Page 13 of The Bookshop Ladies

‘Until tomorrow so,’ Robyn said, walking Joy to the door. She placed a hand on Joy’s elbow. The touch of a stranger, who was, unknown to Robyn, maybe not a stranger at all.

9

2002

Fern managed to convince Peggy to come for a holiday with her and leave Albie to feed the families of Ballycove alone. Typical of her uncle Albie, he was delighted to see her go and have a well-deserved break.

‘I feel so posh, jetting off for winter sun.’ Peggy giggled as they stored their hand luggage in the overhead packing area on their budget flight to Marseilles. It was just a holiday, Fern needed this, she needed to be near Peggy and Margot, she needed them like a dying woman struggling for oxygen.

‘We’ll be lucky if we’re not washed out of it,’ Fern said, dropping into the seat next to her aunt. She was relieved to get out of Paris, even if it was just for a short break and the weather forecast was about as hopeful of sun as a week on Achill in November. They were going to stay in Margot’s apartment for a few days and then all three would travel to Barcelona to stay in a house belonging to Margot’s cousin in the old part of the city. ‘Pah! It is empty anyway; we will be doing old Mathilde a favour by airing her beds,’ Margot said as they made their way out of the station and towards the house that, from photographs, seemed to be very grand indeed.

They had only just settled in when Fern woke up one morning, ravenous, only to feel completely nauseous as soon as Peggy placed a boiled egg in front of her. Later, the coffee from a nearby café had the same effect and that evening she realised, while Peggy and Margot had already put a dent in the wine cabinet, she had hardly been able to face a sip.

That night, as she lay in bed, it felt as if a penny dropped and the resounding clatter might have woken the whole house up. She was pregnant. She was so certain of it, it seemed only a formality to go out the following morning and buy a test kit to confirm it.

‘But who?’ Margot’s sharp blue eyes widened. ‘How, I don’t understand, how can you be pregnant? If there was someone, you would have told me? I know you would.’ She settled back in her chair. It was true. They didn’t have any secrets.

‘Oh my God. It’s Yves Bachand, isn’t it?’ Peggy’s voice was little more than a whisper.

‘Yes,’ Fern confirmed it. There had been no one else.

‘Yves Bachand, your agent?Non.’ Margot’s eyes were wide.

‘Yes. It was just once and…’ She explained how she had ended up sleeping with a man old enough to be her father, who she truly cared about, but would never be in love with.

‘What will you do?’ Margot leant forward.

‘What do you mean what will she do? She’ll have to tell him of course,’ Peggy said.

‘Oh, Peggy.’ Margot shook her head and laughed. ‘This is not the 1900s. Women, successful women, have babies every day of the week and they don’t need to have a man beside them.’

‘That might be the case, but Fern knows how important having a family is for a child. It still takes money to have children these days, especially if you want to stay in Paris.’

‘I had a great childhood, Peggy, the best. Ten parents couldn’t have made it happier than you did.’ Fern pulled Peggy close for a hug.

‘She doesn’t have to have it at all,’ Margot said. The one thing she didn’t say was –Yves? Seriously, you slept with Yves Bachand? He’s twenty-five years older than you and he’s been like a father as well as a mentor to you. Are you out of your mind?And maybe that just sealed them even closer, even if Fern didn’t realise it at the time.

‘I can’t think now. And I don’t have to. If I decide to keep it, I will be going it alone.’ She looked at Peggy. ‘But you’re not to worry. I am making enough money to keep a dozen children fed and clothed if I wanted to.’

‘Well you know, you always have me,’ Peggy rubbed Fern’s arm gently and then she smiled. ‘Actually, now it’s settling on me, I think I’d like to be a granny. I certainly can’t see our Leo doing much about bringing me home some grandchildren to spoil any time soon.’

‘You could move here,’ Margot said. ‘I mean, the house is empty, it will be empty for the foreseeable. Old Mathilde is staying with friends in Toulon. She has no plans to return here any time soon. You could paint. You could wander around the city. It’s a beautiful place, inspiring and…’

‘Maybe…’ Fern said, thinking that she needed a change of scene, even if there was no baby. She needed new surroundings. She just wasn’t sure where to go now. ‘Although, there is somewhere,’ she stopped. Just a week ago, she’d had a letter from the Arts Council in Ireland offering her a shared studio in Dublin. It was hers, if she wanted it.

‘You’d leave Paris?’ Peggy’s voice sounded a little shaky.

‘I need space to think, Auntie Peggy, I’m not going to disappear completely.’

‘What about Dublin?’ Margot said softly. She’d seen the letter, watched as Fern pushed it behind a bundle of post she might just as easily have ignored.

‘Perhaps,’ Fern smiled.

‘Dublin sounds wonderful, if you could just move there now…’ Peggy looked suddenly relieved. The idea of having Fern close enough to visit faded some of the worry from her eyes.

‘Certainly, it would take me out of the orbit of anything to do with…’ Fern might not know what she was doing, but she was certain of one thing. She was not going to spoil Yves’s life by showing up on his doorstep pregnant.

‘You really won’t tellhimthen?’ Margot broke into her thoughts.

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