Summer in Provence

by Coleman, Lucy

  ‘Well, just a couple of weeks ago you were the average family. Now look at you all! I miss not being able to pop into yours and have a good old moaning session. I’m having to actually talk to Steve now, out of sheer desperation. I’m even thinking about getting a part-time job. See what you two have started? Where will it all end, I ask myself?’

  As we say our goodbyes, Georgia is laughing and I join in, but it’s half-hearted. I’m well aware that her words merely reflect that niggling little concern I’m trying so desperately to push to the back of my own mind. Where will it all end?

  16

  A Deeper Connection

  Nico and his guest are nowhere to be seen when I head into the day room to grab some lunch. I wonder if he’s taken him into town so they can talk and eat in peace. Odile, aided by Bastien, is putting out platters with an assortment of cheese and fruits. There are chunks of baguette and baskets of savoury biscuits, perfect for scooping up the freshly made tapenade – an olive dip with capers, anchovies and garlic. Alongside them is a tray of fougasses – baked flat breads covered with fromage de chèvre – with thinly sliced courgettes. What I love about the meals here is that the ingredients are so fresh, the flavours singing the delights of Provence. Even the herbs are packed full of flavour and something simple, like a little scattering of freshly picked and chopped tarragon, can elevate a dish to another level.

  Kellie appears and saunters over next to me to grab a plate.

  ‘Did you enjoy your cycle ride?’ I ask casually, wondering where Taylor has gone.

  ‘Yes. It was very pleasant. Are you sitting outside to eat?’

  There’s something in her tone that makes me think it’s a request, rather than a question.

  ‘Yes. I thought I’d wrap this in cling film and wander down to the lake to enjoy it. I’d love some company.’

  She looks pleased. ‘Okay. That would be great.’

  Minutes later we begin our stroll and for once I don’t really have to focus on keeping the conversation flowing. Kellie seems happy to chat away about how pleased she is to be staying on and that her mother is on her side. I wait until she’s finished to ask a question.

  ‘Your father isn’t happy that you’re here?’

  Kellie shakes her head. ‘I’m always in the middle of them. Out of sheer principle, they never agree on anything. Mum usually takes my side, so Dad does the opposite. He says if Mum hadn’t cosseted me—’ She pauses, mid-sentence, and a look of anxiety passes over her face. ‘Well, he thinks my problems are because I’m spoilt,’ she finishes. But I can tell that wasn’t what she was going to say in the first place because her unease is very evident.

  When we reach the bench, we unwrap our lunch plates and I pass her a napkin. She asks how the painting is going. I tell Kellie how nervous I was the first time my brush touched the canvas and how vulnerable it made me feel.

  ‘It was both thrilling and scary, creating something visual and having to accept that not everyone is going to like what you do. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as they say.’

  ‘I should imagine it’s a bit like being told you have an ugly baby,’ Kellie replies, giving me a sympathetic smile.

  ‘I Skyped my neighbour this morning and showed it to her. Of course, I’ve only just made a start on it, but she didn’t look at all impressed.’

  ‘It’s hard to be brave when that’s not how you feel inside,’ she admits.

  I nod.

  We eat in silence for a while, but I notice that Kellie is only toying with her food. She keeps playing with her bracelets, and they softly jangle as she eases them back and forth.

  ‘I like Taylor,’ she says, quietly.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘He likes me, too. But he said he’s not ready to get close to someone.’

  A part of me is relieved, although I can see she is upset about it.

  ‘Do you know the story behind his scar?’ she asks.

  I shake my head.

  ‘It was a few years ago. He and his girlfriend were in the back seat of a car which ended up rolling over into a ditch at speed. Taylor’s girlfriend drowned and he was badly injured. He told me that he feels guilty because she didn’t deserve to be the one who died. How awful is that, Fern?’

  I’d sensed whatever he’d been through had been life-changing, but that’s so terribly, terribly sad to hear. No one should have to spend their life thinking they shouldn’t have been the one to survive in a situation like that.

  ‘It’s good to be honest with each other, but it’s heart-breaking to hear that, Kellie.’

  ‘He understands what it’s like to feel desperate at times and I think that’s why we hit it off from the start. When you’re broken inside, it takes a long time to heal and only another sufferer can fully understand that pain.’

  I’m unable to eat, a growing sense of anger banishing my appetite as I consider how unfair life can be. Placing my plate on the bench next to me, I throw some of the bread onto the grass. A little group of birds has been watching us, flitting in and out of the branches above our heads.

  The only other sounds are the leaves rustling in the warm breeze when it gusts and a cacophony of birdsong, with the usual accompaniment of chirping cicadas. Often, there’s the sound of wood being chopped, or metal being hammered at the very least, so this relative peace is bliss. We sit quietly for quite a while, just watching the little ripples on the surface of the lake. There’s an odd gloop sound every now and again as a fish suddenly jumps to catch one of the bugs sitting on the surface.

  ‘I wear my bangles to disguise this,’ Kellie states, suddenly. Holding out her right arm, she tugs the bangles upwards, exposing her wrist. The cut is straight. It was clearly deep.

  Instinctively, I want to throw my arms around Kellie and hug away her pain. With no siblings, she has only her parents and, from what she’s said, they don’t seem to understand her. But she isn’t looking for a reaction, she’s staring into space quite blankly. I sense that what Kellie really needs isn’t sympathy but someone to listen. Someone not to judge, or question.

  ‘School was horrible. Every single day of it. I didn’t fit in. Always on the edge of things, always different. Then the bullying started. I eventually told Mum and she did take me seriously, but I didn’t want her to do anything about it. I simply had to share it, to hear someone say it wasn’t right. I made her believe I was handling it and that the head of year knew.’

  A magpie squawking in the tree high above us suddenly decides to swoop at the bread. The temptation is strong and he lands, his head tilted as his beady eyes scan around for danger. He pecks at the largest piece of bread and is soon joined by a partner. They are the tree bullies, scaring away the little grey wagtails who usually flit in and out of the olive trees.

  ‘One for sorrow, two for joy,’ Kellie mutters.

  ‘I’m surprised you know that old saying,’ I reply.

  ‘My nan says it all the time. I miss her. That’s Mum’s mum, of course. My other grandma is just like my dad.’

  I shift position reluctantly as I don’t want to break her train of thought, but my left leg is going to sleep. She turns to look at me face on for the first time since we sat down, then she returns her gaze to the magpies. The look is one that sends a shudder through me. Isolation. Despair.

  ‘When it escalated and I couldn’t hide the bruises, Dad got involved. He went to the school and let rip. Sounds positive, doesn’t it? But at home he made it clear he thought it was all my own fault that I wanted to be different, because I was trying to prove something. Mum and Dad rowed about that, of course, and it became all about them and not the bullies. Then, one day, I’d had enough. I thought I had the perfect solution and I welcomed it. But I even managed to mess that up. I chose a day when Mum happened to pop home mid-morning because she’d forgotten some important papers. She’s a solicitor. I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me. She spends her days dealing with broken people and realising she had a broken daughter made her feel lik
e a failure as a mother. What a stupid, stupid mess. But Taylor knows, and I wanted you to know. It matters to me what you think.’

  I feel a little overwhelmed to be taken into her confidence, but the last thing Kellie needs now is banal sympathy.

  ‘Your strength is amazing, Kellie. You are one strong woman who has been through hell. If you can survive that, you can survive anything. But I’m guessing the problem is where do you go from here?’

  Her head tips forward and she stares at her feet, shuffling them back and forth for a few seconds.

  ‘You got it. I can’t stay here forever. It’s tempting though.’

  For the first time, her voice sounds brighter and a huge sense of relief washes over me. I said the right thing. At the right time. I don’t care whether it’s luck, or judgement; I just care to see that smile on her face and hear the lift in her voice.

  ‘They made me see a lot of counsellors and doctors, but I’m not depressed, Fern. I’m embarrassed now by what I did, but I was at my lowest point. This break was to prove to myself I could mingle with strangers and not be regarded as odd. You and Patricia reached out to me, then Taylor. And Nico has been brilliant, too. I’ve only spoken to him a couple of times, but when I told him I wanted to stay on, he said he’d talk to my parents. I’ve spent my whole life being constantly judged by my parents for not quite fitting in, but here I feel a sense of freedom and it’s liberating. Aside from my nan, who thinks I can’t do anything wrong. Now, she does spoil me.’

  ‘So, your future is a blank page. Exciting.’ My enthusiasm is real, because I believe there is no going back for her and the danger has passed. But the next steps are going to be vital to her recovery.

  ‘Yes. And after talking to Taylor, I’m not going to rush my decision about what happens next. I might stay on for a couple of extra weeks if I can get my parents to agree to another extension. Taylor is a bit of a loner, too, and I want to help bolster his confidence. Like you’ve done with me, Fern.’

  ‘I’m not a counsellor, Kellie. I just happen to have a younger sister who is only a year older than you. The world can be scary at times and we don’t always know what to do next. Life is all about trial and error, which can be a painful process. But we all need someone to confide in and it helps when that someone has had similar experiences.’

  ‘Your sister is lucky. I hope she appreciates having you around. Can I see your painting? I know you’ve only just started, but can I take a look?’

  It’s an afternoon of sharing and by the end of the day I feel positive. There’s a natural source of healing here, in this place. It’s something I don’t fully understand, but Kellie feels it too. So does Nico. And Ceana.

  My year here is not going to be wasted. What Kellie taught me today is that I have two skills I’ve never considered to be of any particular merit. One is that I’m a good listener; the other is that my natural instinct is to be a source of encouragement and optimism. Maybe that’s why I ended up working in HR. It’s all about the complexities of human nature and the importance of communication to solve the problems that arise along the way.

  If only I could solve Aiden’s problem. In our case, communication seems to be making things worse, not better.

  * * *

  ‘How was your day?’ I enquire, passing Nico a mug of coffee. He takes it, gratefully, setting it down on the table next to what I refer to as his green canvas. It’s an explosion of summer foliage and reminiscent of the orchard.

  ‘Mixed. I received some news I didn’t want, but on the other hand I might just have found the right guy to join us.’

  ‘Well, at least there was some good news in the mix. Actually, before you pick up your brush again, there’s something I’d like to ask you about, although it might mess up your plans.’

  He looks at me, pulling a face. ‘Problems?’

  ‘No. Not really. It’s about Kellie.’

  His gaze sharpens. ‘Should I be worried?’

  ‘No. Everything is fine with Taylor and you were right. I had no idea what happened to him, but he’s confided in Kellie. What draws them together is what they’ve been through, not some unrealistic and transient passion. But Kellie is looking for something; a place where she can find her feet, I think. Her home environment is a battlefield by the sound of it. I know she’s young, but she understands what it really means to survive when something in your head is telling you to give up. Am I making any sense here?’

  He shrugs his shoulders. ‘Continue.’

  ‘It would help her if she could stay on here for a while in some capacity. I know you intend on turning the craft studio into a gym and meditation centre, and I agree it is a wasted space. But I looked through Dee-Dee’s PowerPoint presentations this afternoon; she’s going to ask you if I can assist her next week. I think it’s a useful module to offer if you can find an alternative location. There’s something for everyone and it’s easy to turn a session into a group activity to encourage less able people to participate in a fun way. The origami has great potential for some big disasters, I will admit. Kellie and I both had a go and ended up giggling like schoolgirls. But I can imagine the results would generate a lot of interaction in a very light-hearted way. Kellie could run those sessions with ease. And if Taylor feels comfortable with Kellie, then maybe some of your new visitors would make that connection too.’

  Nico is perched on the edge of a stool, one leg thrust out in front of him, but his eyes haven’t moved from my face.

  ‘On one condition. You supervise her. Dee-Dee is too busy, and I’ve known that for a while. Perhaps next week you and Kellie could partner up and see how it goes.’

  I could cheerfully hug him. Instead, I simply raise an eyebrow, very casually, and give him an acknowledging nod.

  ‘Now, is it all right with you if I get back to work?’ he asks, talking to my back as I’m heading over to slip the muslin off my own canvas.

  ‘Feel free. I’m in the mood to paint.’

  Before he can respond, his phone lights up and begins to buzz. I turn, glancing in his direction, and he checks the screen before raising it to his ear. Then he saunters off into the little workroom.

  It’s not that I’m eavesdropping, although I move slowly so as not to make any noise. He’s talking in Spanish and he sounds totally different. His voice is so smooth, and the words sound almost poetic. There’s laughter in his voice, too, which surprises me.

  I’m in need of a clean rag, so I tiptoe down closer to the door. Nico’s leaning against some of the racking, facing away from me, but I’m pretty sure he’s smiling as he talks. I can hear the inflection in his voice. The conversation sounds like it’s coming to a close.

  ‘Eres demasiado amable, mi bella Marquesa.’

  So, I’m guessing that last bit was probably my lovely Marquesa. Amable… nice, kind? It’s good news then, but the way he’s talking to her… his voice is soft, almost seductive. Intimate. Sexy.

  Edging backwards quietly, I don’t take my eyes from the door until I’m back in position. Then, quickly grabbing a brush, I start fussing around with one of the colours on my palette.

  Hearing his footsteps behind me, he doesn’t say anything, and we work in silence until well after midnight. Eventually my eyes begin to feel heavy and I start tidying up. Standing back, though, I’m pleased with what I’ve done tonight. Up close, it’s still vague, but from a few feet back, it’s clearly a mass of roses dripping from an intricate network of intertwined stems, fastened to trelliswork on a brick wall. I glance at the photograph which I can now see is just a flat piece of paper, whereas my canvas is starting to come alive. It has texture, it has form and it’s beginning to have depth. But it also has feeling, and I’ve been able to communicate that without any conscious effort.

  ‘Nico?’

  I turn to look at him and he glances across at me, frowning.

  ‘Tomorrow night, can you show me how to get that little glint, you know, on the tips of the petals. Where the sunshine catches them. I’m hap
py with the shading and I think I’ve nailed that velvety finish so far. But I’m sure you’re going to tell me there’s a technique and I can’t just soften a titanium white and go crazy.’

  He laughs. ‘Ah, the pupil isn’t quite ready to dismiss her mentor yet, then. I was beginning to feel a little redundant.’ Although he’s probably every bit as tired as I am, he’s in such good spirits tonight.

  ‘Why don’t you quit now and get some rest, too?’

  ‘I think I will, in a bit. It’s been a tiring day. But a good one. Productive, and I’ve had some good news. My benefactress is pleased with the photographs I sent her of the painting. A large transfer of funds will be in my account tomorrow.’

  I can’t hide my smile. ‘That’s wonderful news, Nico. You’ve worked so hard to get that finished. How long will it be before you can ship it? It’s good to receive the payment so promptly, though.’

  ‘Yes, I’m fortunate indeed. A few weeks, the longer the better. Although in this weather, the paints dry quite quickly, but I never like to take a risk. We know each other well – very well, actually. As I said, the Marquesa is very kind, although she is ultimately an astute businesswoman. If all goes well, my work will appreciate in value, so to her it’s an investment. The not-so-good news is that the van isn’t going to last much longer. That’s an expense I hadn’t factored into the budget, but that was more wishful thinking than facing the inevitable.’

  ‘Don’t let that take the shine off the fact that you’ve sold another painting, Nico. Your mother would be very proud of what you’re achieving. And of what you’re doing here at the château.’