A Year at the French Farmhouse(46)

‘God,’ said Emily, ‘it’s like every stereotype of French life all packed into one bite-size piece.’

‘To be fair, I haven’t seen anyone wearing a beret yet.’

‘Good point.’

‘And I’m not sure I’ve noticed a poodle.’

‘There’ll be one along any minute.’

Laughing, Lily pulled the car into a small space between a van and a motorbike outside a tiny convenience store and they both got out, grateful to stretch their legs again and enjoy the gentle warmth of the morning sun. Lily’s back protested as she straightened, but the stiffness was already easing.

‘How you feeling?’ Emily asked, noticing her grimace as she stood.

‘Think I’m on the mend.’

‘Thank god for that. Does that mean I can stop feeling guilty?’

‘Let’s say you pay for lunch and we’re even,’ Lily said, linking her arm through Emily’s as they stepped along the sunlit road.

The market was small, but sold a variety of fresh produce: fruit and vegetables, freshly roasted chickens, olives glistening in ceramic pots, handmade leather bags and a huge array of fresh cheeses, the scent of which could be detected in the air from quite a distance. People milled in front of stalls, chatting, queued for oranges and apples, sat drinking coffee on small tables outside the café, smoked elegantly in tiny groups. Everyone seemed to know everyone else; eyes were caught, waves and kisses and snippets of gossip were exchanged.

Although they weren’t part of the small town’s inner circle, Lily and Emily were welcomed by smiling stallholders, or wished a bonne journée by passing locals. People seemed to have the time to notice one another; there was a sense of calm and contentment and togetherness that Lily had never felt in the rushed, frantic melee of the markets back home. Perhaps it was just that the town was small, meaning the residents had come to recognise each other. But it felt like more than that.

‘It just feels friendly here, doesn’t it?’ Emily remarked.

‘Yes! That’s the word I was looking for,’ Lily said. ‘As if we’re part of things, even though we’re not.’

‘Yes. Yes, exactly that.’

‘No sarcastic comments?’

‘Lily, I can’t think of one. I think maybe I’ve been cured.’

‘Well, that I can—’

‘Hey look,’ Emily interrupted. ‘It’s Monsieur le Dish.’

‘Who?’

‘Claude, you idiot, look!’ Emily pointed in the direction of the café-bar where Claude was sitting at a table on his own, sipping a coffee and reading a book. ‘We should go and say bonjour, or something.’

Claude looked up and smiled widely when he saw them both approach. ‘Bonjour!’ he said, half-standing in greeting. ‘Comment ?a va?’

‘Oui, ?a va,’ said Emily. ‘Et toi?’

‘Oui, oui, ?a va.’ He nodded, folding the corner of his page over and tucking the book away in his jacket pocket. ‘You are ’ere for a drink? You can join me if you like, I am waiting for my friend and ’e is not coming I fink.’

‘You’ve been stood up?’ Emily said, removing her jacket and hanging it on the back of a chair.

‘What is this “stood up”?’

‘Your date hasn’t arrived?’ she said, slipping into one of the chairs and giving an elaborate wink.

‘Ah, no, ’e is not a date,’ Claude said. ‘’e is just my friend, the vet. Per’aps ’e is called away, for an emergency wiv a cow?’

‘She’s just joking,’ Lily said hastily.

‘Ah, yes. The Breetish humour. I know this,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You say one thing, but it mean something else, oui?’

‘Something like that.’

Claude smiled. ‘Now I understand. It is funny, eh. That I have a date with my friend.’ He laughed, politely. ‘You make it sound like my friend, ’e is my lover, non?’

‘Coffee?’ Lily asked Emily, standing up to go to the counter inside.

‘OK. Large and black, I think, for me.’

‘No problem. And, Claude, can I get you another coffee?’ Lily asked.

He looked at his watch. ‘Ah, it eez almost twelve – midi – oui? Per’aps an apéritif?’

‘A drink? Now?’ Lily said.

‘Go on then,’ Emily interrupted. ‘What do you recommend?’





16





‘Pull over!’ Emily cried, grabbing at Lily’s arm as she drove.

Her tone was so urgent that Lily did as she was asked without question, bumping slightly up a grass verge near an old stone cottage. The minute the car came to a halt, Emily scrambled out and vomited copiously into the undergrowth.

An old man came out of the front door of the cottage and stared at the car in confusion. Lily couldn’t see his expression from where she sat and hoped that meant he couldn’t see the stream of orange-flecked liquid lurching out of her friend’s mouth and was simply wondering why a car was parked close to his drive.

‘Sorry,’ Emily slurred, climbing back into the car, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

‘Are you all right?’ Lily said, making a face.