It Started With a Note

by Victoria Cooke

  ‘You’ve become my raison d’être.’

  My eyes widen and my chest swells. His reason for being. He’s looking at me with hopeful, expectant eyes but I don’t know what he wants me to say. His feelings echo my own but what does it change? Him being here, wanting us to be together, is no different to me being there and wanting to be together. The location and timing are different but our circumstances are the same.

  ‘Olivier, I …’ I’m stuck. There’s so much I want to say, yet I have nothing. I want so much to agree, and tell him I’ve been lost without him and I’ve missed him so much that I’ve had to employ distraction strategies. But what good is it when all it will do is prolong the recovery period we both need? ‘Olivier, we still live in different countries. Your business is in France and my son is here. I miss you too but you must understand that there isn’t a version of “us” that could ever work. Nothing has changed.’ My brow crumples, a bit like my soul.

  He takes a deep breath and holds my gaze for a moment before nodding slowly. ‘You’re right.’ He smiles tightly. ‘Too many movies perhaps.’ He hands me thirty pounds to cover his shopping and I take it silently as he bags it up. When I hand him his change, he holds onto my hand for a moment.

  ‘I’m sorry, Cath. It was wrong of me to come.’ He turns to walk away.

  ‘Wait,’ I blurt, causing him and a few shoppers to look round in surprise. ‘What was the second reason?’ He looks at me, puzzled. ‘You said you came here for two reasons, but you only gave me one.’

  ‘Oh.’ He looks sheepishly at his bag. ‘I was going to see if you wanted to join me for a picnic.’

  ‘Yes.’ It pops out of my mouth before I have time to think about it properly. ‘Since you’re here anyway, I mean, and we’re friends. I don’t see why not. How long are you here for?’

  ‘I leave tomorrow morning. What time do you finish work?’

  ‘Five.’

  ‘I’ll meet you outside at five.’

  And then I’ll have to say goodbye all over again.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  It’s five on the dot and I’m standing outside work in my familiar polyester uniform and pleather shoes. My hair is flat and desperately in need of a wash and my half-hearted make-up feels like it’s done a slalom down my face. To top that off, it’s piddling down with rain as expected. David might not be as attractive since the removal of my rose-tinted glasses, but his weather reports are still the best. I’ve no idea where we could go for a picnic because the sights of Berrybridge don’t really compare much to the beautiful rustic towns of France.

  My heart flips. He’s walking towards me, so I have a frantic, last-ditch attempt at smoothing down my flat-yet-defiantly-frizzy hair and I run my finger underneath my lash lines in the hope I don’t have panda eyes.

  He’s close now and there’s a small, uneasy smile on his face. He’s so close, in fact, I need to make a snap decision on how to greet him. Kiss on the cheek? Hug? I feel panicky. He’s too close now and if I don’t decide, there will be an awkward scenario where we both go in for something different and I end up kissing his ear. I hold my hands behind my back and kink my knee a little, and now I feel like an idiot for curtseying to him.

  He doesn’t seem to notice and instead pulls me into an all-embracing hug and I melt into him, allowing every muscle in my body to relax as our pieces fit together and the panic dissolves. My knees almost buckle beneath me, but even if they did, I wouldn’t notice because he’s got a firm grip on me. His warmth and fresh, familiar scent soothes away all my doubts to the point where I can’t remember them anymore. A warm tear rolls down my cheek and I’m thankful to the rain for masking it.

  ‘I have no idea where we’re going to go for a picnic,’ I say, patting my face dry with the sleeve of my denim jacket.

  He holds me with outstretched arms and tips his head to the side. ‘I have somewhere already in mind.’

  ‘Where?’ How can he possibly know where is good to have a picnic on a wet day in Berrybridge?

  He taps the side of his nose. ‘Follow me.’

  We walk in the rain umbrella-less, because despite David the weatherman’s warnings, I’d forgotten mine as usual. For once, I don’t care. It feels cool and refreshing after a day at work, and it completely negates the bad hair issue. Five minutes have passed and we’re still nowhere particularly picnic-worthy. In fact, we’re approaching the car park by the park. I say nothing and instead just wonder if perhaps it’s a French thing to dine al fresco even in the rain. It’s unlikely.

  Then I see where this is going. The red coach sits proudly in the far corner of the car park, shining like it’s been polished for an occasion. ‘It’s not the Seventies and that’s not a VW Campervan,’ I joke, but he frowns in confusion as a weak laugh escapes him.

  ‘Welcome aboard,’ he says, opening the doors. As I step inside, I gasp. Rose petals are scattered down the aisle. The overhead lighting is warm and yellow, and the seats at the back have been covered with the red and white gingham tablecloth from our picnic at the vineyard. A bunch of hand-tied tulips is set neatly on one of the seats next to a tray holding two wine glasses.

  ‘Olivier!’ I’m gobsmacked. ‘Nobody has ever done anything like this for me before. It’s lovely.’ I add the last bit on, but it’s by no means an afterthought.

  ‘Cath, I …’ It’s unusual for Olivier to be lost for words but he is, until he changes tack. ‘It’s not quite the champagne region of France, but it’s very close to the champagne aisle of your supermarket.’ I smile, appreciative of the mood-lightening comment.

  ‘Shall we?’ I say, gesturing to the back seat.

  Soon we’re sitting down and Olivier is pouring the wine. ‘I almost put pictures up of the vineyard but thought that might have been a step too far.’

  ‘Definitely. You’re in England now and it’s the law to enjoy, embrace and endlessly complain about the bad weather,’ I joke. ‘You can’t just mask it, you know.’

  ‘Ahh yes. The Great British weather.’

  He shrugs off his coat, revealing a casual blue polo shirt underneath, then starts slicing bread and opening the cheese and other things. I watch his upper arms tense and the muscles move under the skin as he hacks at the crusty bread while I sip my wine, enjoying the feeling of being spoilt one last time.

  ‘So how’s life back in Blighty?’ He hands me a paper plate of cheese and bread.

  ‘It’s good to be back.’ The lie trips off my tongue as easily as it has done all week.

  ‘That’s good,’ he says quietly. ‘Life in France has been quiet.’

  ‘Is the business okay?’ I ask. Surely quiet isn’t good when you’re in tourism – the season isn’t yet over.

  ‘The business is thriving. We’re turning down requests. Next year we want to expand the business and take on more guides. Maybe even another coach.’

  ‘That’s fantastic, Olivier.’

  ‘I meant things are quiet without you.’ I knew what he meant; I just didn’t want him to say it. The words are too hard to hear.

  ‘I know. Things are quiet without you too. I’m sorry I didn’t text you back – I thought it would complicate things.’

  ‘I understand.’ We fall silent and I pick at a thread on the hem of my tunic. The air becomes thick between us and the atmosphere heavy. Olivier takes my plate from my hand and places it down on the empty seat beside me.

  ‘The truth is, Cath, everything I have seems pointless if you’re not there to share it with. I know I did it before, but now I’ve seen what it’s like to have you there, I can’t go back to just … existing.’ He lets his arms flop down beside him.

  ‘Saying goodbye to you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.’ My voice quivers.

  He pulls me into a hug and I sob quietly into his shoulder, hoping he can’t hear. When I’ve composed myself, I pull away and look at him. ‘Je manquer tu.’

  He lets out a soft laugh.

  ‘What?’ Heat rises up the back of my ne
ck. ‘Je te manque?’

  He shakes his head.

  ‘What? How is that still wrong?’ I make a ‘hmph’ sound. ‘I had a really rubbish French tutor, you know.’

  ‘Tu me manques. You are missing to me,’ he says. ‘Not I miss you.’

  The words warm my chest. ‘Ah, that makes more sense. The person missing should be the subject, because they are the focus.’ I meet his eyes and whisper, ‘They’re what matters.’

  ‘Exactly.’ His eyes are intense. ‘Because the person missing from your life is the most important.’

  My eyes fall to my lap and the muscles in my forehead tense as the sadness inside me manifests on my face.

  ‘So why are we torturing ourselves?’ he says, placing his hands on my shoulders. ‘What if there is a way to make this work?’

  ‘How?’ My chest lifts even though I can’t think of a way.

  ‘Well, as I’ve said, the business is growing all the time. We need more staff and although the Somme region is our bread and butter, we’re expanding further afield and we’re bringing people across to the UK all the time.’

  I’m about to protest and say how we can hardly base a relationship on a few trips to the UK each year but I’m intrigued to see how he thinks it will work. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Julien and Elena want to try for a family soon and so being in the Somme Valley will really work for them whereas taking over the UK operations might just work for me …’

  ‘How often are we talking?’

  ‘Well, in summer, I could run at least one trip here a week. The London tours are so popular as are the Scottish and Welsh trips. In the winter, we could run a busy Christmas shopping schedule. And then you’ll have holidays too; you could come and stay with me. I don’t know the ins and outs or if it will work but it seems foolish not to at least try, don’t you think?’

  ‘I thought I’d settle back into my life and be happy with the memories we shared but truth be told, it’s been so hard. I’ve never felt pain quite like it,’ I say honestly.

  ‘Me too,’ he replies. ‘And how do you feel now I’m here?’

  ‘Better.’ I entwine my fingers in his. ‘Happy. Cured.’

  ‘Me too,’ he says softly.

  ‘Being together is like pain relief, so, I suppose we need to see one another for medicinal purposes. Something of an addiction.’ It comes out as a joke, but I regret it instantly. I bite my lip. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘I know what you meant.’

  I have to ask him – it’s been playing on my mind. ‘Did you, you know, need the tablets?’

  He looks puzzled for a second and I’m tense with anticipation, primed and ready to pounce on any denial that comes my way. It doesn’t matter either way to me because I can help him through it, but I know it matters to him. He pulls the bottle out from his coat pocket and shakes it. ‘You’re talking about these?’

  ‘Yes! I know things have been hard and if you needed to take one I understand, and I can help you.’

  ‘Cath, these tablets are eighteen years old. Even if I wanted to take one, I don’t think they’d have the desired effect. What made you think I’d start taking these again?’

  I chew my bottom lip. ‘I saw them by your bed. I wasn’t snooping, I promise, I just wanted to see the view from upstairs and—’

  He clasps my hands in his. ‘I’m flattered that you’re worried, and that you wanted to see my bedroom—’ he winks ‘—but I keep these with me as a reminder to show me how far I’ve come. The day I decided to stop taking them, I had eleven pills left and I’ve always carried them with me because I know if I can resist them, I can do anything.’

  I breathe a huge sigh of relief. ‘That’s fantastic, Olivier. You’re stronger than you know.’

  ‘I can’t say I didn’t want to take something similar when you left,’ he says, shoving them back in his coat. ‘When I was tempted, I came clean to Elena instead, and she’s been a big help.’

  ‘That’s great. I knew she’d understand.’

  ‘I know, she did. To be honest, she saw it as no worse than the marijuana that she smoked in college, which, by the way, I did not know about.’

  I laugh. ‘And I’m guessing she still thinks you’re an amazing brother?’

  ‘It’s like there’s no stopping her.’ He shakes his head. ‘She said that if I didn’t need them when you left, I wouldn’t need them again so asked why I kept them. I didn’t really have an answer.’

  ‘You kept them to prove you didn’t need them,’ I say.

  ‘I know, but I don’t need them, and I don’t need proof. They’re also probably a customs risk so I’d like to throw them away.’

  ‘If you’re sure, there’s a bin by the entrance to the car park.’

  We brave the rain and scurry across the tarmac to the bin where he throws the bottle.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask as we climb back aboard.

  ‘More than okay. Besides, they were so old, they’d have probably killed me.’

  We spend the next few hours chatting and eating, and once the wine is gone, we clear everything away.

  ‘What time do you need to pick up your guests tomorrow?’

  ‘Ten o’clock.’

  ‘Then I guess you’ve got plenty of time to come back to my house?’ I say, with mischief in my tone.

  ‘Well, madame, if you insist.’

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The front door slams shut and I sit bolt upright. The house is usually so still, and not even Gary has a key anymore. I glance to my right and Olivier is there, sleeping. I don’t want to wake him, but someone has either just come in or gone out of my house. I slip my dressing gown on and tie the belt tightly around my waist before tiptoeing down the stairs as quietly as I can to investigate. There’s rustling in the kitchen. I look around the hallway for something I can use as a weapon, but there’s nothing apart from the umbrella I’d not taken to work yesterday. I clutch it and peer around the door to see the back of a man who is rooting through the cupboards.

  ‘Hi-yah!’ I shout as I whack the umbrella around the back of his head as hard as I can.

  ‘Ouch!’ The man turns around and I gasp.

  ‘Kieran. Oh my God. I’m so sorry, love.’ I pull my lummox of a son into a hug. ‘What are you doing here?’

  He pulls away. His brow is crumpled as he rubs the back of his head. ‘I thought I’d come home and see you. Didn’t think you’d batter me with a brolly, though.’

  ‘Sorry, I thought you were a burglar.’ Other than Olivier, the house hasn’t had a visitor since I’ve been back.

  ‘There’s nothing here to burgle. You haven’t even got any biscuits.’ My mind is cast back to yesterday; I didn’t exactly have much time for shopping after work.

  ‘Sit down and let me make you some tea.’ I feel terrible.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ Olivier is hovering in the doorway, thankfully fully dressed. The weirdness of Kieran and Olivier standing in my kitchen together renders me speechless.

  ‘I heard shouting,’ he continues.

  ‘Olivier. This is my son, Kieran,’ I say. ‘Kieran, this is Olivier.’ I hope that Kieran listened when I mentioned Olivier on the phone call in France and that he needs no more introduction.

  ‘It’s so good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.’ Olivier’s typical friendly demeanour is particularly welcome.

  Kieran raises an eyebrow and hesitates. I hold my breath. Other than Gary, this is the first man I’ve ever brought into my home.

  When he leans over and shakes Olivier’s hand, I exhale with relief. ‘It’s good to meet you.’

  I want to ask Kieran when he had become so polite, but I bite my tongue, not wanting to break this fragile moment of bonding.

  ‘Well, I’m glad it was just you anyway. I could have sworn I’d heard the Karate Kid down here.’ Olivier shoots me a playful glance.

  ‘Excuse me! I thought there was a burglar in the house. Notice how I di
dn’t wake you up? I just came down to deal with the task of burglar-bashing myself – I’m an independent woman remember, so don’t mock me!’ I prod him playfully.

  ‘’Er … I’m going to put my bag in my room.’ Kieran excuses himself and heads upstairs, leaving me feeling guilty for ignoring him and talking to Olivier just now.

  ‘I’m going to see if he needs a hand,’ I say and Olivier nods sympathetically.

  When I reach Kieran’s room, I have to stop myself from just barging in. He’s an adult now, with manners apparently, so I should knock. I tap three times on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ he shouts.

  When I enter, he’s unpacking his bag and putting clothes into his drawers. Is this even the same person?

  ‘Kieran? I think I’ve got some explaining to do.’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting to find some bloke here, if that’s what you mean.’ He carries on unpacking and I can’t tell if he’s cross.

  ‘Kieran, I—’

  ‘Relax, Mum. It was bound to happen at some point. I’m just glad it’s now, y’know, that I’m an adult. I get it, but I couldn’t have handled it when I was a kid.’

  My chest cracks. ‘Oh, Kieran. It’s something of nothing really. Olivier lives in France and I live here so it’s nothing serious. He’s more of a friend, really.’

  ‘Well, my girlfriend is from Edinburgh.’

  Girlfriend? What – Kieran has a girlfriend? This is a first. This is brilliant! I’m sure she’ll be lovely and want to do all the things Kieran never did, like go shopping and get pedicures.

  ‘Mum?’ Kieran breaks into my thoughts.

  ‘Sorry, what?’

  ‘Nothing, you went all weird. I’m eighteen now, I’m allowed a girlfriend, you know.’

  I smile. ‘Of course you are. I’m over the moon. Come here.’ I give him a squeeze and he lets me for a few moments before pulling away and holding me at arm’s length.

  ‘I was trying to say that the distance doesn’t have to be a big deal. Not if you don’t want it to be. Chloe and I see one another when we’re at uni, and when we go home, we FaceTime and stuff. If you like this guy, give it a go.’