A Year at the French Farmhouse(16)

‘Oh Ben… but I can…’

‘I know I don’t love my job. But I like it enough. And it pays the bills. It’s steady. I suppose I’m boring, but I like things to be steady.’

‘But you always…’

‘And look, loads of people say they might emigrate one day, but hardly anyone does. So when we spoke about it, I suppose I was just… Well, you were so excited about the idea. It was nice to let you have your… eh, fantasy. But I just… Lily. I can’t do this. I just can’t.’

Lily could feel something inside herself sinking. This was really, truly a no. Not only a no for taking a leap of faith now. But no to ever actually moving over. All those conversations. The promises of ‘next year’ which always seemed to be pushed back. All those times when he’d nodded along. Had he been humouring her?

‘And what about what I want?’ she said, her voice unexpectedly thick with tears.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, pushing his chair back. ‘I just can’t.’ He stood up, his jaw clenched.

‘But, Ben!’

He turned and disappeared into the living room. Seconds later, she could hear the sound of the motor racing on TV.

As she sat there, rigid with a combination of stress and shock, she wondered whether she’d always agreed to his delays – his promises of future dates and next years, because on some level she’d known. Known that his heart wasn’t in it and been scared to hear him admit it.

Worse, she’d now discovered that, all things being equal, when faced with an ultimatum, he wouldn’t be willing to make a sacrifice for her. Not entertain her idea even for a trial period.

She’d spent years and years moulding herself around him, Ty, their family. Making sacrifices – maybe not earth-shattering ones, but the everyday sacrifices that parents make. And what had helped her through the difficult times, the frustrating moments – the moments when she’d felt completely invisible or unloved – was knowing that one day it would be her turn. She’d have the chance to live her life the way she’d always wanted; with Ben at her side.

It was hard to know exactly what feeling flooded through her at that minute on a wave of adrenalin. A kind of heady cocktail of anger, resentment, fear, hurt, disappointment, anxiety. But as it settled into her body it filled her with an unwavering certainty. She stood up, took a breath to steady herself, then walked into the living room.

‘Ben,’ she said, quite quietly, fists clenched at her sides. Her breathing was ragged, her heart pumping harder than it did during her aerobics class or when she had to run for the bus.

He looked up at her warily and muted the TV. ‘Uh-huh?’ he said. He appeared for a minute like a wild animal, cornered.

She felt a sense of calm; a stealthy predator frozen, preparing to strike. She took a deep breath. ‘Ben, I’m moving to France. I’m buying that house. I’m going to go over, sign the papers, meet the mayor guy…’

‘But…’

‘I’m going to live in it, do it up, find a way to make it work.’

‘But…’

She felt hot tears spill, but kept her eyes focused on her husband. ‘I’m going to sit in cafés and swim in the lake, and make new friends.’

‘Lily…’

‘I’m going to perfect my French and start building a business.’

‘But, love…’

‘Because it’s what I’ve dreamed of for years. I’ve made no secret of that. And you’ve let me believe all this time that it would happen one day. You’ve let me plan and fantasise and imagine what my life will be like in the future when we make a go of it.’

‘I’m so sorry… I really thought…’

‘Sure, maybe I won’t make a success of it. Maybe I’ll lose money, or discover that I don’t actually like France as much as I think I do. Maybe it will be an unremitting, terrible, ill-advised disaster…’

‘Come on, love…’

‘But at least I will have done it,’ she said, feeling heat surge into her palms.

Say it! Her mind urged. Tell him you don’t want to do it without him.

‘And if I have to do it by myself, I will.’





6





With a sigh, Lily watched as the cluttered tarmac of the airport fell away and within seconds the whole area became a tiny square, covered with toy planes, model buildings; ant-like people scurrying back and forth. As the plane gathered momentum, her horizons expanded. Fields and towns and roads and houses became map-like and surreal: tiny playthings in a child’s model village.

She knew that, somewhere down there, a tiny Ben was making his way to work; a pea-sized Ty was off to stay with a friend who had a pool. No doubt a mini Grahame was sitting at his desk in Banks Designs, opening the first email of the day. Everything carried on, yet she’d slipped into a different life, stepped away from the roles that had defined her for twenty years. Wife, mother, designer, she’d shrugged them off as if they were unwanted items of clothing rather than facets of her identity. It was liberating; it was terrifying.

It was a relief too in some ways, knowing that although of course Ben was as heartbroken as her, the structure of the life she’d left behind was still standing; would continue to function without her in it. It had looked, beforehand, as if everything she was involved in would crumble if she was removed from the world she’d created. But she’d gently pulled herself from the tower of responsibilities and familiarity like a piece of a Jenga puzzle, and life was carrying on as normal.