Poppy's Place in the Sun

by Lorraine Wilson

  “Do you want to go up into the ruin?” Leo eventually breaks the silence. “Or the other thing tourists come to see is the field where the Cathars were burnt. I don’t know if that interests you?”

  I have trouble swallowing the lump of bread in my mouth. I chew and chew before I can make it go down. Then I shake my head emphatically.

  “Any particular reason why not?” Leo asks, seemingly having no trouble eating while discussing human beings being burned alive for their faith.

  “I have too much imagination,” I say sadly. “I know the story, or some of it at least. About how they were persecuted and burnt if they refused to recant their faith. I think if I were actually standing there on the spot I’d feel it too much. Am I making any sense?”

  Leo nods, his eyes betraying understanding, reflecting a remembered sadness. “I bet you had to be careful what you watched on TV as a child.”

  “Yes, if I saw something upsetting I wouldn’t sleep for weeks. I also have to be careful what I read, even now,” I admit. “An overactive imagination can be a curse. Sometimes I read a book, and when things start to go wrong for the characters I just can’t read anymore. I feel it too much. Don’t worry, I’m used to people thinking I’m weird. You won’t be the first.”

  Watching Leo’s face, I see understanding as well as sadness. I wait. He’ll talk if he wants to.

  “You’ve heard about my sister Madeline I expect?” Leo says eventually, staring out at the mountains. Lost in the past.

  “Yes, and I’m so sorry.” My hands itch to touch Leo, to console him in some way, but I keep the hand not holding dog leads firmly in my lap.

  “Her little girl Amelie was like you when it came to books. Madeline always had to read them through to the end first to check they had a happy ending, ever since Amelie cried for days when she read Charlotte’s Web. She was very sensitive. She felt too much, like you said. Once she went to a sleepover and the girls watched The Blair Witch Project. She was only eleven. She refused to go into the woods at the back of the … your house for months.”

  I notice the reluctance with which he acknowledges my ownership but let it slide for now. It’s the first time he’s mentioned his sister, and the confidence is a gift. I wonder if his sister was much older than him or if she got pregnant young. The second question is hardly one I can ask.

  “So, did Amelie manage to get over it?” I ask. “The woods are so beautiful at the moment. I’ve never seen so many different wildflowers. It seems a shame if the film ruined them for her.”

  “In the end we went into the woods with Maxi. She trusted him to protect her.” Leo sits up suddenly and inhales sharply, unable to look at me. “Shall we carry on? We can go near Espereza if you like. Or Rennes Le Chateau…”

  “To look for Cathar treasure?” I ask, smiling, understanding how much Leo needs me to change the subject so he can shut the door on his pain, on his inability to protect his niece from the car accident that robbed her of her imagination forever.

  “Hey, don’t knock the treasure hunting. The Da Vinci Code and other popular fiction have done wonders for tourism.” Leo somehow manages to smile as he helps me put everything back in the car, his composure and defences seemingly locked back into place. “Or there’s Ax-les-Thermes – there’s skiing there in winter, and all year round you can go in the thermal baths. They’re worth visiting, very relaxing and famed for curing rheumatism and arthritis.”

  I glance at him, but there’s no sign he knows about my condition. There’s no reason why he should. I file away the information for another day. I’ll have to check the baths out. Gran used to visit thermal baths in France and Switzerland and said they always helped reduce pain levels. I’m keen to find non-drug therapies to compliment medication once I’m forced to take that route.

  “I’d definitely like to use the thermal baths. I haven’t skied before, though I wouldn’t mind learning.”

  “So you plan to stay here all year then?” Leo’s voice is tightly controlled, like he’s trying to sound casual but failing badly, like earlier. “You won’t go back to England?”

  “Not unless your government throws me out post-Brexit. No,” I snap.

  I turn to see Peanut has climbed onto Leo’s lap and has her front paws in a perfect ten and two position on the steering wheel.

  “It looks like Peanut plans on driving.” I laugh, my mood lifting.

  Leo glances down, and the expression of surprise on his face makes me laugh even harder.

  “How did she do that?” he asks. “I didn’t even feel her arriving.”

  “It’s because she’s so light,” I explain. “Peanut’s just over two kilos, so I often find she’s arrived on my lap without me noticing. She’s a stealthy little thing, too.”

  I gently lift her back onto my lap and strap her harness to my seatbelt.

  “You know, a lot of expats come out here and say they never want to leave, but they do in the end when a business doesn’t take off, a relationship ends or they get ill.” Leo’s voice is strained as though knowing he’s prodding a sore spot, but he’s still determined to make his point. He won’t meet my gaze.

  My jaw clenches and I accidentally bite my swollen lip, forgetting all about the injury. I squeak in pain.

  Leo turns around, startled. “You’re bleeding again.”

  I lean down and grab a baby wipe and then a piece of kitchen roll from my bag.

  “You really are organised, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I always have what I need for the dogs anyway.” I grimace with pain as I dab my lip. “But going back to your question, I’m not ‘lots of expats.’ I’m just one individual. I know my own mind. I’ve not come out here expecting it to be one long holiday. We did … I did plan it all properly. We had the finance to transfer the outbuildings into gîte accommodation. If we were kicked out after the Brexit negotiations, we had Pete’s flat to go to back in England and could come back to use it for as long as we were allowed.”

  I stare at him defiantly but expect the kitchen roll on my bleeding lip is ruining the “so sod you” effect.

  Leo doesn’t reply, so I continue.

  “I had things planned out. My only mistake was to trust … someone.”

  I was going to say “trust a man” but don’t want to sound too embittered. Even if I am.

  Just a little bit.

  Leo still remains silent.

  “I know I’m meant to be here. It feels right,” I declare angrily and check to see if my lip has stopped bleeding.

  “Do you make all your decisions based on your feelings?” Leo asks, his own tone a little strained.

  “I think we all do really, deep down, whether we admit it or not. Why have you moved back to Saint Quentin?”

  “It was the right thing to do,” Leo replies simply, unfazed by my interrogation.

  “You felt it was the right thing to do.” I sigh and try to express myself more clearly. “There are feelings intertwined with your thoughts and there are thoughts intertwined with my feelings,” I say. “You might think your approach is more logical and mine is more … instinctual, but really they’re just different aspects, different facets of the same thing.”

  Leo doesn’t have an answer for that. I decide to shut up before I accidentally fire any more misdirected anger his way. Friendly fire. Or not-so-friendly fire, depending on how you look at it.

  When we pull into another viewpoint next to a precipice on a mountain pass, I’m reminded of my jokey prophecy that he might plan to throw me into a ravine.

  He gets out of the car, and I follow him with the dogs, knowing they’re likely to howl if I leave them and they can still see me. They’re all keen to discover new sniffs. I’m keen to root out more honesty; to see real, unguarded reactions from Leo.

  He stands with his back to me. I wonder where we are and what the simple cross by the side of the road is in memory of. Then I glimpse the shuttered expression on Leo’s face and wonder where he is. I think I lost him with my clu
msy explanations. I know I only had to say the word “feelings” to induce a look of panic from Pete and a sudden recollection that he had somewhere else to be.

  I wonder if I’m focusing on all Pete’s bad points so I feel better about him being out of my life. There were plusses – affectionate companionship and enjoying the same things – but I don’t want to start thinking about the good stuff. What would be the use?

  Leo points over to a distant mountain range. “That’s the Chemin de la Liberté over there. Have you heard of it?”

  I nod. “Yes, I know about the people who risked their lives to help airmen, Jews and people escaping the Nazis. I can’t imagine having to escape on foot.”

  So, he’s brought me here to talk about war. That seems kind of fitting.

  “There were also men who used the route so they could escape to join the Free French army. That’s what my grandfather did. He was a pilot,” Leo says. “You’ll find crosses and monuments by the sides of these roads and trails to those who lost their lives in the fight. Did you know there was a second front in this area as well as the liberation force that landed in the North? American commandos parachuted in to keep the Germans occupied. You have to search hard to find the stories, but there have been a few books published. I can send you the links to the best ones if you like. You’ll find people from my parents’ generation don’t like to talk about the war. For us it’s history, but for them it’s their parents’ lives, family secrets and stories they are happy to leave buried in the past.”

  He eyes me, and I wonder if he’s thinking I couldn’t bear to hear some of the stories. I already have heard some of them – during a house viewing, someone told me about a group of young boys shot because they were found playing with a radio they came across by a stream. And then there was the awful story of how the Germans strapped French villagers to the tops of their cars so that they wouldn’t be bombed. Once you’re told something like that you can’t un-know it. When you’re cursed with too much imagination, sometimes it’s better to remain in ignorance. Maybe I need someone to read to the end and censor things for me, like Madeline did for Amelie.

  Thinking about them makes me sad. My anger has subsided to be replaced by a weary depression.

  “I don’t know if I could’ve been as brave as the guides who helped people escape in war. I certainly couldn’t be as brave as a Cathar choosing to be burnt alive rather than recant my faith. I’m not a brave person at all.”

  “Aren’t you?” Leo turns to me, and the connection when our eyes meet is both instantaneous and shocking. “I think you are very brave. You’ve moved to another country on your own. And I don’t know you well, but my parents already speak very highly of you. I am positive that you have a good heart and you wouldn’t turn away from someone who needed your help. I just can’t see you doing that.”

  The current passing between us is electric, and not just sexually; there’s something else. A kind of stripping away of everything else. A bewildering sense that we have known each other forever. I wanted something real from Leo. This is real. His defence of me is so earnest I can scarcely breathe. I look out at the mountain tops, breaking eye contact but still intensely aware of the charged atmosphere between us.

  “So you haven’t brought me up here today to throw me off the mountain and claim my house back for the Dubois Estate then?” I ask, while the door to the unguarded Leo is still open.

  Leo places a hand lightly on my back, and I calmly turn to examine his expression and see his lips are twitching with amusement.

  “See, you didn’t flinch at all. Like I said, you’re brave.” Leo laughs. “I’m not going to kill you, Poppy. I’m trying to be your … your friend.”

  I take a deep breath. My heart is pounding, and not because I thought he was going to give me a shove.

  “Thank you,” I say, finally. “Both for the not killing and for the friend bit.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replies and laughs quietly as we head back to his car.

  My mind is reeling as I get back in.

  Friend.

  Not a date then.

  Chapter Six

  “All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them.”

  Walt Disney

  From poppy@daydreamdesigns.co.uk

  To michelle.davis@yahoo.com

  Subject: Not a date!

  Okay, a quick update. We’re at Carcassonne, going somewhere for something to eat and Leo is parking the car. Can’t type much as I’ve cracked my phone screen (long story!).

  He says he wants to be my friend. Oh, and also that he doesn’t want to throw me off a mountain. I did ask him.

  What do you think???

  xx

  From michelle.davis@yahoo.com

  To poppy@daydreamdesigns.co.uk

  Subject: Not a date!

  OMG. You seriously asked him if he was going to kill you?! And he’s still taking you out to dinner and wants to be your ‘friend’? In that case he definitely fancies you. I reckon he’s holding back for some reason, you know, taking it slow.

  Go for it girl. It needn’t be a serious thing. You need some fun after what Pete has put you through.

  Love Michelle

  xx

  P.S. I need a photo. I just googled the village’s veterinary practice website and there’s no photo of him.

  “It’s so magical, it’s just amazing,” I say to Leo once he’s walked up from where he left the car. Carcassonne is Europe’s largest medieval fortified city with its walls still intact. “If it still has that impact on me now, how must it have looked to ordinary people centuries ago?”

  “I expect it was very impressive. I used to love coming to the jousting days as a boy.” Leo smiles. “Did you know they filmed most of Robin Hood – Prince of Thieves here?”

  “Really? My Mum is a huge Kevin Costner fan. I must’ve watched that film a hundred times.” I turn around and look at the walls, trying to see if I can recognise any landmarks from the film. “I’ll have to tell her.”

  “Will your parents come out here to visit you soon?” Leo asks, whistling to Maxi to keep to heel instead of examining one tourist’s packed lunch.

  I shrug. Perhaps the French manners of expression are starting to rub off on me. “I doubt it. Maybe. I don’t know.”

  Leo frowns and seems lost in thought as we walk, but the silence doesn’t bother me. It feels comfortable. I lose myself in admiring the fairytale castle, touching the odd stone or two and revelling in history as I look out at the surrounding countryside from the ramparts. I turn to Leo, who seems content to walk by my side as I wander and meander wherever my whim, or the dogs’ noses, take me.

  “You’re probably going to think I’m nuts…” I say tentatively.

  Leo snorts.

  “Okay, you’re probably going to think I’m even nuttier than you already do, but I do think this looks like a Walt Disney cartoon castle.” I pick up Peanut who has decided a nearby drainage channel is in fact a lethal chihuahua trap. The others seem happy enough to trot along on the cobbles, although both chihuahuas freaked initially at the drawbridge.

  I’m pleased dogs are allowed into the medieval city. It’s warm enough to sit outside to eat, and Leo says the owner of the restaurant we’re going to knows Maxi and is happy for him to sit by the table.

  “Funny you should say that about Disney,” Leo says, striding ahead and guiding us for a walk along the wider ramparts where there’s grass and a path that isn’t too blocked by tourists. “They say Walt Disney was so impressed by Carcassonne when he came here on holiday that he used it as his inspiration for Sleeping Beauty’s castle.”

  “Are there any handsome knights about?” I ask, smiling, enjoying the gentle evening warmth on my skin and the happy tug on the dogs’ leads. They don’t normally pull, so they must be really excited.

  “Plenty,” Leo replies and nods his head over to where two young boys have brightly coloured knights’ tunics over their jeans and hoodies and wood
en swords in their hands. “Courtesy of the numerous gift shops.”

  There are a number of gift shops, but they don’t spoil the twisting cobbled lanes for me. It’s not too hard to imagine it in medieval times. Then my thoughts stray to Leo as a boy, obsessed with dinosaurs and jousting and growing up in his own chateau.

  “I assume you don’t want to go into the torture museum, after our earlier conversation?” Leo asks as we move away from the grassy areas and wind our way around twisty walkways and cobbled lanes.

  “Definitely not.» I pull a face.

  Leo’s smile is soft, and I wonder if he’s thinking about his niece again.

  “It might put you off your food,” he admits. “You have to try the cassoulet here if you haven’t eaten it yet. The chef is extremely good.”

  The restaurant is hidden away from the main square down a quiet twisty lane. The tables are set in a walled garden covered by giant cream canopies that I suspect double as shelter from both the sun and the rain. Although, with three hundred days a year of sunshine, I suspect it’s mostly designed to provide a shady dining area. Despite its seclusion, it’s popular, which speaks well for the quality of the food.

  Artistically trailed white fairy lights wind around the trees mixed in with the tables. There are thick, white church candles in hidden recesses within the stone walls surrounding the garden, and smoked glass vases filled with cream and white flowers give the setting a definite romantic feel. Though Leo did say we were coming here because he’s friends with the owner.

  I glance at Leo. Date or not a date? That’s the question. Or one of them at least. There are other things I need to find out first. I can’t even think about trusting Leo unless he enlightens me about the meaning behind the weird territorial caféposturing with Jacques. Not to mention the sticky spider webs I keep walking into because no one will tell me what’s going on.

  Once we’ve ordered drinks and the dogs have been presented with their own bowl of water by a waiter, Leo seems to have questions he wants to ask me too.

  “So, what do you plan to do to the house if you can’t convert the outbuildings? Have you had time to consider it?”