy on the outside, soft in the middle and delightfully savoury – salty, peppery and smoky. It was burning her fingers as she tore tiny pieces off, but it was too good to wait and let it cool.

Ellie actually forgot the little dog waiting hopefully at her feet as her senses were hijacked. It wasn’t just the taste and smell of the socca. She was listening to the bustle of the busy market in front of her and taking in everything she could see.They were mostly food stalls in this part. A dreadlocked woman presided over a large vegetable selection. There was a long table with baskets of differently flavoured olives, a smaller one that sold eggs and one in between that had huge wheels of cheese. Further away, near the socca oven, Ellie could see a stall that had great slabs of nougat, and beyond that was a bright splash of colour from rows of flowers and plants. Everything was shaded by the red and yellow canvas awnings, and it was crowded. Men, women, children and dogs. Tourists and locals. There was music, as well, with a man playing jazz on a saxophone near the flower stall, and the sound was a soothing background to the kaleidoscope of things to look at: people shopping, tasting samples of food, meeting and greeting friends and often stopping to talk, creating an obstacle that others negotiated with the ease of practice. The queue at the socca stall had doubled in size, and Ellie felt lucky she’d joined it when she did.

Lucky to be here at all, in fact. This was another one of those moments like she’d had in St Paul de Vence when she’d been captured by the mosaic flowers in the cobbled streets. The new culinary experience of the socca would always be an integral piece of this place and this moment in time, and it was sealing itself into Ellie’s memory banks as something she knew she would treasure for years to come.

It wasn’t just Pascal’s desire to share her food that Ellie had forgotten. When she saw the tall figure emerge from the crowd to walk towards where she was sitting, she remembered that Julien worked nearby. The surprise of seeing him was enough to make her heart skip a beat and then increase its speed – the same way it had when she’d recognised him coming towards her through the orchard that evening. Ellie could feel the beat of it in her throat.

‘Is it good?’ Julien’s eyebrows were raised as he sat beside her on the bench. ‘You like socca?’

‘Sogood… Iloveit.’ Ellie’s smile felt too wide. ‘It’s my new favourite thing. I may have to come here every market day.’

‘I came to get some myself, but that queue…pfft!’ The sound of dismissal was so French it made Ellie’s smile get even wider.

‘Please, have some of mine while you wait.’ She held out the plate. ‘The pieces are much bigger than I expected.’

Julien hesitated, and, oddly, Ellie found herself holding her breath. Maybe because he hadn’t eaten any of that hastily prepared platter the other evening, if this offer was also rejected, she might need to take it as a sign that an offer of something more significant than food would not be welcome. And, because she had that thought in her head, when he did reach out and tear off part of the remaining triangle, it felt almost like a silent conversation. The way he held her gaze as he folded the socca and put it in his mouth felt like an acknowledgement that any attraction here was, indeed, mutual.

It was only a heartbeat of time, but Ellie knew it had the potential to change her world dramatically. Until the next beat of time when the moment was completely shattered. As was the whole ambience of the market with the shrill sound of a woman’s scream, so close that Ellie shot to her feet, the paper plate slipping, unheeded, to the ground. She stared in the direction of the sound, trying to make sense of the movement of people. Some were frozen to the spot, also staring. Heads were turning and some people were running towards the disturbance, which appeared to be beside the olive stall. And then, as people moved, Ellie saw the hunched figure of a young woman with long, dark hair. She was picking something up from the fine gravel of the town square. A small child in a summer dress, whose head fell back as she was lifted, her limbs also unnaturally floppy.

In the split second it took to process what was happening, Julien was already moving towards the woman and child with long strides that closed the distance so fast Ellie barely had timeto drag in a breath. He seemed perfectly calm, she thought, as he reached out for the child. The woman was too distraught to speak, but other people seemed to be trying to tell Julien what they’d seen. More than one was pointing at baskets of olives in the shade under the trestle table – within easy reach of a passing child.

She saw the way he was checking to find out whether the child was breathing, and then he was covering her mouth with his own to try and deliver a life-saving breath. Once, twice… Ellie’s gaze was fixed on the little girl, unconsciously stepping closer as she desperately watched, willing that small chest to rise.

But, even from this distance, she could see that it wasn’t moving.

The child was as still as a stone.

Exactly the way Jack had been that dreadful morning.

Ellie was holding her own breath now, and her cry was silent.

‘Please…’

9

‘Appelez le SAMU!’

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