A Year at the French Farmhouse(101)
Sam had offered to pop over this morning to help her set some of it up, but she’d refused. She hadn’t wanted to become a burden to her new friend, who had already gone above and beyond and would also have Derek and Claudine to deal with. ‘I’ll be fine,’ Lily had said. ‘You’ve done so much already.’
Instead, they’d agreed that Sam would come over at 1 p.m. before the party started to ensure there weren’t any last-minute disasters. ‘We can have a pre-party glass of fizz,’ Lily had said, ‘and you can keep me from having a nervous breakdown.’
She knew she’d be quite happy once the party was in full swing; the anticipation of it, though, felt a little overwhelming.
She sat back on her bed and pulled the duvet up to her chin, letting the warmth flood back through her body and resting her head on a propped-up pillow. Instead of rushing to get up, she watched the beginning of the sunrise: glimmers of light at the horizon, just below the treeline, flooding up and exposing a hint of blue in the early morning sky.
It was seven by the time she dragged herself out of bed and down the stairs; still seven hours before anyone would arrive – too soon to really start getting anything ready, and she didn’t have much to occupy herself with in the meantime. She made a coffee and opened her laptop, firing off a quick email to Tyler with a list she’d put together of things he might need to buy before he moved into halls. ‘I’m more than happy to fly over and help,’ she offered. ‘I’m only an hour or so away.’
She wanted him to know that wherever she lived, she would support him just as much. He didn’t have to think of Ben as his ‘main parent’ and her as someone on the periphery.
Then she switched on her phone which gratifyingly flashed with four messages immediately – nice to be in demand, she thought. The first was from Emily.
Flight arrives at 1, taxi to yours by 3. Mine’s a large red. X
She laughed and replied with:
As if I didn’t know! Looking forward to seeing you.
The second and third were from Frédérique.
I am sorry I cannot help this morning but I will be there at 2 for your party.
And – sent an hour later.
I can’t wait to see you – je suis excité ? mon coeur.
She replied:
Merci! ? tout à l'heure.
See you later.
Then she spent a minute or so debating whether to send a kiss or two, or an emoticon with heart eyes, and what kind of impression each might give. In the end she opted for a single ‘x’.
The fourth was from Ben. She almost didn’t open it – today she needed to stay upbeat and strong, and hearing from him right now might make her wobble. Curiosity though got the better of her, especially when she realised he’d sent it at 1 a.m. – a time of night when text messages are more likely to reveal emotion or truth, due to either exhaustion or alcohol.
She opened it. It said:
Lily, I’m sorry. I can’t
Can’t what? He’d obviously started to write and pressed send before finishing. Or started to write then decided against it, but accidentally sent it anyway. She was about to send a message in response, then something about the way he’d written it, the time it had been written struck her. Perhaps he was struggling.
She looked at her watch: 7.30 a.m., so 6.30 a.m. in England. She couldn’t ring him yet. He’d probably be trying to get a lie in after a busy week – he wouldn’t thank her for an early morning call.
It was probably just him telling her he was sorry he couldn’t take her call the other day, or that he couldn’t remember the password for their online banking. Or couldn’t remember someone’s birthday and needed to ask. Or something.
But something about the message, in tandem with the strange, unspecific feeling of dread left over from her dream, made it hard to settle.
She made another coffee and wandered into the garden, in the strange half-light that now lingered until almost 8 a.m., marking the fact that time was moving on and the seasons were changing. The morning air was cool, but pleasantly so and her cotton pyjamas gave more than enough protection from the chill. She blew the heat from the top of her mug and took a sip, looking out over the horizon to the glimmer of morning behind the trees. The heat of the hot liquid entering her throat sent a shiver through her body.
She imagined Ben coming out of the house behind her, wrapping an arm around her back. Standing with her to appreciate the beauty of it all; the fact that they’d stepped out of the structure imposed on them in their old life and chosen to create their own. She couldn’t shake the feeling that, if he’d only come, he would love it here. His job seemed to consume him at times – but here he’d have the freedom to rediscover who he was, what he really wanted to be. Some financial space – made possible by the lack of mortgage and equity freed up from the Basildon house. Headspace. Natural surroundings. And air that seemed to cleanse with every breath.
The sob came without her realising she was crying; embarrassingly loud in the empty garden. She checked herself and took a breath. It was no use. Because he wasn’t here. And it was clear that he never would be.
But the fact they were no longer together didn’t stop her loving him, caring for him. And now, worrying about him. Back in their house in that different life she’d walked away from, he was probably sleeping calmly, the text message half sent in the early hours a million miles from his mind.