Page 23 of Love In Provence
Maria’s smile returns and so does mine, but I still can’t get over what happened in the kitchen this evening, how I froze. The first time, the burned beef, I put it down to shock. But tonight? What was that about? I’ve made coq au vin time and time again. Henri taught me what to do. What if I’ve forgotten it for good? I pick up the glass in front of me and watch the water wobble in my shaking hand. I take a sip. Then put it down and pick up the glass of rosé Ed’s poured for me, as Maria puts down a plate of chicken. When everyone is served, Maria sits.
We lift our knives and forks and dip them into the glossy spicy dish. She’s even made chapatis – I watched in awe as she toasted them over the gas ring.
‘I saw my grandmother doing this for years until finally she felt I was ready to learn. But it’s not something you can just expect to go right,’ she said,explaining why she didn’t need the help I offered. ‘My dad’s more of a barbie man. Never happier than with long tongs in one hand and a beer in the other. And Mum is always watching her weight.’
We eat the chicken, the spices reaching the corners of my mouth and reminding me of how long it is since I’ve eaten like this. ‘I don’t think I’ve eaten curry since I moved to France,’ I say. ‘We used to have a fantastic Indian restaurant where we lived before we moved out here. I think it’s the only thing I miss.’
We all laugh. And that feels good, really good.
Later that night, I stand by the window, staring at the lavender fields. It’s warm and the mosquitoes are determined to feed off me tonight. But I’ve covered myself in lemon juice and that seems to keep them at bay.
The sky is laden with stars, and I think of Fabien. He’ll be on stage now. I try to imagine him as I gaze upwards. The nights we’ve sat under the stars, a quiet time after a busy day. When did life get so frantic for us that we stopped having time to sit under the stars like we did on the night he convinced me to take a chance on us?
When I arrived back at the farmhouse from the riverside clearing, the night after Henri had come home from hospital after his first heart attack, I remember Fabien waiting for me on the terrace where we watchedthe stars. Henri and Rhi had decided to change their lives, to stop focusing so much on their businesses and their grown-up children and see the world while they could. That was when Henri had offered me the partnership in the business. I agreed to stay and work in the bistro, whether Fabien and I had a future or not. But he was ten years younger than me, and I knew the one thing he wanted was a family, which I couldn’t give him. I’d had all the tests and treatments. I’m not sure if that had finished my marriage to Ollie or we realized we wanted different things. Or, in his case, a different partner. But that’s water under the bridge. Fabien’s happy and so am I – at least, I thought we were – but I can’t remember the last time we did something as simple as sit out under the stars.
That night, there had been so much going on at the riverside clearing. Henri was home from hospital and stepping back from the bistro. I looked for Fabien and he’d gone. But when I got back to the farmhouse, there he was, the terrace lit by candles, the bats flitting to and fro, and a cold bottle of rosé waiting with two glasses. It was there he told me that the age gap made no difference. I was enough for him. Our stuck-together little family, with Stephanie and Tomas and now JB and little Louis, was enough for him. I was everything he wanted. That was enough for me too. He was everything I wanted, and that night meant everything too. No marriage vows, just those words to eachother as we went to bed and started our life together here.
What would it have been like if I’d gone with him on tour? Should I have let the harvest go for this one year?
I turn from the window above the terrace, overlooking the lavender fields and the town in the distance, lit by the silver light of the moon. I turn back and look over the barn from the other window. There’s a light on in the little kitchen. With sleep doing its best to avoid me, Ralph clearly interested, I say to him, ‘Need to pee?’
Together we head down the stairs, him for a quick wee while I go to switch off the lights that someone must have left on.
I head over the gravel towards the barn kitchen. When I see someone there I jump, startled, making Ralph bark.
10
‘Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!’
‘Don’t worry,’ I say to Jen, who is standing in the open-side area of the barn where there is a table, chairs, a soft red sofa and an outside kitchen. It’s rough and rustic but I love it. She’s standing by the little stove.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she says.
‘Snap.’ I smile.
The smell from the kitchen is amazing!
‘I really didn’t mean to disturb anyone,’ she apologizes again.
‘You didn’t. I just saw the light and thought it had been left on by mistake. I had to let Ralph out too.’ He has lain down by the table and chairs. ‘What are you cooking?’
She looks at the pan. ‘I hope it’s okay to do this.’
‘Of course it is. This kitchen is for you to use. In fact,I was thinking everyone might prefer to cook for themselves, after my disaster the other night.’
She doesn’t say anything. There’s a pop, and another, and then what sounds like a round of gunfire echoing around the barn, coming from the pot on the stove.
Jen looks aghast, putting her hands on the lid as if she’s trying to silence it. But in the quiet of the night, it seems even louder.
I’m trying not to squeal with laughter as the pot keeps popping. Just when she thinks it’s nearly done, it pops some more, making us laugh although we’re trying not to.
I’m scrunched up, clasping my stomach, weak with laughter, when the popping to match any fireworks display draws to a close. We sit at the table, wiping the tears from our eyes, as the local dogs start barking. But none of the other pickers have woken. Or if they have, they thought it really was a fireworks display, or an armed raid, and stayed put in their rooms.
‘What is it?’ I ask, as Jen brings the pan to the table, the odd pop still going off, like a petulant child trying to have the last word in an argument.
‘It was Maria, this evening, cooking something that made her think of her past, a happy place. This was our budget treat, my first husband and I, when we had no money. We’d buy a big bag of popping corn, then caramelize some sugar, add salt and butter, then bicarbonate of soda and mix it together. We’d pop the corn, then stir in the caramel, sit on the sofa and pretend we were at the cinema. Lights off, curtains shut. Popcorn and a can of Coke each. Sometimes we’d cook hotdogs too, the ones from a tin. I loved the squeezy mustard on softened onions. He had ketchupandmustard.’
‘Wow! And you just had a craving for this now?’ I indicate the pot of fluffy popcorn. ‘Do you make it a lot?’
