Page 13 of Love In Provence
She raises her eyebrows and pouts. ‘He loved the band. He hated leaving when he came here to take over thebrocante. But he loves thebrocantetoo. I suppose he must miss the music, though. I can feel Henri smiling at the idea of him playing again.’
I nod a lot. ‘That’s what I thought. At first he wouldn’t go. But I told him he had to, for Henri, and …’ I trail off. She raises a perfect questioning eyebrow again. ‘I just thought it would be good for him to check in on himself. Isn’t that what they say, these days?’ I give a little laugh. ‘I worry. Worry about, oh … you know, lots of things. I wish I felt I wasn’t holding him back insome way. Most of Fabien’s friends are only just getting married, having babies. He’s skipped that part and gone straight to being a sort of grandfather.’
‘And he loves it!’ She puts a hand on my arm to reassure me. ‘You have to stop over-thinking this! He wouldn’t be with you if he didn’t love you. What’s brought this on?’
‘I don’t know. Life just seems to be going so quickly at the moment. I want it to slow down. I want Fabien and me to take some time for each other, just to enjoy life.’
‘You need to get yourself to Beatrice at the chemist. Get some peri-menopausal treatments, start taking collagen.’ She nods sagely. ‘It’ll be your hormones. For sure.’ She looks down at my nails. ‘And get a manicure too.’
I laugh. ‘I have the harvest to bring in. After that I’ll get my nails done. I promise.’
‘Good. And get some treatments from the chemist. They will help.’ She shifts Clémentine effortlessly to the other hip. I love the way this single woman about town has slid into motherhood. Mother and daughter, they’re like something out of a photoshoot for a magazine.
‘I never heard the band,’ I say. ‘He was finished with it by the time we met. He only plays guitar for fun these days, and there’s not much time for that with the businesses. What are they like?’ I ask.
‘They’re great! Well, they were. A really tight group.Mostly jazz, and jazzy versions of newer songs. Jean Paul is on the keyboard, Dante on double bass, Monique on saxophone and vocals, she’s amazing, and Fifi on lead guitar. Fabien plays bass and … how do you say? … mouth organ.’
‘Ah, yes, the harmonica! He loves it, and Tomas loves to hear him play it. He’s been teaching him too.’
‘That’s sweet. Good for you persuading him to go. Especially with …’ She indicates the boarded-up window, and a wave of loss washes over me. ‘With everything going on at the moment, it’s good to keep busy.’ She shifts Clémentine on her hip. ‘What about Rhi? And you? You okay?’
‘Well, I think Rhi is still in shock. She’s staying with me for the harvest. The pickers are here, all except one whose flight has been delayed.’
‘So the harvest will happen.’
My chest tightens. Suddenly everything seems impossible. Things I took for granted. It’ll be an uphill struggle.
She reaches for my hand, understanding how I feel. ‘And tell me, the pickers, are they a nice group?’ she says, as if she’s trying to dissipate my rising anxiety.
‘They seem so. We have Jen from West Wales. She’s a digital nomad.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It means she travels and can work from anywhere, as long as she has good Wi-Fi.’
‘Good job you got yours upgraded at Le Petit Mas.’ She giggles.
‘Then there’s an older couple from England, Graham and Keith. They got the train. They’re on a gap year, apparently.’
‘Isn’t that something young people do between leaving school and going to university?’
‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘They’re Interrailing, like when they were young, or maybe it was just one of them.’ The facts are a bit blurry from the conversation we had on the walk from the station where I met them.
‘Then there’s a young woman, Maria, whose flight is delayed. She’s always wanted to see Europe, according to her emails. She’s flying from Australia with her boyfriend. I’ve given her instructions to get here. They’ll take a cab and I’ve told her their accommodation is ready and waiting for them. And there’s Ed, who I met from the bus stop. He made his own way here from the airport. Not sure where he flew in from.’
‘That’s quite a mix! What are you cooking for their welcome dinner?’ she asks.
‘Oh, God! Dinner! I still haven’t thought about it!’ I clutch my hands to my head. First-night dinner is a tradition. But, somehow, the excitement isn’t there like it usually is. It’s different.
‘What? But you always plan a first-night dinner!’ Carine and I stare at each other, dismayed that I could have dropped such a big ball.
She steps forward and hugs me. ‘It’ll be fine. You’ll think of something. You always do.’
I hug her back, the kind of hug that says so many things yet to be voiced.
Back at Le Petit Mas, it’s quiet. Everyone is settling in and taking in their new surroundings. It’s hot. People are in their sleeping quarters, perhaps having naps after their journey. I put down my bags in the kitchen where Ralph is lying on the cool, tiled floor. I check my phone for messages and find one from Fabien, letting me know about the festival and where they’re moving on to next. I send kisses and love, happy that he’s happy, spending time with his old friends in the band. Then I check the weather forecast on my phone. It’s hot and getting hotter over the next week. We’ll have to pick early in the mornings while it’s still cool. At least there’s no rain in sight.
Then I unpack the shopping. I look at the ingredients on the work surface and, once again, my brain turns to mush, like wet newspaper.
