A Year at the French Farmhouse(80)

Ty sipped his lager, looking out over the enormous grassed area, then through the scattered trees to the lake beyond.

‘It’s all right,’ he said.

‘All right? Ty, this is paradise!’ She poked his leg with her finger. ‘Come on, tell me this isn’t the most beautiful view you’ve ever seen!’

‘Yeah, maybe.’

She grinned at him and he caught her smile, the corners of his mouth turning up adorably. An all right from Ty was actually a pretty good score.

This morning, after she’d shown him around the house, they’d gone into Eymoutiers to pick up some bread and a few essentials from the bricolage – she’d found she was getting through paint at a rate of knots, but at the same time wasn’t making the progress she’d have hoped for. The paint was thin and the wallpaper was strongly patterned, meaning each wall took several coats and a plethora of different swear words to cover. But she was gradually getting there – dipping a paintbrush into a tin whenever she had the chance, and gradually transforming the walls from dreary and overly patterned to neutral and bright.

She’d watched Ty as he’d taken in the surroundings of her new hometown – the ancient stone buildings with old-fashioned sash windows, some with bars across their lower half. Each building with its individual quirks: a wall that narrowed almost to a point, a door leading from the second floor without a balcony to make sense of it; an ancient wooden archway with a curving staircase just visible inside. Seeing it all anew through his eyes, she had to pinch herself that she was actually here. That she actually lived here.

It was wasted on him of course, for the most part. He’d made the right noises, but she could see that it wouldn’t be his first choice of places to live right now. He was set on London, the UCL halls, the life and buzz and mixture of people he could meet. She was glad, on reflection, she’d waited until he was eighteen to move, if they’d moved over when Ty was eight – something she’d fought for at the time – he might have been completely at a loss. Now she could establish a life here, and make a home for him to come to whenever he chose – somewhere he could feel completely safe and nurtured and have a bit of sunshine to boot.

He’d perked up a bit when they’d visited the new pizza restaurant opposite the car park. It was run by a young couple who made each pizza to order in a corner kitchen then brought it to the table on a wooden board. The menu du jour consisted of a starter of tomatoes in vinaigrette – which he wolfed down quickly, scowling slightly at the bitter taste – and finished, post pizza, with chocolate torte.

‘Well,’ Lily had said, watching him lick the back of his spoon. ‘What do you think?’

‘It’s all right,’ he’d said.

The restaurant had been full and the rumble of conversation had made the place seem friendly and vibrant. Most of the tables had been taken up with people on their lunch-break from nearby businesses – she’d recognised a couple of faces, although she hadn’t yet been able to put names to them. She’d nodded and exchanged ‘bonjours’ on the way out, feeling pleased that she could show how she was settling in and getting to know people.

On their way out, they’d bumped into Chloé who was coming in with an older lady. ‘Bonjour,’ Chloé said, exchanging bisous with Lily, then nodding at Ty. ‘This is my mother,’ she said, gesturing to the woman, who was tall and slim and looked to be in her late fifties.

Once they’d gone through the formalities of the introduction and Chloé and her mother had disappeared into the interior of the restaurant, Ty had turned to Lily, his eyes sparkling for the first time since he’d arrived. ‘Who was she?’ he asked.

‘Chloé? She’s the woman whose B. & B. I stayed in at the start.’

‘She seems… like, really nice. Like, you know… fit.’

Coming from a boy whose highest compliments seemed to be either ‘all right’ or ‘pretty good’ this was an amazing endorsement.

‘Ty! She’s old enough to be your mother.’

‘Yeah, but she’s not like you, is she? She’s kind of…’

‘Careful how you finish that sentence,’ she’d said, not minding in the least.

‘Well, she just looks kind of cool,’ he’d said, with a shrug.

In the afternoon they’d taken the obligatory trip to the lake, where Ty had waded in up to his waist and swum lengths, his strong arms driving swathes of water out of his way as he’d raced along. She’d sat and watched – not keen on taking a dip herself – feeling proud of her son who had grown up more than she’d realised. Something about him being here had made everything seem doable, permanent. She’d imagined the holidays he might take; that he might choose to come here to revise in peace or decompress after a difficult term.

‘So,’ she said now. ‘You don’t think I’m completely mad to have moved here.’

He stiffened slightly and she wished she could grab the question back and reframe it. It sounded as if she was asking him to take sides, to tell her she’d done the right thing in leaving Ben behind. But it wasn’t like that at all.

‘I just mean,’ she added hurriedly, ‘that it’s not such a bad place, huh?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s actually all right.’