Page 50 of Falling for Provence

The spark that had slowly but steadily become a glow of happiness.

If she hadn’t stayed, she wouldn’t have Pascal in her life now. She might never have picked up her paints or pencils again. She wouldn’t have limoncello maturing in her cupboard.

She might never have found out what it felt like to fall in love more deeply than she’d ever known was possible.

Ellie picked up the rug and carefully shook out the bat dirt. She took it to the bathroom and put it in the tub, running enough water to let it soak for a while. She would wash it later. If it needed mending, she would do that, too. She would, in fact, take it back to Scotland with her when she left, she decided. Because looking at that flower shape would remind her of everything about this patch of the planet, and Ellie had the feeling that she might need reminders of what it had felt like to have beenthishappy.

She went back into the bedroom and swept the floor, starting at the window to get rid of the glass splinters. She moved the small bed, which had a simple white, curved metal frame with bars, like an antique hospital bed. She swept underneath, and then, again without giving herself time to think about it, she took hold of the cot and dragged it away from its corner of the room to sweep the last part of the floor.

It was safe to let Pascal come upstairs again after that, and he padded after her as she took all the folded bedding, and even the mattresses, outside to air. She used a broom to get dust and cobwebs from the beams on the ceiling and then filled the firstof the several buckets of hot water that were needed to wash the wooden floorboards and wipe down the slightly cracked white paintwork on the bed. The walls of the room were also painted white and needed a thorough clean. The only thing left to wipe down after that was the cot, and it wasn’t as difficult as Ellie thought it was going to be, because the seeds of a distraction had been planted while she’d been cleaning the walls.

The plain, bare white walls that looked like an oversized canvas.

If she were a child on her first visit to France and had gone running up those stairs to find where she was going to sleep, what would make this space as magical as everything else about her holiday?

By the time she had wiped down every square inch of that cot, Ellie knew what she was going to do. She’d paint a frieze on the walls just above the level of the bed frame and the sides of the cot. Tendrils of green ivy and scattered blooms of daisies and poppies and spears of lavender. It would be easy, but she had limited time, so perhaps it was just as well that Julien was away visiting Theo. Ellie could stay up all night, if that was what it took, because she could imagine the look on Laura’s face when she saw that not only had she been brave enough to tackle this room, she had rediscovered her passion for art.

When Ellie opened the window to let in more of the warmth from the sunshine outside to dry everything, she was still planning the frieze. The window was a bonus. She could make the ivy scramble around its outline on the walls but have leaves and flowers dangling onto the casing that framed the glass. As she walked out to take a break to sort and wash the bedding and the rag rug, she was leaving a room that already looked – and even smelt – very different.

Lunch had been postponed in favour of a quick trip to thebricolagefor a range of small pots of quick-drying, water-based paints. The staff in the hardware store recognised Ellie as a new, loyal customer, and the girl at the checkout counter smiled at her.

‘Ça va?’

‘Ça va,’ Ellie responded. ‘Et vous?’

The girl shrugged as she handed over the purchases. ‘Ah, tu sais… le train-train…’

The tone suggested that a sympathetic smile was in order, but Ellie had no idea what had been said. Or why a stranger was using the less formal address for her. She found herself talking to Pascal about it as she pedalled home.

‘Le train? Isn’t that, like, a railway train? Or is it something completely different when it’s two of them?’

Pascal wasn’t interested. Riding in the basket of the bicycle was one of his favourite things these days, and he sat very still and upright, with his ears flapping a little in the breeze their speed created and his nose lifted so that he didn’t miss anything worth sniffing.

‘Fine…’ Ellie smiled. ‘I’ll remember to ask Julien.’

Dinner had almost been forgotten as Ellie used pencils to draw the pattern of the frieze before starting to paint. She had filled in the dark green of every single ivy leaf before Pascal’s sad sigh broke her focus long enough for her to realise it was way past time to feed him. She also needed to turn a light on so that she could start painting the flowers. White daisies with yellow centres, and blood-red poppies, would be easy, but there had been no small pots of purple paint available, so now was agood time to take a break. She could mess about with some blue, red and white paint to create a lilac shade for the lavender while both she and Pascal had a bite of dinner.

Ellie had no idea what time it was when she finally finished her work many hours later. She felt drunk with fatigue, but she stood in the middle of the room she’d been too afraid to come into until this morning and found tears rolling down her cheeks.

Happy tears. Because she had made this bedroom a beautiful space. Or perhaps they were sad tears because she had, on impulse, finished this enormous task by quickly painting three tiny daisies on the curved wooden top at the head of the cot and, increasingly, had been aware of an echo of the emptiness of this small bed in her heart. An emptiness that was heavy enough to feel like a stone that would be too big to carry. As heavy as a baby who’d spent six months happily growing as fast as he could?

Ellie knew exactly how heavy that was. She couldfeelthe weight as she remembered the last time she had gently tucked Jack into his cot for the night. As she had pulled him out in complete panic the next morning so that she could try and breathe life back into her precious baby.

It hurt.

So much.

But when Ellie raised her gaze and followed the garland of flowers and leaves right around the room, there was pleasure to be found to dilute at least some of that pain.

And pride, because Ellie knew that she’d taken another step into her new future and it had been a big one. And now she was so tired that even big emotions or heartbreaking memories were not going to keep her awake a minute longer.

Sunshine streaming through the window woke Ellie the next morning, along with a bark from Pascal to let her know that he was waiting by the French doors and it was getting urgent to be let outside.

It was only when she was feeling a lot more awake – thanks to the strong coffee she had sipped, sitting out on the terrace, still wearing the shorts and paint-stained tee shirt she’d fallen asleep in last night – that she remembered she’d left the bedding outside. Luckily, it hadn’t rained, and she found the mattresses and bedding dry and smelling fresh. Even the rag rug, hanging over the branch of a lemon tree, had dried in the warm temperatures during the night.

She dragged the mattress for the bed up the stairs first, slightly nervous about entering the room after the emotional ambush when she’d left it in the early hours of the morning. But, amazingly, with the sun coming in through the window and the bright colours of the flowers, there were no unbearable emotions lurking. She worked for the next hour to put the room back together, making up the bed with sheets and a lace cover similar to the one on her larger bed. The handmade patchwork quilt with the classic ‘grandmother’s garden’ pattern was the perfect finishing touch. Or perhaps it was the pale yellow centre of the flower on the rag rug, which had been invisible under the years of dust and grime. Fresh and clean against the darkness of old wood, it was as much a work of art as the latest contribution that Ellie had made to this house.

In the end, it was the very final touch that had to be the most significant. When she completed making up the cot by smoothing a soft, yellow blanket over the mattress. When shefound she wasn’t remembering the horror of finding her baby had died. Instead, she was remembering how Jack would be lying there awake first thing in the morning. Hungry but keeping himself happy by sucking his fists. And then he would kick his feet and gurgle with his version of laughter as he saw his mammy for the first time that day – as if it were the best thing that could possibly be happening in his world. He would hold up his arms, with the total confidence that he was about to be picked up and cuddled, and it was always the best thing that could possibly be happening in Ellie’s life, because her heart would be melting – overflowing with the pure love she had for this tiny person.

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