A Year at the French Farmhouse(49)

‘Ooh, Reg, is that a hornet?’ a woman’s voice asked loudly.

‘Don’t be daft, it’s just a normal wasp.’

‘Did you see the size of it? It was bigger than my thumb!’

‘You need your eyes testing.’

Lily opened one eye to see the couple she’d noticed at breakfast, both wearing navy shorts, walking across the grass towards the three other sun-loungers spaced out close to the tree.

‘Grab up a couple of those chairs, love,’ said the woman.

‘But what if she’s reserving them? For friends?’

‘I doubt it. Don’t think anyone else is staying here.’

‘Still, it’d be rude.’

‘Well, ask her!’

‘You ask her! You’re the one with all the French.’

Lily sat up slightly on her elbows, about to tell them that they could take any of the other recliners they liked – she wasn’t waiting for anyone. And that she could speak English. But before she could open her mouth, the woman – whose deep tan and bright red hair both fought for her attention – crouched down and said, ‘Bonjour, je m’appelle Dawn. Vous besoin er… les chairs?’

‘Take them, it’s fine.’ Lily smiled.

Hearing her English, the woman visibly relaxed. ‘Oh, you’re English! That’s a relief. My French is so rusty at the moment. We’re just back from a couple of weeks in Manchester, aren’t we, Clive? And I’ve just lost all me verbs.’

‘Ha. Yes. So do you live over here?’ Lily asked, confused.

‘Yes, been over here four years now, haven’t we, Clive?’

Clive confirmed with a nod that yes, they had.

‘We’re just spending a couple of nights here while we wait for our guests to go.’

‘Guests?’

‘Yes. Oh, not proper guests. I mean, rental guests. We rent out our property for a month each summer and it pays for tickets back to see family and the like. Win-win.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘Only muggins here booked the flights for the wrong day. So here we are! Still, it’s nice to have a little break before getting back to it all.’

‘Oh, what do you do out here?’

‘Oh nothing. This and that. We’re retired really. But you know how it is.’

Lily had no idea how it was, but nodded anyway, leaning back down and closing her eyes. ‘Well, nice to meet you,’ she said, to signal the end of the conversation and regain the space she needed to try to work out what to do to help her friend.

But the signal was lost on Dawn. ‘You on holiday then?’ she asked.

‘Oh, no. I’m… I’ve just bought a property over here, actually.’

‘Oh, right? Whereabouts?’

‘Broussas.’

‘Ooh, lovely. Right by the lake?’

‘Yes.’

‘What you doing staying here on your tod then? Had a fight with yer fella?’

‘No. Actually I’m here with a friend. Just while we get the loirs problem sorted in the attic.’

‘Oh, bloody loirs. Noisy little beggars. We’ve got ’em too, but nothing really stops me sleeping. And they’re harmless enough.’

‘Oh right.’

‘Clive’s always saying he’ll put some poison down, but I’m worried about the dogs. And don’t like the idea of them all up there… you know, rotting away.’

‘No,’ said Lily.

‘Anyway. Look, love, if you’re here to stay you should come over for a drink. We’re having a little do at ours in a few days. You can get to know some new faces.’ Dawn smiled, revealing a set of patchwork teeth – four white crowns at the front, juxtaposed with the slightly more yellowing ones at the edge of her grin.

‘Well, thanks. I’ll… well, I’ll definitely try to make it,’ she said, only half meaning it.

Dawn finally straightened. ‘Right, well, let’s get these chairs shifted and give the girl some space,’ she said to Clive. ‘Looks like she needs a rest, that one.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ Lily said as they lifted their chairs to another part of the garden.

She assumed that the invitation meant she’d be meeting other British people. A kind of expat community. When she’d dreamed of living in France, it was with the aim of integrating properly, learning the language fluently and adopting a different culture.

But, after having spent a few days feeling a little out of her depth, the idea of meeting others in a similar position appealed too. The more she tried to speak French, the more she realised how far she actually was from being ‘fluent’. She’d get there, sure, but it would take months. In the meantime, she had to admit that it would be good to have people she could chat with without worrying about the sex of her verbs.

Feeling slightly more at one with the world, she lay back again in her shady spot and began to replay her conversation with Emily.





17





The breakfast room at La Petite Maison had a pleasing smell of coffee mixed with the faint aroma of pastries. As she sat at a small oak table in the cool, silent room, Lily lost herself in her drawing. Acquiring the house, despite its faults and rodent infestation, had inspired a long-dormant desire in her – to take something and truly make it her own. She smiled as she began to sketch the perfect window dressing for the front room, then sat back to…