I think of the crowd at the ‘pub’, drinking their gin and tonic, standing out with their British ways. And then I think of Fabien.
‘Yeah, great for walking back from town after the pub,’ says her husband, pulling his belt up over his belly. ‘I hear quiz night in the pub’s a right laugh.’ My heart sinks. It’s no wonder that local people feel ‘invaded’. I don’t know why I thought Ollie and I were any different from the rest. We were just like them, moving to France and trying to make it our own, instead of blending in. We went to quiz night in the ‘pub’. I shudder.
Just then, a truck comes down the drive, piled with furniture. It’s Fabien. I’m embarrassed to be showing another British couple around the house. My stomach tightens.
‘Bon après-midi,’ he says, as he jumps down from the cab. He kisses me three times on the cheeks as if we’re the oldest of friends, then turns to the estate agent.
‘Carine,’ he says, and kisses her three times too. Ralph is barking like crazy as Fabien shakes Carine’s clients’ hands. Then he steps back and looks at Ralph. ‘Oui, et toi. Bon après-midi.’ He laughs.
Ralph stops barking and sits, his tongue lolling out as if he’s smiling. Then he raises his right paw in Fabien’s direction, and Fabien takes it and says, ‘Enchanté.’ I can’t help but laugh. I’ve never seen Ralph like this before. From the cab of the truck, a small, wire-haired Jack Russell pokes her head out to see what she’s missing.
‘So,’ says Carine, regaining control of the situation. ‘The house.’ She holds out a hand to Le Petit Mas, and I feel strangely protective of it. As if, somehow, I’m letting it down by selling it. Ridiculous, I know.
‘Looking forward to seeing it,’ says Keef.
‘May I?’ says Carine to me.
‘Go ahead,’ I reply, and swallow. Carine leads the way and Ralph barks as the couple follow, making the woman jump and scurry past him.
Fabien starts to unload the furniture. The bed, the mattress and bedclothes, the chair that needs finishing off, the table and the box of plates and cutlery. He doesn’t ask why I’m in an empty house, selling it yet buying basic furniture for it. And now I wonder if it would have been far more sensible just to go to a guesthouse. This place could have new owners by the end of the day, if those encouraging voices are anything to go by.
I can hear Carine showing them around the house, ‘Its original features …’
‘Oh. We can get rid of them,’ says Keef. ‘Gut it and give it a real modern look. I like the view from the kitchen,’ I hear.
I love the view from the kitchen. Where will I get another view like that?
‘I think we could do something with it,’ says Keef.
‘Knock it down and rebuild it?’ says his wife.
Fabien raises his eyebrows as he unloads the last of my things, clearly unable to hide his feelings any longer.
I feel disloyal to the house and to the town, to people like Fabien.
‘So, why are they selling?’ asks Keef.
‘I believe the owners have decided to return to the UK.’
‘Couldn’t stick it out, eh?’ He tuts.
My hackles are up.
‘I’ll put the bed upstairs, oui?’ says Fabien, gesturing at the wooden headboard.
‘Merci,’ I say. He takes the pieces up to the bedroom. Soon I can hear him putting the bed together and can picture it looking out over the valley.
‘We could put in a hot tub over there, pull out those plants,’ says Keef’s wife, loudly.
‘La lavande,’ says Carine. ‘Fine lavender. It is grown only here in Provence. It is used for healing, for beauty products and in recipes too.’
‘Ewwww! Lavender in food?’
‘This was a lavender farm at one time. The whole valley was covered with lavender. Like over there.’ She points to the other side of the valley. ‘The smell was amazing. But every ten years the plants must be uprooted and replanted. Sadly, this hasn’t been replanted. The owner died and the family sold the place. Only those plants remain,’ she says, with a hint of regret in her voice.
‘Well, as I say, we’ll uproot them and put the hot tub there,’ says Keef’s wife.
I can’t listen to any more. Ralph barks at me and I take that as agreement in what I’m about to say.
‘Hi, Carine,’ I say, marching around to the side of the house. ‘I wonder if I could—’
‘Ah, there you are. We like the house. It’ll do,’ says Keef.
And suddenly this house, which Ollie chose and I moved into and have resented for the last six weeks, is my house, my space, my home. It kept me safe when my world was falling apart. Suddenly it matters to me. I have nothing but this house and Ralph, a bed, some bedding and a half-finished chair.
‘We’re cash buyers, so I’m presuming we can come to a deal on the price. There’s a lot that needs doing, so we’re really just buying the position,’ Keef drones on.
Carine looks at me and I look back at her. We may be thinking the same thing. We hold each other’s gaze.
‘Actually, Carine,’ I say slowly.
‘Oui, Madame?’ Her head cocks, her neat bob shifting, and her lips twitch with a smile. The sound of the bed being assembled upstairs has stopped and Fabien is now behind me.
‘All done,’ he says. ‘Where do you want the table?’
I turn to him. ‘In the kitchen, please, Fabien, where I can see the view.’
‘Parfait,’ he says.
‘Actually, Carine,’ I repeat, and Fabien stops in his tracks.
The buyers are staring impatiently at me, keen to agree a deal. He is chewing the arm of his aviator glasses. Her arms are folded over her chest. No one speaks. They are anxious for me to name my price.
‘Le Petit Mas de la Lavande is no longer for sale.’
‘I see,’ says Carine.
‘What – has someone else nipped in before us? Okay, okay, I’ll give you the asking price if that’s what it takes.’ He sighs heavily, sweat forming on his brow in the warm June sunshine.
‘No. There’s been a change in our … my situation,’ I say, trying to control the waver in my voice.
‘You and your husband are staying?’ Carine asks.
‘I’m staying, Carine. Just me.’ I lift my chin, feeling brave, joyous and terrified all at the same time. ‘I’m staying at Le Petit Mas de la Lavande. I’m not selling it. I’m not going back to the UK, with or without my husband.’
This time Carine smiles. ‘I see. Of course, et bravo,’ she says, filling me with confidence.
‘You mean you’re not going to sell?’ says Keef.
‘Offer her more than the asking price!’ hisses his wife. ‘I can’t be bothered to trail round any more of these old places.’
Keef sighs. ‘Go on, then. We’ll pay your asking price, and ten per cent. And you’ve had a lucky day. Make sure it all goes through quick, though. And you can take all that crap away too!’ He waves at Fabien and the truck. Fabien says nothing, but I see his fist curl.
‘Le Petit Mas de la Lavande n’est pas à vendre,’ I say, in my pidgin French. ‘I’m going to live here. Stay here.’ I don’t need to look for somewhere else to live. Ollie has agreed that I can have the house. It’s mine to do with as I choose, and I’m choosing to stay in it.