David reached his hand out and grasped hers before she could move it out of the way. ‘Once No. 29 is sold we could do that together. I’ve always wanted to go to the Maldives. It could be a second honeymoon.’
Trust David to put his wants first. ‘I was actually thinking of an eco-camp in the Amazon forest, not a luxury resort anywhere.’ Not true. Going travelling had been a vague idea, with no definite destination in her mind. One thing she did realise, though, she didn’t want to go anywhere with David. She jerked her hand out of his.
‘Okay, we could do that too.’
Carla shook her head at him. The message that she’d had enough was clearly not getting through. As she opened her mouth to tell him how she felt again, David was already speaking.
‘Look, I’ve got a week’s conference to go to up in Cumbria – I leave this weekend. Why don’t you at least move back in while I’m away. When I get back you might have changed your mind and decided to stay.’
About to tell him no, Carla stopped and looked at him thoughtfully. ‘I do need to sort out my stuff and pack it up ready for…’ she shrugged, ‘ready for when I decide where I’m going. It would be easier if I did it while you’re away.’ Carla looked at him. ‘I won’t change my mind though about staying on afterwards.’
David sighed. ‘I can’t say the thought that I’ve made it easier for you to pack up your things while I’m away fills me with joy but…’ he shrugged. ‘just live in the house and we’ll see what happens when I get back.’
‘When you get back I’ll still be divorcing you, David. What part of that sentence do you not understand?’ Carla stood up and slipped her red tote over her shoulder. ‘I’ll leave you to settle my lunch bill. Have a good conference.’ She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving David staring after her.
10
When Gordon phoned and suggested they made their long overdue visit to have lunch on St Honorat now that Carla had left, Josette readily agreed.
Gordon was waiting for her, tickets in hand, by the landing stage when she arrived, a queue of passengers already boarding the boat. The two of them found a couple of seats out on deck. Minutes later, the boat was making its way across the Mediterranean on its fifteen minute voyage to the Îles de Lérins.
Josette took a couple of deep breaths, filling her lungs with the tangy salt air and feeling the breeze on her face. ‘I do like being out on the water,’ she said.
‘Did you sail when you were young?’ Gordon asked.
Josette shook her head. ‘No. Friends of my parents had a small day cruiser and often took us out fishing or brought us here for a picnic.’ Josette gestured towards the islands. ‘So many boats these days,’ she said, looking at the multitude of yachts anchored in the broad reach between the two islands as the passenger ferry slowed to approach St Honorat’s landing quay.
Ten minutes later, they’d disembarked. ‘I’ve booked a table for lunch at the restaurant, shall we go straight there?’ Gordon said.
‘Would you mind going ahead on your own?’ Josette asked. ‘I’d really like to have a few moments in the Abbey first.’ She knew Gordon wouldn’t want to visit the Abbey. He’d told her soon after they’d met he didn’t have time for any religion and had no real interest in even looking at the buildings that encompassed their ideology.
‘Of course,’ Gordon said. ‘Take your time.’
‘I won’t be long.’ Josette smiled at him gratefully before making her way alone along the rustic path towards the entrance to the Abbey.
The monks were just leaving after morning mass and she stood to one side as they passed, their long white robes swishing across the ground. Once inside the ancient Abbey, Josette slipped into a pew at the back and closed her eyes. Sitting there, inhaling the special atmosphere that had surely been created by centuries of silent worship trapped forever amongst its high rafters, she felt her spirits lift. Not a religious person by nature, sometimes she just needed the utter calm that only an ancient church like this one seemed able to give out.
Having Carla visit had unsettled Josette more than she’d expected. Could returning to live in Antibes on something of a whim and an overwhelming yearning for her roots a year ago have been a mistake after all the years she’d spent travelling around? Was it time to move on again? Her love of photography, once all-consuming, had dwindled away. She hadn’t picked up her camera since she’d returned to Antibes. Was it because she was getting old and everything was so much more of an effort that it was easier to do nothing? Or was it something else? Regret of the choices she’d made throughout her life?
She’d never been one for living by routine, preferring a more free and unfettered lifestyle. Her previous nomadic life, flitting from one place to another as a freelance photographer, had had its drawbacks, but on the whole it had suited her. However unsettled she felt now, she didn’t want to get sucked into a life of routine at her age. Or start reminiscing about the past, every day. It was the future that mattered. However short that might prove to be. After all she’d had her three score years and ten.
Several moments passed before she came to with a start when a shooting pain in her right leg made her jump and she realised she’d been sitting awkwardly. Carefully flexing her leg, she stood up and hobbled to the exit, hoping the pins and needles would go away once she was moving.
By the time she’d walked down through the flower filled cloisters and out of the Abbey grounds, the pain had dispersed and she felt better. Spending quiet time in the Abbey had worked its magic and she felt soothed and comforted.
Gordon got to his feet as he saw her approach and she threaded her way through the crowded tables to reach him.
‘Sorry, I lost track of time,’ Josette said, accepting the aperitif he handed her.
‘No problem, we’ve got all the afternoon. Have a look at the menu and then we can order.’
‘Thanks. I don’t need the menu. I saw the special of the day board as I came in. I’ll have the set meal please.’
While Gordon placed their order with the waitress, Josette sipped her drink, thinking about their friendship. It had been one of those fortuitous encounters when complete strangers know they’ve met a kindred spirit.
Back in early January, after a disturbed night listening to a ferocious blizzard battering the coast, Josette had got up early and discovered the Riviera slumbering under a heavy and unexpected snowy duvet. Within minutes, she was dressed and stepping out into an eerily silent town, making her way through the empty streets to the nearest park, just one thing on her mind. Once in the park, she began to make a snowball, rolling it through the pristine snow and patting it together. When it was too big to move, she began to make a smaller one.
She barely registered the first snowball that hit her in the back, she was concentrating so hard, but the next one, arriving seconds later, got her full attention. Oooh – somebody wanted a snowball fight, did they? Carefully, she placed the smaller snowball on top of the first one before swiftly bending down, gathering a handful of snow and turning, throwing it expertly at the child who’d thrown the snowball. Except it wasn’t a child. It was a man. A man who smiled and threw another snowball at her, calling out, ‘Game on,’ as he did.
For five minutes, they had laughed as they flung snowball after snowball at each other before a breathless Josette had said, ‘This is fun, but I need to finish my snowman.’
The man had closed the gap between them. ‘May I help you?’
Josette had nodded and together they had set about creating the biggest snowman they could.
‘I’m Gordon,’ he’d said, scooping up another large handful of snow.
‘Josette. Nice to meet you.’
‘You too. Think Jack’s head is big enough now,’ Gordon said. ‘What?’ he’d asked as Josette had stared at him crossly.
‘You’re calling my snowman, Jack. Why?’
‘After Jack Frost of course. I’m going to find him some eyes.’ Gordon had wandered off and started to kick around in
the snow at the edge of the park. A minute later, he’d returned with two smallish stones and placed them carefully on the snowman’s face. ‘Bit tiny, but they’ll do. Really need something for his nose,’ he’d said, looking around for inspiration.
‘I came prepared for that,’ Josette had answered, pulling a carrot out of her coat pocket and positioning it below the stone eyes.
‘Looks good, although I think he could do with this,’ and Gordon had unwound his tartan scarf and tied it around the snowman’s neck. ‘Now he’s a proper snowman. Fancy a hot chocolate?’ he’d asked, looking across the park. ‘Looks like the cafe is opening up.’
‘Sounds good.’
Standing near the café’s outdoor gas heaters, drinking the hot chocolate, Josette had glanced at Gordon. ‘Thank you for this and the snowball fight. I haven’t had so much fun in years.’
‘Doesn’t do to be serious all the time,’ Gordon had said. ‘Life is always better with friends and fun in it.’
‘Are we going to be friends?’
‘I think we’re going to be really special friends,’ he’d said.
‘Special friends?’ Josette had looked at him. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Special friends have lots of fun together. Having fun is king in my book.’
‘D’you have a wife who might object to us having fun together?’
Gordon shook his head. ‘No. D’you have a husband at home?’
‘No.’
‘There you go then. Nothing to stop us having fun together.’
Josette had laughed and since that day in the snow their friendship had flourished and they did indeed have fun together. Discovering that they’d both lived unconventional lives formed a surprising but happy bond between them. Josette had been on the fringe of a celebrity crowd, while Gordon’s life of writing songs for famous singers had meant he’d actually met and mixed with lots of them – something which he said he’d hated, preferring a quieter life really, out of the limelight.
Josette came back to the present with a jolt, realising Gordon was asking her a question.
‘Want to talk about whatever it is that’s bothering you?’
Josette looked at him. His pragmatic Scottish attitude towards solving problems always made Josette smile. There were no grey areas as far as Gordon was concerned. Things were either black or white, nothing in between. She was far too analytical to ever see anything in such a cut-and-dried manner. Maybe it would help sort things out in her head to talk them through with Gordon, without going into too much detail. He knew something of her past life but not everything.
‘Having Carla here has reminded me of stuff that has been buried a long time,’ Josette began. ‘Things I feel that are best left buried but will, I’m afraid, force their way out in the foreseeable future. The catalyst is likely to be the fact that Carla has inherited her mother’s half of Villa Mimosa.’
‘Will she agree to selling the place like you’ve wanted to do for so long?’
‘She’s already mentioned keeping it and promising to make regular visits to help with the renting et cetera.’ Josette placed her empty glass on the table.
‘At least you’d have support and practical help. Wouldn’t that be a good thing? You said your sister was always difficult and uncooperative as far as the villa was concerned.’
Josette shrugged. ‘The trouble is I’ve lived for so long without any proper family contact, I’m… I’m not sure how I’d cope with being Tante Josette on a regular face-to-face basis. Part of me thinks family contact would be good as I get older, but a larger part is telling me keeping the status quo would be better.’
She didn’t add she was also beginning to get the feeling that she was no longer in total control of her own destiny. Carla’s appearance in her life was like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.
11
Carla waited until lunchtime the day David had said he was leaving for Cumbria before going home. She heaved a sigh of relief that there was no sign of his car when she turned onto the drive and parked.
Taking her case upstairs, she ignored the open door of the master bedroom with its queen-sized bed she’d shared with David, opening the door of the guest bedroom instead. She’d sleep in here for the week.
Leaving her unpacking until later, Carla went down to the kitchen and switched on the coffee machine. Waiting for it to heat up, she opened the fridge door. No need to go food shopping. The shelves were full; there was more than she could possibly eat in a week. Was David trying to lure her back? Well, if he thought a few packets of her favourite foods, not to mention the bottles of wine in the rack, would make her change her mind, he could think again.
She pressed the button on the radio and Classic FM filled the kitchen with a Chopin piano piece she recognised but couldn’t name. Pouring a mug of coffee, she went through to the sitting room. David had clearly made an effort to keep it tidy. A note was propped against a large vase of red roses in the sitting room: Welcome home. See you in a week. Love David. xxx. Carla screwed up the note before she went back into the kitchen to throw it in the bin.
Somewhere deep in her tote, her mobile rang. Carefully, she lifted out the urn, placing it on the kitchen table, before scrabbling around for the phone. Maddy.
‘How are you, Mum?’
‘I’m fine. Just having a coffee before I make a start on sorting my things out. Dad’s left me a fridge full of food – fancy Sunday lunch here?’
‘Can we make it an early supper? Say about six-ish? And can I bring a friend?’
‘Sure’
‘I’ve got to go, Mum. See you Sunday.’ And the phone cut off, giving Carla no chance to ask the question ‘which friend?’
She put the phone back in her bag before taking the urn and placing it on the kitchen windowsill. She hadn’t liked to leave it in No. 29 on her last visit there in case she forgot about it again. Maybe Maddy would have an idea as to where the ashes could be scattered. She’d mention it on Sunday, depending, of course, on who Maddy brought with her.
Right, time to get on. She only had a week to sort her possessions. Resolute, she made her way back upstairs. She’d start with emptying her wardrobe, chest of drawers and cupboards.
Two hours later, in the small spare bedroom, there were three piles: keep, give to the charity shop and throw away. Tomorrow she’d find a couple of suitcases to pack the stuff she was keeping and the rest could go in black bags.
What she needed now was a long soak in a hot bath. Walking into the en suite of the master bedroom, she turned on the taps before pouring some of her favourite bubble bath into the water and lighting a couple of the candles she always kept on the edge of the bath. Just time to go downstairs while the bath filled, pour a glass of white wine and grab the magazine she’d bought at the airport but hadn’t yet finished reading.
Undressing and slipping into the hot water felt so good. Carefully placing her glass of wine on the side tiled shelf of the bath after taking a large sip, Carla lay back and opened the magazine. An article with the headline title ‘The Law of Attraction. Dream it. Visualise it. Live it’ caught her eye. Not that she had any faith in what most motivation gurus urged one to do to improve one’s life, but sometimes there could be a germ of a good idea hidden amongst the hype.
This particular feature was all about writing things down and visualising exactly what you wanted, which would apparently help it materialise in real life. Making a vision board and imagining how your life could be in five years with the things you dreamed about accomplished was the key to success. If only it was that easy.
Carla dropped the magazine onto the floor. She reached for her glass before topping up the cooling water with some more hot and sliding back under the bubbles. Trying to work out where she’d be in five years’ time was a joke. Five weeks ago, she hadn’t had any idea her life was about to implode the way it had, so how the hell could she plan five years in advance?
As for visualising the house and lifestyle she wanted, she al
ready had it. This house that she was planning to leave had been the only house she’d wanted for the last twenty-odd years. Right this minute she couldn’t imagine not living here. The moment she’d unlocked the front door and walked in, she’d felt safe and happy to be back. Walking away from it with no real plan for the rest of her life was going to be so hard. Maybe she should move back in, insist that David left – he was the one at fault after all.
Getting out of the bath and towelling herself dry, she muttered, ‘Get a grip.’ Lots of women her age had to make unexpected new starts. Besides, she did have a plan, albeit a sketchy short-term one. Once Amelia’s house had sold and the divorce was underway, she’d be able to make proper long-term plans. It was a question of one step at a time. But where the hell was she going to live in the meantime?
Sorting out her clothes, she’d realised even living in one room at No. 29 she’d need more than just the basic stuff she’d put on her list. The more she thought about it, the clearer it became how fraught arranging a temporary move there would be. Maybe renting a small furnished flat would be better. She’d buy a local paper in the week and see what was available.
Grabbing her towelling dressing gown from the hook on the door, she went downstairs. The house phone rang while she was preparing a brie and avocado sandwich for her supper. Guessing who the caller would be, she let it ring until the answerphone clicked in and, as expected, she heard David’s voice.
‘Carla, darling, if you’re there please pick up. I just wanted you to know that I’ve arrived in Penrith.’ A short pause before he continued. ‘Maybe I’ll catch you later. Love you,’ and the call ended.
The routine calls telling her of his safe arrival whenever he’d been away travelling had ceased about a year ago. David had shrugged when she’d mentioned it. ‘No news is good news. You’d hear soon enough if there’d been an accident.’ Now, when she didn’t have the slightest interest in his whereabouts, he’d decided to tell her. Swatting the guilty ‘I should have picked up’ thought away, Carla sat at the kitchen table to eat. Knowing David of old it would be part of a ploy to smother her with kindness, wear her down and come round to his way of thinking. Idly Carla wondered how long it would take for him to realise that there was no way that was going to happen ever again.
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