Page 24 of A French Affair
‘That, I’m afraid, I’m not going to tell you today. As you said earlier, it’s personal and I don’t wish to discuss it.’
Belinda opened her mouth to protest and closed it again. If Alain didn’t want to tell her, she couldn’t make him. She hadn’t told him the full story surrounding her grandmother either. Some things were better kept private.
16
It was a subdued Belinda who arrived back at the auberge that evening. She said a quick ‘Hi’ to Fern who was in the kitchen preparing dinner, before declining to join her for their usual cup of tea and going straight to her room instead. When she went downstairs ready for dinner at seven o’clock, she made a concentrated effort to try and push all thoughts of her grandmother out of her mind.
‘You’re quiet tonight. Bad day at the office?’ Fern joked as she placed their starters and wine on the table.
‘So-so,’ Belinda said. ‘Been a funny day really.’ She took a forkful of the green salad that accompanied the walnut and onion tart Fern had made. ‘I had lunch at Yann’s with Alain – which was unusual in itself. Afterwards, he took me to see my grandmother’s grave.’
Fern stared at her, guessing that this had been an emotional visit, and waited for her to continue.
‘I have nothing but good memories of my mami. I loved spending time with her – I learnt a lot from her. Sitting out in the garden on summer evenings with a book in her hand, reading until the light had gone, was her idea of a good time. She loved gardening and reading.’ Belinda smiled. ‘She taught me how to make lace too. She was one of the last women in the village to make the traditional Breton lace coiffe. She wore hers with pride every single day. Hers was a simple head covering, not for mami the ridiculously tall hats that still come out for fetes and festivals these days.’ Belinda took a sip of the wine Fern had poured her earlier. ‘I can still probably make a lace collar but, sadly, her cooking skills didn’t rub off on me.’
‘Tch – how many people can say they can make a lace collar?’ Fern said. ‘At least you’ve got happy memories of your grandmother.’
Belinda nodded. ‘True.’ She was quiet for a moment or two, concentrating on eating her starter. ‘Delicious as per usual,’ she said, placing her knife and fork down on the plate. ‘The problem is negative memories tend to overshadow everything else if you’re not careful. I’ve been guilty of letting certain unhappy memories do that for a very long time.’
‘Is this to do with leaving France? You told me when you left but not why,’ Fern said quietly. ‘Did you not want to leave?’
‘No. I begged and pleaded with my mum to let me stay behind,’ Belinda answered. ‘Even when we got back to England, I kept on and on at her to let me return. Threw all the tantrums a teenager is so good at.’ She sighed. ‘It was weeks before Mum finally gave in and told me that Dad had been having an affair.’ Saying the words out loud to Fern brought the long-ago scene from that dreadful afternoon thirty-five years ago flooding back into her mind. Belinda gnawed on her bottom lip and closed her eyes before she began to talk about the scene that had finished her childhood and fractured her family…
For the last time, the school bus had dropped her at the top of the lane and she’d swung her bag happily as she strolled homewards. She’d finished with school. The last Baccalauréat exam, the dreaded chemistry, had been taken, she could now forget all about chemical reactions because they would have no relevance in her life ever again. She’d felt free and wonderful, with the summer stretching ahead of her. She was a country girl at heart, had never known anywhere else really. She loved the changing seasons here in Brittany (sometimes all four in a day!), the magical light that had drawn famous artists down the years to paint, the sense of history that pervaded the crop circles and the ancient woods. Of course, she’d loved visiting nearby towns, Pontivy, Carhaix, Quimper for shopping, but the thought of living in such close proximity to other people had made her shudder; she was always glad to get back home. Even if it meant eating her mum’s home-made pizza rather than being able to go to a McDonald’s like her friends who lived in a nearby town.
The thought of a summer of working weekends in the village café, riding Lucky, her pony, helping her dad with the animals and haymaking and then, in the afternoons and evenings, hanging out with her friend, Amelie, made her smile. And this was the summer, too, that Dad was going to prepare her for taking the driving test. He’d bought the car he’d promised to give her, a fun 2CV painted sunshine yellow, months ago, and had sat at her side as she’d driven it around the smallholding, getting used to steering it and changing the gears smoothly. ‘A natural driver,’ he’d called her. ‘Take after me you do.’ By the end of summer, she’d be as free as a bird, driving here, there and everywhere.
Strolling up the lane, she’d thought about Dominique, the local heart-throb. Maybe she’d be casually driving through the village and see him. His eyes would light up as he saw her and he’d jump into the car and she’d drive them to the coast for a picnic. She remembered thinking, yeah, like that was going to happen.
As much as she might daydream and imagine herself and Dominique cast as Sandy and Danny in her favourite film,Grease, Belinda had a streak of realism in her – she knew it was never going to happen. She wasn’t his type – unlike Sandrine, whose parents ran the local bar. So, this summer, the last one before college in Rennes in the autumn to study Accounts and Business Management, she was going to give up having a crush on someone unobtainable (because that’s all it was, right? A crush) and enjoy being free of all the responsibilities everyone assured her would start once she was out in the big bad world.
Her mum’s car had been parked in front of the granite-built mas and unusually Belinda didn’t have to struggle to open the blue wrought-iron gates at the entrance to the smallholding as they were propped open. Belinda saw her parents standing by the car, her mum making angry gesticulations at her father, her father raising his arms in a useless protest. Butch, the sheepdog, was barking frantically at them both. Something terrible must have happened. She’d never known her parents to behave like this. Belinda remembered quickening her steps until she was running towards them.
By the time she’d reached her parents and yelled, ‘What’s happened?’ her dad had started running his hands through his hair, a sure sign that he was upset. Her mum was trying to push a suitcase into an already full car. Neither of them had noticed Belinda’s arrival.
‘Mum? Dad? What’s going on?’ Belinda remembered staring in astonishment at the car, the inside stuffed with boxes, several small suitcases and a jumble of coats and boots all flung in on top.
‘Get in the car, Belinda,’ her mum had said, finally registering that she was there. ‘We’re leaving.’
‘Jean, we need to talk. All of us. You can’t leave like this. Belinda might not want to come with you.’
‘She’s coming, whether she wants to or not. One thing she’s not doing is staying here with you and your… your… Get in the car, Belinda.’
‘Not until one of you tells me what the hell is going on.’
‘Don’t swear,’ her mother had answered automatically. ‘I’m leaving your father and you’re coming with me.’
‘What if I don’t want to – which I don’t.’ Bewildered Belinda looked from her mum to her dad. The last thing she needed was to have to choose between them but if she had to she knew which it would be. She loved her mum but there was no way she wanted to leave either her dad or the smallholding.
‘You don’t have a choice, you’re under age.’ Her mother had pushed another bag of things into the back of the already stuffed car and slammed the boot shut.
Belinda hadn’t moved. ‘Why are you leaving Dad?’ she demanded.
Her mother’s shoulders sagged. ‘Because he lied to me and I won’t stay around to be the laughing stock of the village. I’ve packed up most of your stuff – clothes and things. Dad will pack the rest up and send it on. Please just get in the car and we can leave.’
Belinda could see her mum was close to tears. She’d never seen her in such a state before. Her dad never, ever lied, always said he couldn’t abide people who told lies, so what was that all about? She’d sighed and walked over to her dad, gave him a hug and said quietly, ‘I’ll go with her for now, but I’ll come back tomorrow and talk to you.’ When he shook his head, she insisted, ‘Yes I will.’
‘Belinda! Now!’
