French Kisses

by Jan Ellis

  Rachel nodded and tried to look serious.

  “But shouldn’t finding a big fish make the fisherman happy?” asked Connie, who had taken rather a shine to Gregor with his soulful baritone.

  Alexei shook his head vigorously. “No, Mrs Connie. The fisherman tries and tries, but the fish escapes and is caught by another man from the village.”

  Irina put a finger to her lips, shushing them as Gregor arrived at the climax of the song, which ended with him clasping his hands to his chest and letting out what could only be described as a groan.

  By this time they were all quite gripped by the tragic story that was unfolding and applauded enthusiastically.

  When silence had fallen, Harold lent over to Alexei. “So how does it end, old chap?”

  He shrugged his shoulders mournfully then winked at Gregor who flashed them a grin. “Then the unhappy wife leaves her husband for the neighbour who has the big carp and the poor fisherman is a free man once more. Happy ending!”

  After another burst of applause and shouts of ‘bravo!’ Gregor stood and raised his glass in a toast to Rachel’s hospitality.

  “And now,” he said, addressing Harold, “You sing us beautiful English song, yes?”

  “Well, goodness me,” said Harold, looking bashful. “I really don’t think that my ancient voice is any match for yours.” He turned to his companion and squeezed her arm. “Connie’s the singer here.”

  “Nonsense! You’ve got a lovely voice, darling,” she said, pinching his cheek and chuckling.

  Harold gave her a kiss on the lips as Charlie and Alice made pretend-vomiting faces behind their backs.

  “Sorry, Gregor. English people don’t sing in public,” Rachel explained.

  “Well, we do, but only when we’ve had too much to drink,” added Harold with a twinkle.

  Irina raised an eyebrow at Alexei who passed the vodka down the table.

  Rachel held up her hands in mock alarm. “I think today counts as having too much.”

  “I know a very good English song,” said Alexei, getting to his feet and launching into ‘Waltzing Matilda’. Everyone joined in then Harold started them off on ‘On Ilkley Moor Bar T’at’ and Connie led them through the alto part of Handel’s Hallelujah chorus with everyone singing along as best they could. The grand finale was a medley from Grease, which even Alice joined in with.

  After that, the adults staggered into the sitting room and collapsed on chairs and sofas while the kids studied their gifts. While it was quiet Rachel decided to get some air and check on the animals.

  When she came back into the house after shutting up the chickens – and tipsily apologising to them for eating the turkey – she found a scene of post-prandial bliss. Everyone had made themselves comfortable in front of the fire and the Ukrainians were chomping their way through the candied fruits, Brazil nuts and After Eights. Charlie was in a corner playing a computer game with Irina; Harold and Gregor were involved in a very intense game of chess; Connie was dozing in an armchair and snoring gently. Alice was curled up on the sofa listening to music and texting her friends.

  Rachel decided that tea was needed and went into the kitchen where she was pleased to see that her guests had made a start at clearing up while she was out. Listening to the low murmur of conversation in the next room she smiled to herself, feeling squiffy but quite content. As she waited for the kettle to boil she fed the cats, adding morsels of turkey to their biscuits and making them purr with delight.

  “Have you had a nice Christmas, too, pusskins?” she asked, as they concentrated on the contents of their bowls.

  “Everyone has had a very nice Christmas, thanks to you Rachel.”

  She turned to see Alexei leaning against the doorframe, grinning at her. With his one gold tooth and dark wavy hair, he looked like he should be on a pirate ship. I’ve had too much to drink, she thought. He was gorgeous and he filled the new ‘100% local and available’ criteria, but life was already too complicated. And she had a feeling that Irina would not approve.

  Right on cue, Irina came in with Charlie.

  “Mum, Irina cheats,” he grumbled.

  Irina grabbed him and ruffled his hair. “Is not cheating. Is all about learning, remembering and being smart.”

  Alexei went over and stood by Charlie’s side. “You never beat Irina. She is too clever here,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “But she cannot play good football like you.”

  Charlie grinned. “Can we have a game?”

  “Not now, love. It’s pitch black outside,” said Rachel peering out into the gloom.

  Alexei shrugged. “So, we put on the lights.”

  “Yeh! Can we Mum?”

  “If you’re mad enough, that’s fine by me.”

  “You play too, Rachel,” said Alexei, taking her hand as Charlie ran off to fetch his brand-new ball and choose his team-mates.

  So that’s how Christmas Day ended: three Ukrainians, two loved-up pensioners, Rachel and her children playing football in the moonlight with extra illumination provided by the Ukrainians’ truck. Rachel and Irina acted as goalies with the teams split: Charlie, Alexei and Harold versus Alice, Connie and Gregor. No one was quite sure what the final score was, but everyone agreed that it was the best Christmas Day they’d had for a very long time.

  Chapter 19: New Year’s Eve

  After Christmas, Harold and Connie had been persuaded to stay for a little while longer, but Rachel could see they were restless. After a couple of days, they packed up the campervan and prepared to head back north.

  Harold was raring to do. “We fancy seeing in the New Year from the Eiffel Tower you see, love.”

  Rachel smiled. “Okay, Dad. But take your time and drive safely.”

  “I will sweet pea, don’t you worry.”

  “We’ve had such a lovely time,” said Connie, giving Rachel and the children hugs. “Do come and see us in the spring, won’t you? I’ve already invited Irina and the boys.”

  Rachel waved and the children ran after the van as it creaked down the drive. “See you next year!” Now all she had to sort out was entertainment for New Year’s Eve.

  * * *

  In France, New Year’s Eve was a much bigger deal than Christmas although – being Brits – Rachel and Michael had always celebrated both. This year her friends were all having family dinners or romantic evenings at home. She was invited, of course, but wanted to do something fun with the kids.

  Charlie claimed not to care what he did to celebrate Saint-Sylvestre, but Rachel knew that all of Alice’s friends were doing something exciting and she didn’t want to let her children down. So when Madame Lambert told her that there was going to be a shindig at the community hall, she said they would all love to go. There was going to be lots to eat and drink, fireworks at midnight and a band had been booked to play traditional music. It promised to be fun and presented the perfect opportunity for Rachel to wear the red velvet dress that Alice had frowned upon all those weeks before.

  When Rachel turned up at the hall with the children, she saw plenty of familiar faces as well as new people who had come to live in Pelette during the year.

  Looking around the room with its long tables laden with food, she felt as though she had slipped into a festive country scene by Pieter Bruegel. Monsieur Seurat was there in his best suit, his collar and tie painfully tight at the neck until his wife turned her back and he pulled them loose. Claude was wearing a rather natty pair of red trousers and tartan waistcoat. Monsieur Bertrand had brought Fifi, who was specially dressed for the occasion with a gold ribbon around her neck.

  The wives were also in their finery, which largely involved lots of black and diamanté. The children ran around the room, getting hyper on cola, impatient for the firework display to begin.

  At 9pm, the taped music was turned off and the chairs were pushed back against the walls to make more space for the musicians who included an accordionist as well as people playing bagpipes, violins, guitars and a flute. The b
and struck up a traditional tune and people rose to their feet and grabbed partners. Alice and Charlie had been taught French country dancing by their unofficial step-mum Amelie, and Rachel had picked up a few steps over the years as she and Michael had been drawn into village life.

  Rachel was hoping to sit out the first couple of dances, but Claude had other ideas and she was soon whirling around the room in a vigorous jig. Alice danced with boys from the village and Charlie tried to hide but was swept up by Madame Seurat. It is a feature of folk music around the world that the tunes last a very long time, and Rachel was pooped after two dances and had to excuse herself and return to her champagne.

  Retreating to a chair in a corner near the grannies, she watched the dancers form a circle then snake around the room, hand in hand. She was struck by how graceful her daughter was and how tall Charlie seemed to have become in the last couple of months.

  She clapped enthusiastically as the dance ended, the line broke up and everyone separated – some standing eagerly awaiting the next number, others panting and reaching for their glasses of beer or water.

  Revellers were coming and going through the heavy oak doors of the building. It was a clear night with a full moon and the kids were dashing in and out, checking on preparations for the show.

  Rachel was chatting to Madame Lambert about the guest house and didn’t notice Paul Callot enter the room until he was standing right in front of her. His face broke into a smile as he bowed and extended his hand. “Would you care to dance, Madame?”

  Before she could answer or ask him what on earth he was doing there, he had grabbed her by both hands and pulled her to her feet as the band struck up a lively bourrée. As they joined the group dancing forwards and back, swirling and stamping, she didn’t have the breath to speak.

  Paul was a good dancer, light on his feet and vigorous. Rachel enjoyed herself although she was also perplexed by his sudden appearance. At the end of the dance, Paul took her hand and led her to a quiet corner.

  Rachel was desperate to touch him, but she wanted to clear up a few things first. “What are you doing in Pelette? I thought you were gone for good.”

  Paul smiled. “So did I, Rachel. I wasn’t lying to you when I said I wouldn’t be coming back.”

  “So what has changed?”

  He looked pensive for a moment. “Meeting you and seeing how you were embarking on a new life made me think seriously about my own situation.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.” A look of sadness passed across his face. “I’ve realised that Paris has nothing to offer me anymore. My marriage is over so the city has only bad memories for me. Unlike here.” He lightly caressed Rachel’s cheek, making her catch her breath.

  She took his hand away, but held it on her lap. “I still don’t understand, Paul.” Was he saying that he was coming back because of her?

  He leant back in his chair. “Before coming to Dreste, I thought that I might move north, perhaps to St Malo where my mother lives.” He smiled, squeezing both of her hands in his. “But since leaving here I’ve had time to think and I’ve made a decision.”

  He looked at her, serious for a moment. “While my uncle was resting his shoulder at home, he discovered that he really liked the idea of being retired. So, after I left, he called me in Paris to ask if I’d like to take over his picture-framing business. He can still make frames now and again, but he won’t have the burden of running a shop.”

  Paul’s eyes had lit up with excitement and he had a big grin on his face. “It won’t happen for a while yet, because I have to find someone to take over the shop in Paris, but I’ve decided that that is what I’m going to do: I’m coming to Dreste.”

  Rachel was quiet. Paul looked at her, his face questioning. “I hoped that you might be pleased, but I can see that you’re not.”

  “I don’t know what to think.” Knowing now that Paul had planned to come back, Rachel was offended that he hadn’t called to speak to her about it. “I’m just surprised that you haven’t been in touch at all since . . .” Rachel looked around and saw some of her neighbours smiling across at her. “Since, you know what,” she whispered.

  Paul squeezed her hands again, looking serious. “I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure about my decision. And I wanted to be sure that I was coming back for the right reasons.”

  “You mean, for business reasons?”

  “Purely business, of course!” The musicians had finished their break and had struck up another lively tune. “Let’s dance. There’ll be plenty of time to talk later.”

  She took his hand and they danced again, then swopped partners and danced with her children.

  All of the kids were keeping a keen eye on the clock. “Mum, it’s nearly midnight,” said Charlie, rushing outside. Rachel grabbed their coats, hats and scarves and went out to join the group.

  She smiled as Paul took her hand and they stood hand-in-hand, counting down the minutes to midnight. As the church bells rang out and the fireworks blasted off they kissed and hugged each other tightly, until they were pulled apart and embraced by Rachel’s children, her friends and neighbours and everyone else who was there to celebrate the sheer joy of welcoming in a brand new year.

  Chapter 20: Best of Three

  After the dance, Paul went back down to the house with Rachel and the children for a cup of tea before heading in to Dreste. Rachel had agreed to call him later in the week; the party had been fun, but she needed time to get accustomed to the fact that he was coming back and to decide what to do. Was he the man for her? Would she have fallen for Josh if her time with Paul really had meant something? Post-party she wasn’t in the right state to make any kind of decision. Yawning, she climbed into bed and turned off the light.

  She hoped to get a few hours sleep before it was time to let the chickens out and feed the cats. If they weren’t fed promptly, the cats took turns to sit on her head and chew her hair. There was only so much purring and dribbling that Rachel could take, so she batted Fudge away and went into the kitchen to feed him and Mousey.

  It was another bright clear morning and despite her woolly head she found she was smiling as she measured out grit and pellets for the chucks. Paul or not Paul? It was quite a nice dilemma to have.

  Back in the kitchen, she gazed vaguely at the phone while waiting for the kettle to boil. The light was flashing, indicating that she had messages. Yawning, she made tea then sat down to check the phone.

  “It’s probably Dad and Connie calling from a casino. Or jail,” she chuckled to herself as she stroked the cats. She pressed the button and listened to slightly drunken New Year messages from Irina and the cousins, Philippe, Jilly, Margot and other friends. Then there was one from Michael sounding drunk and sentimental, and a cheery one from Harold and Connie. She smiled as she listened to the fireworks whizzing in the background as they shouted their New Year’s greetings from the capital.

  The last message caught her completely by surprise: “Hi Rachel. It’s me, Josh. Hey, guess what? I got that teaching job in Grenoble, so I’m coming back! Yes, and I’m arriving tomorrow. Warm the bed up for me! See you soon, beautiful.”

  Rachel played the message through again then sat staring at the phone. “Damn and blast it.” Things were getting very complicated indeed. She staggered back to bed and fell asleep.

  Waking two hours later and feeling blurry, she showered and woke the kids. After lunch, she called Margot and told her about Paul turning up out of the blue the night before and the phone call from Josh.

  “This sounds like an emergency, darling. I shall be right over.”

  “Come for supper and bring some of your special herbal remedy.”

  “Don’t worry, you can count on me.”

  By the time her friend turned up that evening, Rachel was in a bit of a state.

  “Christ, Margot. I’ve got myself into quite a pickle. What am I going to do?”

  Margot sat down at the table pulled out a note pad, a pen and
an enormous spliff from her bag and waggled an empty glass at her hostess.

  Rachel grabbed the bottle and topped them both up.

  “Lists, my darling,” she said, lighting the spliff and inhaling deeply. “I would say spreadsheet, but a list will do for now.”

  Rachel curled up on the sofa with her feet tucked underneath her. “Okay. Where do we start?”

  “Come and sit at the table. You need to concentrate – this is your future happiness we’re talking about.”

  Rachel pulled a face but uncurled herself and sat down opposite her friend at the big wooden table and took a puff from the joint.

  “Right,” said Margot. “Headings. Number 1: Michael . . .”

  “Michael!” screeched Rachel. “We don’t need him in the equation.”

  Margot narrowed her eyes as the smoke swirled up and coughed lightly. “Au contraire, darling. He needs to be on there because he may be a cheating, lying little toe rag . . .”

  “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

  “But despite all my words of wisdom you’re still in love with him . . .”

  Rachel snorted and nearly choked on her wine. “Rubbish! I hate him.”

  “And he’d be back in a flash – baby or no new baby – if you’d have him.”

  “Ha! No chance.”

  Ignoring her, Margot wrote ‘Michael’ firmly at the top of the page.

  “Then there’s Paul,” she said, adding his name in the next column. “And last but not least, The Professor.”

  “Okay, now what?”

  “Down the left-hand side we list things that are important to you, then we give them a score out of five.”

  Rachel tried and failed to stifle a laugh.

  Margot carried on. “Then you can add and deduct points for other things.”

  “Like?”

  Margot twirled the pen between her fingers and gazed up at the ceiling.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She watched as Fudge sashayed across the table and rubbed his head against Rachel’s cheek. “Maybe they get points if they’re nice to the cats.”