Page 77 of Love In Provence
‘I want us to grow old together.’
I look at him. ‘But right now, we have a supper club to organize and we need to make tomorrow, the last night with everyone, really special. The end of a journey. A goodbye to the pickers. And a celebration of Henri’s life. We have not had a funeral so this will be our way of saying goodbye.’
At last he leans in and kisses me, and I kiss him back.
‘Now, let’s get to thebrocanteand get ready.’
‘Tomorrow is our night to say goodbye to everyone,’ I say sadly. I’m going to miss the pickers, my new friends.
‘I won’t invite the band,’ he says. ‘It was great to go back, but I want to move on. I can start a teenagers’band – get some of the youngsters who are hanging out down at the riverside. Get them playing music. I’m going to talk to them. We don’t need a licence for a youth project. My days of being on the road are done. I’m happy to be home.’ He kisses me gently but fully on the mouth, and my whole body comes alive, despite the exhaustion I’ve felt of late.
‘Come on, let’s go and tell the others. Tomorrow night is for Henri! A celebration of a life well lived.’
That evening we run the supper club as usual. There’s a relaxed feel to the evening. The harvest is at an end, and soon we’ll be moving into autumn. The place is calm, despite the wind slowly building, bringing with it a welcome coolness.
We fight a losing battle with candles on the tables and the bunting is attempting to take off, but none of us seems worried, perhaps melancholic at the end of our time together.
‘No regrets about not going for Henri’s?’ Jen asks me.
‘I’ve barely thought about the place this evening,’ I tell her. And although Graham and Keith have taken their nightly stroll to look at the menu at l’expérience and report back on the people sitting there this evening, I haven’t wanted to go and see for myself. I haven’t stood at the top of the alleyway to count how many customers they have. According to Graham and Keith, there are hardly any tonight.
A napkin takes flight. Ed catches it and attempts to pin it down with a heavy silver butter knife. Another follows the first. Glasses clatter on the table. Suddenly we’re chasing napkins and picking up glasses as tablecloths lift.
‘Putain!’ I say. ‘Le mistral!’
As we run around to try to save everything and gather it safely into the warehouse, I gasp, ‘I don’t think we’ll be having many diners here tonight.’ A hat lifts off a man’s head and flies down the road. Dogs bark and the chestnut tree sways and waves.
‘Maybe we should take a plate of food to Serge,’ I suggest.
‘I’ll go,’ says Fabien. ‘Then we can all eat together in here, out of the way of the wind.’
‘Good idea.’ I kiss him.
Maria serves a plate of food, a selection of all tonight’s treats. Spanish prawns and chorizo, Greek salad, pakoras and chickenpot-au-feu, followed by Ed’s trio of desserts that he and Keith made.
As Fabien takes off, Serge’s dinner wrapped in foil, we lay a table for ourselves out of the wind.
Graham sets out glasses, fills them and kisses Keith as he passes, much to Keith’s delight.
Keith makes sure the table is laid to perfection.
Maria and Ed are studying their phones.
‘Everything okay?’
‘Yes … just, y’know, getting ready to go home,’ says Ed. ‘My new job’s in touch to welcome me.’
Maria looks downcast. ‘And I’m just working out where to go next.’
‘It’s home for us,’ says Graham.
‘I don’t mind,’ says Keith. ‘It’s hard to go home to an empty shell. Maybe we should look at renting for a while. Somewhere I can enjoy being, and make a home. Not always moving.’
‘We could.’ Graham smiles.
‘Somewhere with an oven so I can make custard tarts!’ Keith beams.
‘And you won’t stop cooking, will you?’ Maria says to Ed.
