It Started With a Note

by Victoria Cooke

  My insides come over all peculiar. It’s a mixture of embarrassment and warmth, because taking relationship advice from my son is uncharted territory, but, particularly, his perception and thought is something new too. This girlfriend business has changed him. I don’t reply – if all that comes out he’ll get all embarrassed, and besides, as much as I appreciate his words, I’m not comfortable discussing Olivier with Kieran. It’s all just a little too odd.

  ‘I’m going to get dressed,’ I say once Kieran’s bag is unpacked. I assume Olivier will have made himself some tea or rustled up a Danish pastry or something.

  I come downstairs as soon as I’m ready because I don’t want to miss Olivier, and there isn’t much time left. As I approach the doorway to the kitchen, I hear him and Kieran laughing so I hang back, not particularly wanting to eavesdrop, but not wanting to ruin their moment either.

  ‘It’s good you got her to try,’ I hear Kieran say.

  ‘She wanted to. She’s a determined woman really,’ Olivier replies. My whole body tenses. I know they’re talking about me.

  ‘I know. She’s the best,’ Kieran says, and my chest swells. I can’t listen any longer because it doesn’t feel right.

  ‘Who’s the best?’ I say as casually as I can when I walk in.

  ‘You are,’ Kieran says. Awww. ‘Olivier was just telling me you’d been learning a bit of French.’ Hence the laughter.

  ‘That’s right. I suppose he told you all about my faux pas too, did he?’ I shoot Olivier a look of mock-scolding and he stifles a laugh.

  Kieran looks quite amused and rubs his chin as if to conceal it. ‘He might have mentioned one or two actually.’

  I fold my arms. ‘Oh, did he now?’

  Olivier walks over to me and wraps me in his arms. ‘I’m sorry to throw you under the bus, I was just trying to bond with your son.’ There’s mirth in his tone and while I maintain a look of mock-grinchiness, I’m thrilled to see them getting along.

  While I scramble for a witty retort, I notice the time and gasp. ‘Olivier, you need to get going, it’s twenty past nine.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ He sighs. ‘I don’t want to leave just yet.’ He squeezes me tighter.

  ‘And I’m not ready to let you go, but you must.’ He kisses my neck as I speak.

  ‘Er, and on that note, I’m popping to Dan’s. We’re going for a catch-up and a full English,’ Kieran says. ‘It was great to meet you, Olivier – and, Mum, he’s a nice guy.’ He nods pointedly towards Olivier and though his words and gestures were minimal, I know it’s Kieran’s way of giving me his blessing; but before I can say anything he’s out the door.

  ‘Nice kid you’ve got there,’ Olivier says. ‘You’ve raised him well.’ I daren’t tell him that this new improved version of my son is a product of half a term at uni and not eighteen years’ worth of die-hard single parenting.

  Once Olivier is ready, we amble back to the coach in our signature, companionable silence. There’s no awkwardness, just a sense of company that brings me comfort. I suspect it’s the same for Olivier. Seeing him this weekend has been like the bonus feature on the DVD of our time together. It’s drawn out our movie, extended the warmth and joy but it still has to end.

  ‘I can’t believe we have to say goodbye all over again,’ I say as those familiar spears start jabbing at my chest once more.

  ‘What if I told you I’d be doing this exact same trip next month and I’d like to see you again?’

  I pause for a moment, biting my lip.

  ‘I suppose it wouldn’t make this goodbye so bad.’

  ‘So are you saying you’d be happy to see me next month?’ He entwines his fingers with mine.

  ‘I don’t suppose it would be so bad.’ I match his grin.

  ‘Okay then. I will see you next month.’ He pulls me in for a full-on kiss and I melt into the familiar velvety embrace. My heart grows, filling my chest and belting away the spears.

  ‘This is the kind of goodbye I can do.’ I speak aloud the thought as it hits me. Seeing Olivier sporadically is definitely better than not seeing him at all. We’re both used to being alone, happy even. So living that way shouldn’t be any different, and there’s this as a cherry on top.

  He holds me tight, the familiar connection of all our lumps and bumps slotting together perfectly once again as he inhales the scent of my hair. I don’t know what the future holds, but I know it’s one with Olivier in it.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I ring the buzzer apprehensively. Gary hadn’t wanted me to visit until he had the flat perfect and that time has now come. ‘You need to expect Elena-style cooking, minus the good sense to purchase backup baguettes,’ I say to Olivier as we enter the lift to head up to Gary’s flat. I’d tried to suggest to Gary that inviting Olivier round too might be a bit much for his first attempt at hosting a dinner party (of sorts), but he insisted on him coming as a thanks to me for helping him out of his fug and he even went on to invite Kieran and Chloe (his girlfriend, who is lovely by the way and actually does like shopping and pedicures. She even washes the dishes after dinner).

  It’s a month after Olivier and I agreed to keep things going and he’s back in the UK for a few days. I thought it might be too soon for a family gathering but he seemed ridiculously excited when I’d mentioned it.

  ‘Good evening,’ Gary says, swinging the door open on our arrival. He’s ironed his T-shirt, I note.

  We exchange greetings and he shepherds us into the lounge. ‘Well, well, well. This is very nice,’ I say truthfully. ‘Nice mirror.’ I gesture to the large silver-framed piece above the electric fire that forms the focal point of the room.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’ Kieran and Chloe come out, each carrying a bottle of beer, from what I assume is the kitchen.

  As I head over to greet them, I hear Olivier ask Gary if he’s done the place up himself, and as I hug Kieran and Chloe I hear Gary say: ‘Oh you know, a lick of paint here, a few pictures there.’ As though it was the easiest thing in the world. I smile as Olivier gives him the credit that he’s due, and for all Gary’s faults and niggles, he has come a long way in a short time and Olivier knows that. The fact he offered him praise and no words of negativity is why I love him.

  Yes, I love him.

  And he loves me.

  Suddenly, I look around and everyone is sitting down staring at me. ‘What?’ I ask uncomfortably.

  ‘Sit down, Cath,’ Gary says.

  ‘Mum, this is an intervention.’ Kieran looks very serious all of a sudden.

  ‘What on earth is an intervention?’

  Kieran draws a breath. ‘We’ve been chatting to Olivier, on WhatsApp and stuff.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, unsure where this is going.

  ‘He’s told us he’s asked you to move to France to join the business but you won’t. Because of me.’ Kieran’s face is full of emotion and it sets my bottom lip off.

  ‘Cath. Before this goes any further, I just want to say that this was all Kieran’s idea and I respect your decision.’ I glance at Olivier as he speaks, then back to Kieran.

  ‘I want you to live a better life, Mum. I know the sacrifices you’ve made for me and it’s time to do something for you. Go to France.’

  I look at him and then Chloe, who smiles encouragingly.

  ‘Mum, you can sell the house and go. I’ve never seen you so happy as when you’re talking about France – you love it there.’

  ‘I’m not selling that house,’ I say.

  Olivier takes my hand. ‘You won’t have to.’

  ‘I see you less than once a month as it is, Mum, and if you worked with Olivier, you’d be back once a month anyway and me and Chloe would come to France to visit,’ Kieran adds.

  ‘And me,’ Gary pipes up.

  ‘I can’t just up and leave. I start my course in a few weeks. I’m changing career.’

  ‘That’s entirely your decision,’ Olivier says, kissing my hand. ‘We do have schools in France too though, and our coach company is p
artnering up with more and more UK schools. If that was something you’d be interested in I would love you to head up that department.’

  I think about what Kieran is saying. I consider what living and working in France might be like. I think about Olivier’s house and cooking and visits to the vineyard, the beach and Paris. People do it, don’t they? Jenny in Thiepval did it and she’s very happy with her life. Is it so wrong to want more? To dare to be selfish for once and follow my heart?

  I take a deep breath and look to Kieran and then Olivier.

  ‘If you’re sure that this is what you want. That it will work out and I don’t need to sell my house then … oui.’ A smile cracks on my face. ‘Yes. Yes.’ Olivier wraps his arms around me and thrusts me into the air and I glance down at him.

  ‘Okay.’ I squeal. ‘But I’m going to need a better French teacher.’

  One Year Later …

  ‘Bonjour,’ Elena coos as she lets herself in. ‘Where do you want this?’ She’s got an oven glove on and is carrying a crockpot with gravy juices oozing from the lid. It smells good but I know better and raise an eyebrow.

  ‘Oh no, no, no, I don’t want to upset a pregnant lady but what is that?’ Olivier pops his head out of the kitchen.

  ‘Relax brother, I have a new recipe. That American lady, Martha, who friended me on Facebook sent it to me. This is the one that will leave you begging for more.’ She grins, walking to the kitchen.

  Olivier and I exchange wary glances. ‘Did you at least bring sandwiches?’ he asks her as she places it on the counter. The question earns him a lashing with the oven glove.

  ‘I’m being serious. Cath made the tarte aux pommes for dessert. This whole evening could be a disaster,’ he teases.

  ‘Hey,’ I say. ‘You taught me.’

  Elena places her hands on her hips and glares at him. ‘Try it.’

  ‘Do I have to?’ She whips him again. ‘Okay, pass me a spoon.’

  I look on, intrigued, as he spoons a lump of beef into his mouth. The air is thick with tension.

  ‘Well?’ Elena asks.

  ‘It’s good.’ He nods. ‘Really good.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that – I’ve peaked! I can give up now.’ She giggles as there’s a knock at the door.

  My heart races. ‘Oh my God, oh my God. I’ll get it,’ I say, dashing to the door. Elena and Olivier are behind me as I swing it open.

  ‘Hello,’ I cry, clutching my hands to my face before launching myself at Kieran and Chloe, pulling them into a hug. I move on to Gary next. ‘You found us okay then?’

  ‘Easy,’ Gary says.

  ‘I can’t believe how quick the journey was, a few hours to the tunnel and then an hour from Calais. It would have been worse if you moved up north,’ Kieran jokes. ‘Seriously, Mum, this is fine and look at you – you look so healthy, and happy.’

  My eyes fill up. ‘Oh, come here, you.’ I grab him again and kiss his cheek. ‘It’s great to see you all.’

  Olivier welcomes everyone in and we make our introductions before spending the afternoon catching up by the pool. Chloe and Kieran seem sweet together and they’re pretty solid now after being together over a year. My heart swells with happiness. Gary has got himself a girlfriend and has even been promoted at work. As I watch him pronounce the t’s at the ends of his words and the aitches after all his w’s I can’t help but wonder whether Olivier has been the positive influence he needed in his life to gee him on a bit.

  Julien joins us for dinner and we spend the evening enjoying (yes you heard it right) Elena’s food and my dessert. It’s hard to imagine life back in the UK now. I’ve been working with children just as I’d wanted but I decided the coach company suited me better than the classroom because now I get to see that beautiful scenery my great-grandfather wrote about, every single day. I get to share his story and it helps to know he didn’t die in vain. I still chat to Martha and Cynthia in our Chitchat group and I even met up with Jackie on her annual trip to Arras a few weeks ago. Kaitlynn is never off Instagram and I feel like I know more about her life now that I ever did before.

  As everyone is sat by the pool chatting, I take some clean towels up to the spare bedrooms and go to change my shoes in our room when I stop by the bedroom window. Olivier has gathered everyone close and he’s talking. His expression is serious.

  When I head back downstairs I hover at the patio doors. Julien sees me and clears his throat, causing everyone to turn around.

  ‘What?’ I say, feeling incredibly self-conscious.

  Olivier rises to his feet and takes me by the hand. ‘Cath my love, come and sit down.’

  ‘If this is another intervention or whatever, I’ll not be impressed.’ I sit on a lounger and fold my arms.

  ‘It isn’t, I promise.’ Olivier kneels down and wraps his hands around mine.’

  ‘If you’ve come to beg for the last piece of apple tart you can think again. It’s mine.’

  ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘What is it then?’ I’m starting to feel a little worried and the beady eyes of our nearest and dearest upon us aren’t helping.

  ‘Cath, I love you so much. Having you in my life has been more than I could have ever wished for and, I think, I hope you feel the same way. I see a light in you that gets brighter each day and you light me up too. Your confidence and initiatives are great for the business and your apple tart is second to none. But most of all, I just love to be around you. I love your presence, your company and your funny little phrases.’

  ‘Of course, I feel the same way, you fool.’ I laugh nervously.

  ‘Then I hope you’ll answer my question with a yes.’ He takes a deep breath and squeezes my hands. ‘Cath, veux-tu m’épouser?’

  Will … you … I’m trying to process the words. Will you marry me? I gasp, clutching my hands to my face as I well up. Then I spot the black fuzzy box he’s taken out and is holding in front of me.

  ‘Oh my goodness, yes. A thousand yeses.’ Tears stream down my face as Olivier pulls me into his arms and there are whoops and cheers from our audience.

  When Olivier eventually pulls away he looks visibly relieved.

  ‘I’m so sorry for springing this upon you in front of everyone. I uhmed and ahhed about taking you to Paris or the countryside to do this in private but when I thought about what matters to you the most, it’s family. I hope you don’t mind the audience.’

  ‘Olivier, it was perfect. Having everyone I love here in one place is amazing. Now let me see that ring.’ I wipe my eyes and take the box. ‘Ahh, it’s beautiful.’ I take out the sapphire, set in diamonds on a platinum or white gold band, and place it on my finger.

  ‘It’s a French cluster ring from the Edwardian era, made in around 1910. I couldn’t get one guaranteed to be from 1917 but figured this was something special that was around when your great-grandfather was.’

  I’m now sobbing. ‘It’s perfect – it means the world to me that you’d do this. Thank you, thank you so much, for everything.’ I wipe my face again. ‘You’re perfect. I love you.’ I pull his collar in and kiss him, spurring on more ahhs from the crowd. ‘And I love you lot too,’ I add when I pull away.

  We spend the next few days showing Kieran, Chloe and Gary around our haunts including the vineyard, where we’ve decided to have the wedding and Le Touquet where we may go for a few days after. We have plenty of fun things planned before our guests go home but tomorrow, we’re all visiting the Menin Gate.

  Acknowledgements

  This book wouldn’t have been possible without the help and support of several awesome people. Hannah Smith, thank you so much for taking on this book and for your early advice on the plot. Cara Chimirri, for your honest, constructive feedback, knowledge and fantastic editorial notes. Katherine Trail, once again thank you for your invaluable advice and notes. Also, thank you to HQ Digital for publishing this book and designing the wonderful cover and Helena Newton for your wonderful copy edit notes.

  I’d also like to than
k my friend, Linda Benalia for her kind help and advice with the French translations that made this book possible. I can wholeheartedly say, I was a bit of a pest but you were always happy to correct my many mistakes. Thank you to Elizabeth Marsland for sharing your passion for WWI history with me and to you, Dad, for your input.

  Finally, I’d like to give a special mention of thanks to The Edward Thomas Fellowship for their assistance and good wishes.

  Turn the page for an extract from Who Needs Men Anyway? by Victoria Cooke …

  Prologue

  Valentine’s Day Last Year

  I’m Charlotte, and I have a wonderful life.

  The house, the cars, the clothes, and the man. What more could I want?

  My husband, James, is quite the catch: successful, good-looking, and loved by everyone, he’s the type of man other women tell me they dream of marrying. James and I were university sweethearts and married at the tender age of twenty-four – ten years ago today, in a lavish ceremony on a frosty February the fourteenth, so Valentine’s Day has always been a day of celebration.

  This morning, I woke up to find a single rose lying at the foot of the bed with a little note that read:

  I love you more than life itself.

  Happy anniversary, my darling valentine.

  James

  xxx

  A smile spread across my face as I sniffed the rose. ‘James?’ I shouted, and he emerged from the steamy en suite with a white towel tied around his waist, showing off his toned stomach, still tanned from our recent trip to Mexico.

  ‘You’re awake?’ He pulled me into a hug.

  ‘I am, thank you for the rose,’ I said, kissing him. ‘And the note.’

  ‘You deserve it, Charlotte. I love you. Come here.’ He pulled me in tight once again, nibbling my lip. ‘I’ll see you tonight. I have a special dinner planned – at that new French restaurant on the high street – but I’ll be working late so meet me there at seven?’

  ‘Sounds perfect. Now sit down, I’ve got something for you.’