by Lj McEvoy
Would that all end now or will he continue working? He had threatened at one stage to retire and maybe start again with his family in Barcelona but Francoise wouldn’t hear of it she had enough, wanting to start her new life alone, anonymous. She always hated the publicity and when Chantal was born she was happy to live here with David’s family around to support her while he worked in Paris or another country. But the reporters would never leave her alone constantly hounding her for a reaction to the latest news of David’s philandering, whether they were true stories or not.
‘Ohh why won’t they call!’ She stared at the telephone again, begging it to ring.
Jean-Pierre entered the kitchen from his workshop just as the phone sounded; it was like an alarm bell louder than usual. Both looking at each other expectantly, the silent question hovered between them - who was going to answer?
‘You answer it,’ Gabrielle didn’t want to talk to another reporter or so-called friend of David’s. Jean-Pierre just shrugged and walked towards the hallway.
Walk quicker! The scream reverberating around her brain but never finding an escape route through her mouth.
‘Hallo,’ he tried to sound steady. ‘Ah, Claude,’ he had his back to her, straight, confident. His shoulders slumped she knew immediately it was bad news, his head jerked up, ‘Oh, Mon Dieu!’ he sounded shocked.
‘Oh, Mon Dieu!’ she repeated after him, her hands clasping tightly together.
Chapter 7
Dublin – Paul was disheartened with his whole body now expressing this sentiment. This was not the reaction he expected actually he admitted to himself he wasn’t really getting any form of reaction. Now beginning to regret starting the conversation over dinner, they always agreed never to discuss work or anything relating to that topic. At mealtimes it was just jovial chat of funny events and news of the day.
It was a rule they made, after many a hard lesson learnt, from the first time they lived together. Living together, Paul remembered the struggle they had making that decision. So many friends and family would be hurt if anybody found out, and running a close second was including the risk to both of their careers. How they first met was through their work, even though each of their careers were so different and yet connected. Both knew instantly but never said anything because of their positions in life and their chosen careers. A few hints, a few near misses and finally they arrived at the same conclusion, relief swept through them as soon as they both felt safe and admitted their feelings for each other. And now, nobody knew of their relationship except a special and small group of family and those few friends who also understood the position they found themselves in. Some of those friends were in similar situations too. Soon they got used to their double lives as if it was a natural part of their relationship, with Marc keeping his old apartment as if they were never together.
‘No, I’m regretting bringing up the conversation altogether regardless of the time of day,’ Paul came back to the present moment. At first he forced himself to be confident in disclosing such information to his lover but now his line of thinking was losing confidence and his words were turning to desperation. He stuttered through the last couple of sentences as he noticed the continued lack of response from his partner.
It took him two days to build up the courage to even mention the subject, he couldn’t understand why he was hesitating and when he finally did, it flowed out of him like blood from a bullet wound. He never held information back like that before at least not from the person he considered his counsel, his soul mate. But then he never thought the day would come that he would have to recount a memory he placed safely and securely in the echoes of his heart and mind. Like the first night with hazel eyes it’s one of those treasures he felt confident nobody would ever discover about him.
‘It’s in the past,’ trying some persuasion but Marc’s hazel eyes bore into him from across the small, intimate circular table, ‘long before I met you, even long before I knew anything about where my life would lead.’
There was still a prolonged silence as Paul gave up and threw his fork on the table despondently, genuinely annoyed with the lack of response, the eyes were the only inkling that what he’d just admitted was actually sinking in. ‘What the hell else do you want me to say?’
‘Paul I don’t know what I want you to say, and I… I don’t know what to say either. I don’t even know if I wanted to hear what you’ve just said,’ Marc’s voice wavered. ‘I knew there was something there between you two but this…’ the direction of those hazel eyes dropped toward the table, ‘do you still…. do you love her?’
‘Yes,’ Paul whispered an honest reply as he stared into eyes that were a full combination of shock, pain and sympathy.
‘Oh, Christ Paul!’
Paul watched as a face that normally showed warmth and affection was now engulfed in tormented red.
‘We’ve been together for nearly three years now, how could you keep this from me!’
Paul felt panic rising in his stomach, ‘but not in the way you think, not the way you and I … we shared something special, Lauren’s always been there for me you know that and me for her I think, now we need each other again and… and I need you too. I need you to understand, to help.’
But yet another funeral silence fell onto the table, the music softly playing in the background was like a distant hum coming from a neighbour’s house. Dispelling all pride he had inside him Paul begged the person sitting opposite him, hoping for some respite.
‘Do you know what you’re asking me to do? Do you realise the risk we’ll be taking? Do you realise the position you put me in? What do you not understand Paul, think of the consequences. Christ , I don’t believe this.’ Marc turned to look out the kitchen window unable to look at Paul, unable to think straight.
Gingerly Paul replied, ‘but we’re used to taking risks, aren’t we?’ Noticing a cheeky half grin rising on his friend’s mouth Paul relaxed a little, ‘do you fancy taking another?’
Sitting back in the chair Marc looked up to the heavens then gave a half nervous half adventurous laugh, ‘are you getting bored with our lifestyle Mr. Minister for Justice?’
Paul allowed himself to chuckle as relief and calmness came over the table, at last the ordeal of admission was over and we’re actually getting somewhere he thought, ‘this is one piece of excitement we could do without,’ as he sat forward, elbows resting on the table, his fingers entwined.
‘And what do you suggest we could do?’ those hazel eyes became quizzical. ‘I mean it’s not going to be easy, when a can of worms like this opens up they have a tendency to ooze out on all sides, it’s very difficult to push them back in with one hand while trying to hold the can with the other.’
Paul slightly winced at the description as he responded, ‘but that’s where you come into the picture isn’t it, there won’t be just one pair of hands.’
Those hazel eyes smiled once more, ‘let’s finish dinner then we get down to thinking of how there won’t be, I still in shock you know, I need some nourishment.’
Paul laughed, ‘After that description of worms, are you still hungry?’
‘I’m only half way through starters! Give me a chance to think man.’
Chapter 8
Marseille - Working on her computer Lauren was attempting to translate a note Emma gave her from the school. Unable to focus on it her mind kept slipping back to last night contemplating Emma’s little outburst and Keith’s words.
Thinking of the innocence of children sometimes, how their straightforward talking can hurt, can cut into the chest and twist when they don’t even realise they’re doing it, Lauren corrected herself, ‘they’re just saying what they think, its their way, only as adults are we afraid to openly express our innermost thoughts, our true feelings.’
‘Why did you bring us here?’ Emma cried to her mother, ‘you can’t even read a simple note from school!’
‘A simple note,’ Lauren thought, ‘the bloomin’ thing is four p
ages long.’ She tried some reasoning, ‘Emma, I’m learning. It’s harder for an adult you know I’ve been speaking and reading English for over 30 years!’ How many times have I repeated that sentence to her?
‘Thirty-nine actually Mammy’
‘Ha Ha’ Lauren sarcastically smiled at her daughter. Keeping calm Lauren explained for the hundredth time of her needs, of what she wanted for them as a family and how starting a new life here in France was a fantastic opportunity, hesitating a little as she added it was something she and Daddy only dreamt about. Watching her daughter she jokingly thought, eight years of age now but carries on sometimes as if she was closer to eighty-eight.
Emma’s big blue eyes were starting to fill with tears; Lauren smoothed back her daughter’s mousy brown hair caressing her soft cheek knowing what was coming next.
‘I miss my cousins and my friends,’ Emma moaned with a deep heavy sigh, her hand held up to her forehead. Lauren rolled her eyes up to heaven, this is like a worn-out soap opera on TV, keeping calm Lauren pressed rewind on an old video tape in her own head.
‘Emma, sweetpea. Do we have to go through this again? You could win an Oscar with this performance!’ Lauren pecked Emma’s button nose smiling, ‘don’t you like living here? Mammy always being around able to spend time with you and Keith. And besides you’re only back from visiting everyone last weekend.’ Lauren brought them back to Dublin nearly every month so far.
Emma thought about it for a minute, contemplating this new question which was not normally introduced whenever they had this debate. Slowly she remembered what it was like when her parents worked, Lauren watched her daughter’s expression through her eyes, ‘she’s thinking about it’ - Lauren smiled.
‘Yes, I do,’ Emma lightly, perfectly stated. ‘You were never like this before you don’t look cross and you always have time to play, it’s nice. But … but will you ever return to work?’ a worrying frown appearing which looked more at home on an adult’s face rather than an eight year old. As per usual Emma was looking for something to worry about and knew it was a good question to bounce back to her mother.
‘I’m not thinking about that yet, financially we’re comfortable,’ recently with the advantage of being able to spend more time with her children, Lauren developed the talent of easily reading her daughter’s mind, ‘but first I must learn to speak and read French. Later on, who knows? We could go back to Ireland, move to Italy or Spain or….’
‘Oh Mammy stop!’ Emma giggled, ‘No more moves, the last one was bad enough.’
‘Okay I’m joking, but remember sweetheart…’
‘It’s sweetpea today,’ Emma politely corrected Lauren lowering the tone of her voice because of the seriousness of her mother’s mistake.
‘Sorry sweetpea. Remember never be afraid I’ll always be by your side, girls together yeah?’
‘Girls together,’ Emma happily responded lifting up her hand to Laurens placing her small palm against her mothers in a now familiar pact then softly their fingers entwined. Lauren’s elegant long fingers slipping through her daughter’s similar shaped but naturally younger hand.
‘Now cuddle up with Pooh Bear and go to sleep. Take care and Bon nuit.’ Lauren kissed her daughter’s forehead as she turned off the small lamp.
Checking on Keith she could see the torchlight under his blankets, forever reading or creating battles with action man and dinosaurs. ‘Good night Keith!’ The light was out before she finished saying his name. ‘He’ll probably turn it back on as soon as he hears me going down the stairs,’ she smiled to herself, ‘and don’t turn that torch back on. I’ll be up in ten minutes to check.’
But then she changed her mind heading for his room; turning on his small lamp light she quietly sat on his bed whispering, ‘Hey mister, come out of there for a minute please.’
Keith and action man poked their heads out from under the blanket. Lauren hesitated for a minute he smiled that lovely cheeky grin and big soft brown eyes. And she liked his new tight haircut even though she nearly cried when she heard him informing the hairdresser that he wanted a number one cut. When the young French barber said he would check with his mother first, Keith stared at him in disbelief, Lauren felt an argument ensuing but thankfully the barber also saw her expression leaving at least a centimetre of hair without giving any further comment or opportunity for Keith to argue.
‘What is it Mammy?’ Keith returned Lauren to present day.
‘Do you like living here mister?’ she asked softly as her heart melted with his smile.
‘Yep,’
‘Do you miss home and everybody there? Which would you prefer?’ she dreaded his answer.
‘Yep and both.’
‘We can’t have both.’
Bending his head forward he gave her that grinning I know look arching one of his eyebrows, it was a comical face sometimes with the gaps in his teeth showing where his baby ones once took pride of place. Trying to hold in her laughter she got up from the bed but he stopped her midway, ‘I just wish Daddy was here too and then your dream would be… would be all together, wouldn’t it?’
Lauren felt a sharp blade running down her throat, closing her eyes she bitterly thought, if only he knew Keith wouldn’t have said that, thankfully she hoped he was too young to know or understand. Leaning down to kiss him and hugging him tightly she whispered, ‘but you and Emma are here with me and that’s paradise to me.’
‘Night Night Mammy, I love you.’
‘Take care mister, love you too.’
As was natural with children, both were now practically fluent in French and Lauren was still struggling. Both Emma and Keith had no fear or inhibition to learn something new, they knew the only way they would make new friends was by learning how to speak to them first. And they had school, while with Lauren her lack of constant daily practice was a big drawback.
Contemplating taking private lessons, she could now understand what people said to her most of the time. But her difficulty with pronouncing the words because of her Dublin accent and reading was proving to be a greater obstacle than she first thought, ‘thank God for Google Translator, although not perfect it’s close enough and it definitely gives the gist of what I’m trying to translate.’
The CDs also helped but the people on them were so correct in pronouncing their words while in reality and in particular, the South of France it’s like they sing their words and of course they possessed their own Provencal lingo, it was difficult but beautiful.
Had she done the right thing by moving here? The locals, she knew were curious about her, feeling their stares when she called to the village but they were friendly stares with a smile here and there. How she loved the way they greeted each other with a handshake or with kisses, the odd Bonjour and plenty of that friendly term Ca va, which could mean anything from ‘hello’ or ‘are you well?’ even responding with the same words which could mean ‘I’m fine, how are you?’, the list went on with that simple phrase.
Bursting into embarrassing laughter, she remembered her first visit to the town hall for her Carte de Sejour, the permit needed after three months living in France. The administration and paperwork was unbelievable, French Civil Servants or at least their employers create work for themselves, Lauren declared to Debbie in one of weekly calls back home.
The woman in the office was so kind and spoke with broken English, but Lauren was certain the administrator was thinking ‘Crazy English woman.’ People always presumed she was English just because she spoke the language.
The woman asked Lauren why did she want to live in a country where she couldn’t even speak the language, ‘How will you earn an income?’ she asked. Lauren smiled to herself – ‘that’s my business.’
But she quickly found out it wasn’t, the French authorities wanted to know everything - translated birth certificates, a death certificate for Peter, proof of residence, proof of sufficient financial resources, the list went on and on.
Aren’t both countries member
states of the EU? Lauren was shocked, what happened to freedom of movement for EU citizens, it made her more determined to succeed. If this was going to be their new life, she was going to greet all obstacles like a bull charging at a red cape but one that knew there wasn’t a sword waiting on the other side of that cape.
She stopped typing and stood up to walk towards the window; the view in front of her was changing as the temperatures changed. It was amazing how much she could see from this window; whoever built this house knew the area well. It was one of the most beautiful sights one could imagine, nestling higher than any other house in the region, not even the bread man would call, as the small road was too steep for his old van. At least the postman calls, watching the middle-aged man huff and puff his bike up the hill towards her post box with her daily delivery.
The trees that were now becoming bare of leaves where when she first arrived they were coming to life, the young animals grazing in the small forest and on the farm were still young but she could see them maturing. Soon it will be winter then spring, she thought, wonder what changes will there be in my view then?
Trailing back to when she first told her family and friends she was moving here, she enjoyed playing mind games with some of them, trying to predict what each individual’s reaction would be. Some wished her luck but she knew by the look on their faces what they were really thinking then there were the ones who were truly genuine, chuckling as she remembered one of her more snooty friends asking her ‘why Marseille? If you want to discover France go to St. Tropez or St. Raphael darling.’ Lauren quickly responded ‘have you ever visited Marseille?’ When she got a negative response she asked, ‘then how do you know it’s not just as beautiful and as French as everywhere else.’
