A Year at the French Farmhouse(45)

‘I do?’

‘Oui, dans le grenier… il y a beaucoup des… des…’

‘I think,’ Frédérique said, with a touch of amusement, ‘it is per’aps better if we speak English for now, yes?’

‘Fine,’ she said, starting to feel cross. ‘There’s a bunch of rat things in the roof.’

‘Rat fings?’

‘Yes, le rat… but not a rat, something like a rat. With a bushy tail.’

‘Ah, a soft tail – like un écureuil? A squirrel?’

‘Yes, just like a squirrel.’

‘Ah, c’est un loir! But they are cute, yes?’

‘Yes, but, Frédérique, they are not cute at three in the morning when I am trying to sleep.’

There was a brief silence. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘Then I will come and bring some poison for them. They will not be noisy when they are dead, uh?’

‘Poison! Oh, no! Can’t you just, well, sort of take them away?’

Frédérique laughed. ‘Well, it is possible, yes. But it take a long time. You trap them, you take them away, they come back. Or you drive them to a ten kilometre of distance and maybe they don’t come back, eh.’

‘OK, can you do that?’

There was a brief silence. ‘You want me to take the loirs for a trip in the countryside?’

‘Would you?’

He was silent again for a moment. Then, ‘Madame, I will try.’

‘Thank you.’

‘But if it was just me, I would prefer some poison on an apple, and the problème it is no more, eh?’

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I just can’t…’

‘I understand. It is done. Please do not worry.’

‘Thank you.’

She ended the call, then dialled Ben’s number, but hanging up before the call connected, anxiety suddenly flooding through her. Instead, she went to her messenger service and recorded a voice note: ‘Ben, I got your message. And I miss you too – of course! But you know this is something I just have to do. And you know, I do wish you would… oh, never mind.’

Please come, she wanted to add.

She knew it was a bit pathetic to use the ‘leave a voice note’ option rather than speak to Ben properly. But she was too tired to have another argument, to talk around in circles again. And if she was honest, on zero sleep, in a considerable amount of pain and with the memory of a rodent flying past her head, she might have ended up bursting into tears if she’d heard his voice.

By the time Emily finally appeared in the doorway everything was sorted. ‘OK, so we’re off to La Petite Maison; I booked us a room –but we’re sharing for now, I’m afraid. Hopefully we’ll still get some decent sleep, Frédérique’s coming to sort the loirs…’

‘The what?’

‘Oh, the rat things, you know, furry poltergeists.’

‘Hope he’s going to poison the damn things.’

‘Actually, he’s going to trap them and drive them ten kilometres away or something.’

‘Wow, he must be a real animal lover.’

‘Something like that. Anyway, I thought we could take a breath – you know, have a mini break within a break and go to the market – there’s one in Eymoutiers today apparently.’

‘That lovely little town we drove through?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Count me in.’





Luckily, the room was already free and Chloé had told them they could turn up before the usual checkin time of eleven.

It was nine thirty when they arrived, and the downstairs smelled of coffee and fresh bread. Through the door into the breakfast room, Lily could see a man and a woman munching croissants and smiling at one another. She imagined for a moment she was looking at herself and Ben, how things might have been.

‘But you are hurt!’ Chloé told her, as they brought their bags into the hallway. She looked at Lily, who was stooped and limping, with some concern. ‘You want that I call the doctor?’

‘No, honestly. I just need… I mean, I’ll be fine.’

‘Then at least you will let me put some arnica in your room to rub. For the bruises?’

‘Thank you.’ She wasn’t a big fan of alternative medicine, but it seemed rude to refuse.

‘’Ow did this ’appen?’ Chloé said, taking her bag for her. ‘You ’av un accident?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘Then you tell me, uh? And I will make coffee.’

An hour later, having showered, taken advantage of the readily available and bitterly strong coffee and filled an incredulous Chloé in on their night-time antics, Lily and Emily drove into the small town of Eymoutiers, just twenty kilometres along the windy road, now nicknamed ‘Death-fall Heights’ by Emily.

As they approached the town, endless green gave way to small houses, some inhabited, others clearly empty, which increased in frequency until they were driving down a small high-street, dotted with shops fitted out on the ground floors of three-storey antique stone buildings, each adorned with a hand-painted sign. It was busier here, and people strolled along the pavements individually and in pairs, carrying fruit and vegetables from the market; or sat outside cafés sipping coffee with friends. Some walked, carrying French bread under their arms, others stopped to exchange kisses and greetings.