Page 43 of Love In Provence
The table begins to fill. Stephanie, JB and the children arrive. Rhi takes a seat next to me and tries to persuade me to sit. ‘I can’t. I should be cooking, helping.’ But Ed and Maria are managing perfectly well in the kitchen and Keith is taking over the sausages from Graham as he pours drinks.
Maria smiles. ‘Sit. There’s plenty of us here to help. You have enough to think about.’
‘Yes! Like how you’re going to get your restaurant back,’ Jen says firmly.
‘Don’t make a fuss. I’m fine!’ I hear Graham say to Keith.
‘Have some water, a sit-down,’ Keith says.
‘You’re fussing. I’m not a child!’
And with that Keith, upset, disappears to their bedroom.
I go to stand, but Maria beats me to it. ‘Here, let me help,’ Maria says to Graham, who’s beside the barbecue, embarrassed and cross.
‘After all, I’m from Australia, sort of. Barbies are what we do!’ She goes over to stand beside Graham, who is a little relieved.
‘Australia, UK, France, Spain … No idea where you’re really from, have you, Mar?’ says Marco, making me wince.
‘Might be good for us all to have some water,’ Maria says, pointing to the jug by the sink and the glasses. Graham heads to the jug, fills it and puts it on the table.
‘And it’s really hot,’ says Jen, passing round the glasses as the sun, despite dipping in the sky, is still fiercely beating down.
Graham takes a glass of water and drinks it.
‘Everything okay?’ I call over.
‘Yes, yes. Just hot. We’re not used to it in the UK, are we?’
‘No,’ I agree. ‘And Keith?’ I gesture towards the room that Fabien and I created, filled with antiques from thebrocante, a wrought-iron bed, and hooks on the wall to match. Simple but homely.
‘I’ll go and see him now,’ says Graham, smiling at Maria who is turning kebabs made from all the veg in the bottom of my fridge, peppers, tomatoes, onions and mushrooms. She brushes them with oil, then sprinkles them with fiery spice from her tin.
I watch Graham go, hoping the pair haven’t had a falling-out. But it’s hot and hard to sleep. And the mosquitoes. Which reminds me: I go to the farmhousekitchen and bring out the last of the lemons for everyone to cut in half and rub over themselves.
I remember my humiliation in the shop earlier, my cheeks burning at the memory, and I’m still wondering how I’m going to pay the bill. I’ll have to find some cash from somewhere. Zacharie has cut me off from the income I was relying on. With immediate effect.
I gaze at the happy group in the barn. I feel like the baddie in a cartoon about to burst their balloon.
I have to tell them I can’t pay for them to be here any more. I can’t afford the food. I need to tell them, and soon, so they can make new arrangements. Clearly getting back into the bistro isn’t going to happen. I have no idea what to do. I can’t move in on Stephanie, who is running the business that’s supporting her and her family. JB doesn’t make much from thebrocante. Fabien would like to pay him more, but there just isn’t the money. Whatever Fabien makes from his tour will be the most he’s earned in a long time. And he needs it.
As we’re rubbing ourselves with lemon, it’s Tomas who hears it first. ‘Fabien! Papi Fabien!’ he shouts, jumping up and down. His younger brother does an excited dance on the spot.
‘Non, cheri,’ I tell him. ‘It’s not …’
Suddenly I can hear it too. My heart leaps. The familiar sound of Fabien’s truck coming down the long drive. Then my heart does a triple somersault, like anOlympic diver off the high board, as I see it pulling through the gates. I stand and watch as Ralph barks frantically.
The truck comes to a standstill, clouds of cream dust gathering around the wheels on the hot stony drive. I stand for a minute under the shade of the open-side barn as he steps out. He stares at me, then takes in the busy scene in the barn. I’m tense. What if … what if he’s come back to tell me face to face that he doesn’t want to be with me any more? What if he’s come for his stuff?
After our last phone conversation, I’m not sure where we are. Suddenly I feel like the Del who was first getting to know Fabien and really hoping he liked what he saw. God, what is wrong with me? When did I become so troubled about our relationship, so bloody insecure? When the mistral took away everything I had. Well, when she took away Henri and brought in Zacharie. The mistral that changed everything, just like it had three years ago.
‘Well, this looks busy!’ he says, and suddenly smiles. The smile I love that comes with a bucketful of reassurance. I rush forward and wrap my arms around him. ‘Good to know I was missed!’ he says.
‘Very much,’ I say quietly into his neck, breathing in his familiar smell and then, in a rush so the words tumble over each other, ‘And I’m sorry … things aregoing to be different. We need to make time for each other.’
He looks down at me, holding my arms. I want to kiss him and kiss him.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say again. ‘I’m so glad you’re back.’
