‘I think we have to celebrate our first night in France tonight. And I’ve been thinking about something I’d like us all to do. A challenge, if you like,’ Mae declares.
‘I’m up for a challenge!’ Jamie shouts, excited by Mae’s statement. I can’t help grinning in response to his enthusiasm. I hope he never loses that too.
‘Wait till you hear what it is first,’ Mae teases, with a wry grin. ‘I want us to try some local dishes every day for dinner. When in France and all that …’
‘Will we have to eat snails?’ Evie asks, looking aghast. ‘I’m not eating slugs.’
‘Not necessarily, but would it be fun to try the local cuisine?’ Mae says. ‘Pops has given us such a gift here. The opportunity to visit different cultures doesn’t happen for many. I think it’s a shame if we don’t embrace all aspects of that.’
‘Dad could eat the snails. He always says he’d eat the cockroaches on I’m a Celebrity,’ Jamie throws in helpfully. ‘Not me though.’
‘Er, less of the cockroaches-talk while we’re eating,’ I say with a laugh. ‘What do we get if we accept your challenge?’
‘You get ice-cream for dessert, of course!’ Mae declares to the delight of all.
Chapter Fourteen
OLLY
After only one day in the French sunshine, I feel like a different person. I can’t remember the last time I did nothing other than just lie flat on my back.
Mae insisted we get a taxi tonight and I’m grateful. I had it in my head that I needed to drive Nomad, but as she said, that would be silly, dismantling all the connections, just to drive a few miles into town.
Green fields with abundant sunflowers dance in the breeze, as we fly along narrow roads. Rustic shutter-clad houses in small villages provide picture-postcard scenery. Our driver drops us on the outskirts of Bayeux and we walk through cobblestoned streets with pretty grey buildings on the hunt for a restaurant.
Mae fills us in on some local history as we go. Bayeux is one of the only towns to survive intact after the destruction of World War II. It was far enough inland not to be considered a threat.
One of the things that strikes me as we wander through the streets is how quiet it is. For a sizeable-enough town, a tourist attraction at that, you would imagine that it would be buzzing.
As we walk, Mae stops and peers in the windows of restaurants and bars, looking for the right one. She tells us that we should do our best to avoid the usual tourist spots. Finally, at the end of a small cobbled lane-way, she finds a bistro that looks perfect.
‘It’s full of locals and it’s not got overpriced tourist prices,’ Mae says.
I’m so hungry that I’ll happily eat anywhere. So we file inside and chorus bonsoirs back to our waiter, who takes us to a small table in the corner. His name is Jean and he seems friendly enough, despite our poor French.
‘We would like to try some of the local dishes. Can you make some recommendations?’ Mae asks him.
‘Ah, d’accord. I can bring some queues de langoustines rôties for you all to share. Perhaps to follow joue de bœuf. It is one of our local specialities. Très magnifique!’
‘Come again,’ I say. I wish I had paid more attention in French classes now. I didn’t get one bit of that. He repeats the dishes, speaking slowly. This time Evie nods in recognition.
‘Langoustine tails,’ Evie translates for Jamie. ‘And cows’ cheeks.’
‘I don’t think I like langoustines,’ Jamie mutters with a frown. ‘Can I just have a burger?’
Mae shushes him and tells Jean, ‘Merci, Jean, that would be great. And let me see, can we also have some salad and vegetables too?’
‘Can you send some chips,’ I throw in before he goes. I know that there is no way that Jamie will eat any of the food ordered. Time for a back-up.
‘But of course.’ The waiter smiles at us all.
Mae puts her hand up and says to the waiter, ‘No chips. Merci.’
‘Ah we’re on holidays, a few chips won’t do any harm,’ I say.
Mae flashes a look of annoyance at me, but then smiles and says, firmly, ‘We are eating the local cuisine tonight, remember? If there are chips on offer the kids won’t try the food.’
I hold my hands up in mock surrender and say to a bemused-looking Jean, ‘No chips!’
‘Aw,’ Jamie grumbles and I shrug at him. ‘I did my best, buddy. But your mam says no.’
Evie grabs his cheeks and teases him, ‘Cows’ cheeks for our little baby cheeks.’
‘Get off me,’ Jamie says, but he’s laughing.
Mae isn’t laughing, though, she’s frowning and says to Jean, ‘I’d like a glass of red wine.’
She’s pissed at me again. Maybe I should order a bottle. I take a look at the wine menu, but am out of my depth. But I’m fecked if I’m going to admit that. I point to a Bordeaux that won’t break the bank and hope for the best.
‘An excellent choice, Monsieur,’ Jean tells us and then, with a little bow, he’s off.
‘If I don’t like this, can I have some Weetabix when we get home?’ Jamie asks.
‘You haven’t even tasted it, Jamie. You might surprise yourself and enjoy it,’ Mae says. ‘I want us to have courageous palates.’
‘Courageous palates,’ we all repeat after her.
‘Cool,’ Evie says.
Jamie doesn’t look convinced. I’m not sure I am either. Since he mentioned the word ‘burger’, I can’t stop thinking about a dirty big cheeseburger with chips on the side. I wonder if I call them frites, would Mae be okay with them?
I decide to take matters into my own hands. Under the pretence of going to the toilets, I find Jean and tell him to add two lots of chips to our order. I tell myself that it’s for the kids, not for me. Mae will thank me in the end. One of these days I’ll remember that I should never listen to myself.
When I get back to the table, a platter of crusty bread with oils and garlic salts is awaiting. There’s also a bowl of plump green olives. Jamie and Evie dive on the bread like a plague of locusts.
The wine arrives and I taste it. It’s good, strong and oaky.
Evie and Mae are full of chat about our tour tomorrow to see the American war cemetery and the beaches too, as Pops requested. Then, on our last day here, we’ll do some more relaxing by the pool.
I smell the garlic before the food arrives and my stomach responds by growling in appreciation. A steaming plate of langoustines lies resplendent in the middle of our table.
‘Oh, it’s prawns!’ Jamie says. ‘Why didn’t you just say so?’
He dives in and grabs one, then hands his plate to me and asks me to cut it for him.
The langoustines are juicy and bursting with flavour. Pretty soon we all have garlic butter dribbling down our chins.
Mae laughs as she dips her bread into the sauce and we all join in, mopping up butter with doughy bread.
I look at my wife – sitting opposite me – and I wish that she were sitting closer so that I could reach and hold her hand. Her auburn hair falls in soft waves over her face, hiding her eyes. It’s gotten long and I’m surprised by the fact. When did that happen? For years she’d been wearing it in a short bob. Echoes of the woman I first fell hook, line and sinker for, all those years ago, in every wave of that hair.
I want to tell her that I’m sorry I haven’t noticed, but I see her now. I will her to look at me so I can try to convey some of what I’m feeling.
I yearn for those days, when we were in sync. We used to know what the other was thinking all the time. But Mae’s head stays down low. She is apparently on a different telepathic channel to me right now.
We have a chance, though, on this trip, I’m sure of it. We’ve left all the stresses at home. We can just concentrate on having fun, relaxing. I look around the table and the kids look happier than they’ve done for months. I feel like I’ve a coat hanger shoved in my face, I’m smiling so much. It feels good. The Guinness family has arrived in Bayeux and are having a good tim
e.
‘It’s good, non?’ the waiter asks when he removes the now-empty plate ten minutes later.
Nods and smiles all round from us and he clicks his fingers to alert another waiter to bring our main course.
Mae asks him to talk us through what the dish is and he explains that the joue de boeuf is meat from the cow’s cheek.
He then points to Jamie’s face and says, ‘From the face, non? Not the bum.’
That would have been comical enough, but this French accent saying ‘bum’ is enough to set anyone off.
‘The cheek is marinated in red wine for three days with a selection of légumes. Then our chef has braised it for ten hours. It is très bien.’ He steps back, but doesn’t leave and I realise he’s waiting for us to taste the dish.
I spoon some of the meat onto my plate and add the vegetables and sauce. Mae serves both the children, but I notice that they have yet to raise a fork to their mouths.
I gingerly take a bite, after all the boasts about how I’d do I’m a Celebrity food challenges no bother, I’ve no option but to suck it up.
But talk about explosion of taste in my mouth! It is the most wonderful thing I’ve ever tasted. The meat is tender and the sauce rich.
I turn to Jean and say truthfully, ‘It’s perfect. Kids, you have got to try this. It’s delicious.’
Jamie and Evie both scoop up a forkful, just as the evening is about to go all wrong.
I’d forgotten about the chips. I wish Jean had too. But with bloody awful timing, he adds two bowls of golden frites to the table, alongside the green salad and green beans.
‘Yes!’ Jamie whoops, dropping the beef whilst scooping a large handful of chips onto his plate. ‘Thanks, Dad.’
Evie looks almost apologetic at Mae, but grabs some chips too.
Mae glowers at me. ‘You had to be the hero. You went ahead and ordered chips. Of course you did.’
Shit. She lifts her glass to her mouth and takes a large slug, then refills it.
I try to redeem myself, ‘Jamie, Evie, try the beef. It’s really good.’
Jamie whines. ‘I don’t want to.’
‘Just try a mouthful,’ I coax, but his mouth is jam-packed full of fries. I can feel the heat of Mae’s eyes and I do my best to avoid looking at her.
Yep, I’m a fecking eejit.
Evie looks at Mae and then at me. She pushes her chips to one side and starts to eat the beef. All at once, the happy, fun atmosphere at our table is gone and we’re back to the status quo of a dispirited family.
‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to,’ Mae says and squeezes Evie’s hand.
‘Hey, this is quite good, Mam.’ Evie stuffs a bigger mouthful in to prove her point.
‘Jamie, you going to try some of the beef?’ Mae tries one last time.
I hold my breath. Go on my, son, help your dad out. ‘No way,’ he replies.
Feck.
Thick, ugly tension hangs over us once more and this time I know that there’s no one to blame but me.
Class-A gobshite. ‘I’m sorry.’ I mean it.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she replies and looks down at her plate.
But of course it does. Our mutual dissatisfaction with each other has been simmering like this pot of stew for many months and now it’s about to boil over.
Mae pushes back her hair and looks at me, straight in the eyes. I chance a smile of apology, but it freezes when I cop the look of contempt that passes over her face. I don’t need any telepathy to understand what’s going on in her mind. At first I hold her gaze, thrusting my chin out in a gesture of defiance, but she’s better at this game than me and I’m the first to look away.
Chapter Fifteen
EVIE
EvieGuinness: You awake?
AnnMurphy: Whasup?
EvieGuinness: So much for this holiday putting everyone in a better mood.
AnnMurphy: What happened?
EvieGuinness: ChipGate. That’s what happened. They are only fighting over a bag of chips now. That’s how lame my parents are.
AnnMurphy: For real? Scarlet for them.
EvieGuinness: I hate them.
AnnMurphy: Hugz
EvieGuinness: Hugz
I thought Mam and Dad were getting on better. But the tension during dinner tonight was off the scale. Bet Dad will never look at a chip in the same way again.
If Jamie had just tasted the cheeks then we wouldn’t be in this mess. Mam wouldn’t have minded Dad ordering the chips. But when Jamie says no to something, he is so stubborn, he’ll never change his mind. I felt sorry for our waiter. He knew that something had gone down, but had no clue what ChipGate was all about.
The taxi drive home was horrendous. Mam looked out the window in silence the whole way. Dad kept blathering on about sleeping arrangements, setting up beds. He always does that. Banging on about rubbish when he’s nervous.
Even my iPod couldn’t drown him out. One minute it looks like they are back to being friends again. Then, bam, something silly happens and they’re firing dirty looks at each other.
AnnMurphy: Do you think they’ll get a divorce?
EvieGuinness: Yep.
AnnMurphy: That sucks.
Yes it does. I just want it to go back to how it used to be. I’ve been trying to work out when it was that they last seemed happy and relaxed with each other. It was definitely before Dad lost his job and Pops got cancer. Last summer. I keep remembering this one perfect night when we had a barbecue out in the back garden. Dad was chef, natch. What is it about barbecues that means men have to wear a stupid apron and do all the cooking? Anyhow, after the food, we were all just sitting and relaxing. It was so warm. Dad was half asleep on his chair.
Mam had gestured to me and Jamie to go with her. Pops was laughing, he could see we were up to something and Mam put her fingers to her lips, shushing him.
We went into the kitchen and filled saucepans and mixing bowls with water. Then, with Mam leading us to battle, we snuck up on Dad and let him have it.
Mam was screaming, ‘Water fight!’ and then Dad was up like a scalded cat with the cold of the water when it hit him. Mam and us two were laughing so much, we had to cling to each other to stay standing.
Then Dad said, ‘Right, this is war!’ And he ran for the hose and turned it on us.
I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much. They were happy then. Genuine happiness, I mean, not the ‘let’s pretend for the sake of the kids’.
If I close my eyes I can still see Dad catching Mam around her waist and pulling her into him close while they kissed.
I shouted, ‘Eewwww, get a room!’ And they laughed, ignored me and kissed again.
They were always PDA’ing all over the shop back then. It used to do my head in. But now I wouldn’t care less if they both snogged for hours in the middle of the road, if it meant that they were happy again. I feel tears prick my eyes. I don’t want to start crying, I might wake up Jamie.
I think Dad still loves Mam. He has this look on his face sometimes when he looks at her, all goofy-like. It’s not a good look for him. I’m not so sure about Mam, though. She looks pissed off with him a lot of the time, like he irritates her. She never used to look at him like that. At Pops’ funeral she looked worried for him a lot of the time. I keep holding onto that. If she worries about him, then maybe she does love him. Maybe.
My head feels like it’s going to break with it all. I don’t want them to get divorced, but they don’t seem to like each other much any more. So maybe they should go their separate ways. Because they sure aren’t happy the way things are. It’s just I know exactly what will happen if they split up. Jamie will want to go with Dad. Come to think of it, Dad wouldn’t be the one to leave, would he? It would be Mam. Because it’s Dad’s family home from his childhood. That would give him first dibs, I reckon.
I’ll have to go too, then. I can’t have Mam leave on her own. Good job they have two kids, makes the divvying up easier.
The
thing is, I don’t want to leave Dad or Jamie. I mean Jamie’s okay for a pain-in-the-arse kid brother. I’ve gotten used to having him bug me every day.
My head is going to break with it all.
I peer at my watch and can just about make out in the dark that it’s about midnight. Mam and Dad are asleep, or, at least, there is no light on in their room.
Tonight should have been fun. Our first night sleeping in Nomad. But it ended up as much fun as root-canal treatment. They sucked all the fun out of it with ChipGate. Jamie feels it too, which is why I agreed to sleep in his stupid canopy bed with him. He looked so vulnerable when he asked me if I wanted to have a sleepover. I couldn’t say no. He better not pee on me.
All the earlier talk of a drink under the stars was forgotten. By the time we got back from the restaurant, nobody felt much like star-gazing. So, instead, we all sat in silence watching TV, pretending all was okay. I would have gone to my bedroom, had I one to go to. And they wonder why I put my headphones on all the time. It’s better than listening to the deafening sound of their hatred.
And of course as I can hear pretty much everything in Nomad, I heard them whisper-fighting in their room earlier. I couldn’t work out what they said to each other, but I got the gist. And with every word, my stomach churned a bit more, so much so that I thought I’d vomit. I’m so sick of feeling like this – worried and stressed about everything.
AnnMurphy: You going to be k?
Will I be okay? My mind is stuck on the same things over and over, as I keep thinking about what is going to happen when we get home from this trip. My parents. School. Luke. It’s like a battle zone in my head, as each thing fights for my attention and an answer I can’t give.
I’m thirteen and I think my head is about to break.
EvieGuinness: Yeah, I’m kk. xxx
I close my eyes and try to sleep.
The Things I Should Have Told You Page 12
