Page 20 of Love In Provence
‘Well, more like a gap year. Keith didn’t do that as a youngster. I did. Travelled all round this area,’ says Graham, ‘but Keith went straight to work in a care home. This is our time to do what we never did as youngsters.’ Keith swallows and coughs on a bit of bread. Graham pats his back swiftly and sharply, looking concerned. When he sees Keith’s fine, he puts his hands back into his lap and continues. ‘So, we’re taking in Provence, seeing the sights and enjoying the adventure.’ He smiles, but Keith doesn’t and suddenly there’s a moment’s awkward silence.
I fill it. ‘Great! Seize the day and all that.’ My heart twists as I remember pushing Fabien to go out and seize the day, when I should’ve kept my mouth shut. The atmosphere has dampened.
‘I’m Jen,’ she jumps in. ‘Fifty-two, widowed. I sold up and am living van life as a digital nomad, so to speak.’
‘Wow!’ says Maria.
‘That’s brave,’ I say.
She shrugs. ‘No. It was always sort of the plan to do something like this. My husband Trefor and I had talked about living in a motorhome. Throwing caution to the wind.’ She sips some red wine. ‘He just didn’t get to do it with me. I wanted to do it despite everything. So, here I am,’ she says, ‘looking for a new clutch. Seizing the day, as you say.’
‘What do you do? As a digital nomad?’
‘I work in marketing, getting opportunities for clients. I can do it from anywhere.’
The tension that has been hanging in the air since they arrived at the farm, when we’d just heard about Henri, and Fabien was leaving, seems to dissipate a little more. Refreshing, like a breeze after a punishingly hot day in the fields, as the cicadas set about their evening song.
‘I’m Edward. Ed. I’m on a gap year … first time round!’ He smiles at Graham. ‘Just taking some time out before I start work. I was supposed to be with someone but … they didn’t come. So I decided to go ahead anyway!’ He gives a short laugh. ‘But now I’m here I’m wondering what on earth I’m doing. I mean, I’m the sad single bloke!’ He’s trying to pick up the laughter again, but he looks a bit lost.
‘It’s excellent you came. Shows real strength of character,’ says Maria.
Marco frowns at her. ‘Strength of character?’ he scoffs.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘When you don’t know whether you’ll fit in. It’s brave.’
He dips bread into anything she’s left in her bowl, and I can’t decide how I feel about him. On the one hand he’s fun and entertaining, but on the other, I’m not sure.
‘Well, I for one am really pleased you’re here. I needyou,’ I say. ‘All of you! Let’s raise a glass to the harvest.’ And we do.
‘I’m Rhi.’
I didn’t think she’d want to talk. She’s been so quiet. She worked quietly, collecting and bundling the lavender, then hanging the first day’s harvest in the barn, keeping going, slowly and steadily. The group fall silent. ‘And I’m here because … because my partner Henri has died, and this is where I feel close to him.’
We nod.
‘To Henri,’ we say, and raise our glasses.
The pickers fall quiet, as the cicadas sing, lost in their thoughts. Looks like it’s not just me and Rhi who need this harvest and time on the land. Perhaps my other pickers have a reason for being here too. Once again, Henri is bringing people together. We may be starting this harvest on a better footing than I’d thought last night and I’m hoping for another good day tomorrow.
9
‘Putain!’ I find myself saying under my breath, borrowing Stephanie’s favourite expletive. It seems to help and sums up exactly how I’m feeling. I slam down the pen on the blank page of my notebook and clutch my face.
My head is pounding with the rising heat of the day and tension, despite another successful morning’s picking. Fabien and I exchanged a few messages last night. He was busy at a festival. There was hardly any signal, so I just told him I missed him. And he misses being here, he says, but there’s nothing we can do about the miles between us. He’s promised to stay on with the band until they can find a new player, and they can’t. I wish he sounded a little more frustrated about it, but he seems to be enjoying himself. Exactly what I wanted him to do when I told him to go. Sowhy am I feeling so scratchy, wishing he was here and not there?
I mean, things have been busy of late. Sometimes at the end of the night, we come together in the kitchen and share whatever I’ve been cooking that day before we go to bed, sliding under the covers where, more and more, we’re too tired to do anything more than fall into a deep sleep. But on lots of days we’re like ships that pass in the night, though I know he’s there for me, and I hope he knows I’m there for him. We have to make more time for each other. I just wish I knew if he was worried that we’ve let things slip. Or is he ahead of me on this? Is he feeling this is the beginning of the end and taking the chance to make a getaway plan? Maybe they’re not looking for a replacement guitarist at all. And why did I feel I was being made a fool of with the shouts of ‘Grandpère!’ on the phone call?
Did I push him into this to test him? To see if he really wants this life here with me?
But what if he realizes just what a crazily busy life we have on the farm, in thebrocante, at the bistro, and it’s just too much for him? What if being back with the band he discovers there’s more to life out there and this isn’t what he wants?
I always worried that the age difference would be a problem one day. What if he’s wondering about us, and if we really have a future together?
‘Putain!’ I slam my fist onto the kitchen work surface.
‘Hi!’ says a voice behind me, making me jump.
I turn, quickly slamming my empty notebook shut. ‘Hi,’ I say, as if I’d been caught revealing my innermost thoughts. ‘Sorry if you heard me swearing.’
