A Grand Old Time Page 30

  He ran his hands through his hair. ‘To be honest, Maura, St Cillian’s is another teaching job. I knew if I went there, I’d have to commit to five years, three at least. I couldn’t be sure I could do that with … well, I didn’t know what to do with us – with everything being as it is.’

  Maura was twisting the rings on her finger. ‘We have some talking to do.’

  ‘We do, you’re right.’

  ‘Have you had time to think about it all?’

  ‘Yes. Have you?’

  ‘Yes. I have thought about it all the time.’

  Brendan stood. ‘I’ll get us a cup of tea.’ He went to the kettle and busied himself with mugs, aware that he was putting off the conversation. He changed the subject, calling from the kitchen, ‘How was Mammy when you left?’

  ‘She seems OK, Brendan. Some days better than others. She misses Jean-Luc. She keeps herself busy; she’s learning French, and she’s started to go to yoga in Foix and she’s made a new friend or two there. She sees a lot of the O’Driscoll’s crowd, and Caroline and Nige. Then there’s a lot on with the grape harvesting and the wine-making at the minute.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Brendan was not sure if it was good or not. ‘Does she have plenty of support with the business over there?’

  ‘She has a team of men who helped out with the harvest. They’ve worked at Cave Bonheur before. They know the ropes. And Benji is always there.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s a good life to be had.’ He came in with two mugs and put them on the coffee table, flopping down on the sofa beside her. Maura was holding out a list.

  ‘She gave me this. Some books she wants us to send. Jean-Luc had copies in French and she wants us to get her the books in English and post them over.’

  Brendan took the list and laughed. ‘Dostoyevsky, Camus, Kerouac, Lamartine? George Sand? Marcel Proust!’

  Maura was serious; she laid a hand on his arm, touching his wrist with light fingers. ‘Does it still hurt?’

  He shook his head. It had healed perfectly, aching only when he put too much weight on it. ‘Mammy’s put some money in our joint account. And some for the babby. I couldn’t stop her. She said she and Jean-Luc wanted to make us a little gift. I didn’t know what to say.’

  Brendan drank his tea. It was hot and burned his mouth. Then he said, ‘I’ll ring her later. It would be nice to have a chat.’

  It was quiet for a while. Brendan stared down at his feet. He was wearing odd socks.

  ‘So?’ Maura sat upright. ‘What about the elephant in the room?’

  Brendan wriggled on the sofa. ‘Do you think we should think about putting the house on the market?’

  Maura took a deep breath, her face flushed with anxiety. ‘So that’s it?’ She waited. ‘Is it over between us? Is it, Brendan? Is that what you’ve decided? We’ll sell the house and split everything up?’

  He rubbed a fist in his eye and looked down at his knees. ‘That’s not what I meant. Is that what you want?’

  She turned away. ‘You first.’

  ‘Maura,’ he began. ‘I mean … we’re having a baby. It’s possible the two of us could make it work. I – we – we’re going to be parents and maybe you and I could find a way to get on for the sake of—’

  She was furious. ‘No, Brendan. For the sake of the baby? No. I don’t want that.’

  ‘No?’ He turned away from her and squeezed his eyes shut.

  ‘No. I’d rather be by myself and bring the child up alone than settle for being second-best, in a second-rate marriage.’

  ‘You think I’m second-rate?’

  ‘No.’ Her voice was insistent. ‘But you said that yourself. You said it just now. You suggested we make the best of it; we stay together for the sake of the child.’

  He was silent. He wanted to tell her what was in his mind, in his heart, but the words wouldn’t come.

  ‘I care about you, Brendan, but I am no second-choice afterthought of a wife.’

  He watched her as she spoke, her voice so determined, and he gave her a little watery smile. ‘I’m a fool.’

  ‘No-one’s disputing that.’ Her words were not without affection.

  ‘Maura, I have missed you.’ Her hair had grown and was loose around her shoulders. He thought of how they had first sat on the sofa in his parents’ old house, youngsters, green and silly, holding each other’s hands and waiting for Jim and Evie to leave the room. ‘I mean, I’ve been useless without you. I don’t just mean the practical things. I’ve missed you. It’s not about the baby and I don’t care about this house. I’ve no life without you, no soul. I’ve realised over these past six weeks or so how stupid I’ve been. I’ve let the woman I love slip through my fingers.’

  A sigh caught in Maura’s throat. ‘We’ve both made mistakes, Brendan.’

  ‘What I said before … I didn’t mean that I wanted us to stay together just for the baby.’

  ‘What did you mean?’

  ‘I mean, I’m sorry. I’ve made a mess of things. We needed to talk and I just shut up, closed down. I didn’t help at all. I’m indecisive. I’m an awful communicator. I’ve been jealous, selfish, stubborn, and it’s cost me my beautiful wife. I miss you, Maura. I miss you so much it hurts to tell you.’ He looked down at his hands.

  She swallowed. ‘I wasn’t any better, Brendan. I could be bad-tempered and controlling. I think I was frustrated. Things had got into a big rut.’

  Brendan recalled her moods, her anger directed full force at him and his mother. It seemed a long time ago. He shook his head. ‘That’s not what I see when I look at you.’

  ‘What do you see?’

  ‘Someone warm, confident, happy. A woman who sparkles … the woman I love.’

  A smile twitched on her lips. ‘And I see a lovely man, warm-hearted, affectionate, sweet-natured.’

  He thought about holding her hand. ‘I’ve thought about you every day though. It’s been hard, waking up alone and wondering if I’d see you again. I mean, I thought you might stay in France. You seemed so happy there.’

  Maura picked at her fingernails. ‘I was. It’s a completely different lifestyle and it suits me. I love it there. But you didn’t ring me. Or ask to talk to me when you rang your mammy.’

  ‘You told me not to.’ He looked at her and a grin broke on his face. ‘You said you needed time to think. I picked the phone up every night and thought about it. The same as I thought about ringing Mammy when we were trying to find her in France. It was easier to wait, to put things off.’

  ‘I love it there, though, Brendan. In France. The way of life suits me.’

  Brendan squeezed his eyes shut. She was about to tell him she was going back to France. Perhaps she’d met someone. He grabbed her hand. ‘I’ve changed, Maura. I did what you said, thought about things, and now I know what I want.’

  ‘We’ve both changed a bit, haven’t we? We’ve had time to think about what’s important.’

  ‘Am I important?’ he asked her and she smiled.

  ‘Most important,’ she said. She looked lovely; her mouth curved gently in a smile.

  He took her hand and put it in his lap. ‘We’ll make good parents, Maura.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ She sighed. ‘But it’s not enough, is it? We need to be good for each other.’

  ‘I want to be with you, though. You come first, baby or no baby. I love you, for who you are. You’re my wife. I want us to stay together.’

  She thought for a moment. ‘What’s to stop us slipping back into a rut again? What if we stop appreciating each other?’

  He looked at her from the corners of his eyes. ‘You’re happy in France, aren’t you?’

  ‘It’s a nice way of life. It’s beautiful there. Quiet, peaceful. It’s a slower pace.’

  He glanced at her, watching her expression. ‘A good place to start again? A good place to bring up a baby?’

  ‘I’m not sure what you’re saying, Brendan. I thought you wanted to be with me.’

  He to
ok a deep breath. ‘Yes, I do, more than ever, but not here, not in this house. Maybe somewhere else, somewhere completely different.’

  She looked puzzled. ‘What are you thinking of, Brendan?’

  ‘Well, we’ve been through a lot, you and me. So much happened this summer: Mammy, Jean-Luc, the babby, everything is different now. And I’m not sure I want to teach any more. I’m not sure I ever did. I want a life where we have time for each other, where we can grow together and have the space we need. I think we need to start again, not here, but from somewhere else. From somewhere we can grow together, like the grapes, warm in the sun.’

  She breathed, ‘In France.’

  ‘Me and you.’ He took her hand. ‘It’s what we need, to be together again.’

  Her hand tightened around his. Their eyes connected and held and they both remembered being the same shy teenagers, the future a fast breath in their chests.

  Brendan leaned back on the sofa and she hesitated, then she rested her head on his shoulder and his voice was a whisper. ‘A fresh start, Maura. That’s what we need. A brand new beginning, for the three of us.’

  Maura took both his hands. ‘That’s what I want, Brendan.’

  ‘Somewhere we can be ourselves and have some peace in our lives. Where we’re not chasing deadlines. Where we can make every moment count, be the people we really are without so much to keep us apart. Somewhere we can bring our child up and enjoy a different pace of life. I mean, we both know the ideal place, a home we can move straight into, somewhere we can work together and make a living …’

  Maura’s face shone in the light and he saw tears gleaming, and he wiped them away with his fingers. He wrapped his arms round her, pulled her as tightly to him as he could and felt the warmth from her body seep into his and remind him he was alive. She kissed his lips and spoke quietly. ‘When will we go? Do you think Evie would mind?’

  ‘I’ll make a phone call tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll need a hand with the business now. I know she’d let us stay with her. Then when we’re up and running, when we’re all ready, we can still help her out, and maybe find our own little house nearby. Somewhere we’ll settle, happy together, doing what we want, just for us. Somewhere we can make our own future. Somewhere our baby can grow up in the countryside. Speaking French.’

  Chapter Fifty

  It was silent in the house except for the sound of the men eating; some scraped the remains of the stew from the sides of the casserole, filled their plates again, wiped their bread in the gravy and drank water. They pushed their empty dishes away, one by one, and sat back in their seats.

  ‘Merci, Evie. Un bon repas!’

  Evie smiled and began to collect plates into tall piles as the men stood up and put on their dusty jackets. Benji was about to lead the way, then he stopped and rushed over to Evie, hugging her, before turning to go. She called after him: ‘Benji, I have a cake for your mother. Don’t forget to take it with you.’ She thought again. ‘N’oublie pas. J’ai un gâteau pour ta mère.’ He hurried outside; one or two of the older men followed him, on their way back to work.

  ‘Gaston. Un moment, s’il te plaît,’ Evie called and the short man with the little moustache in the black cap turned back to her. She thought for a moment, and selected her words. ‘Inès arrive plus tard, avec les poules?’

  Gaston grinned. His wife kept lots of chickens which laid lots of eggs, and she had promised to show Evie how to start with her own coop.

  ‘Elle arrivera envers seize heures.’

  Evie counted on her fingers. Sixteen hours on the twenty-four-hour clock. She’d be here at four.

  Gaston opened the door wide, zipping his jacket against the breeze and his eyes twinkled. He turned back. ‘La langue s’améliore, Evie,’ and he disappeared, back to work.

  She was puzzled. ‘What does he mean, the tongue is getting better? What’s wrong with his tongue?’ She went over to the mirror and stuck out a little pink tongue. ‘Perhaps he means mine?’ She realised he was telling her that her language skills were improving. She closed her eyes. Things still took a while to sink in.

  She began to clear the table, wash dishes, and wipe down surfaces. She hummed a little tune, remembering the song she sang with Jean-Luc in the barn when she was helping him. She paused over the words: ‘Ne me quitte pas’ and her lips curved in a smile. The words meant ‘Don’t leave me’. Of course. It wasn’t a quick job and, when everything was put away, she sat in her armchair with a cup of tea and picked up one of the books Brendan had sent her: The Idiot by Dostoyevsky. She flicked through the pages.

  It was her favourite place, sitting in the armchair by the fire. She glanced at the photo in the silver frame over the fireplace. Her new friend Marie-Thérèse – Marie-Thé – from yoga had helped her select the image from her phone and they had taken it to the best place in Foix to have it framed. She saw her face smiling back at her, happy behind the glass. Jean-Luc’s arm was around her, the mountains crowding behind them, the sky was the deepest blue. Evie thought about her expression, the innocence and unwavering belief in their future and, as she looked again at Jean-Luc, she thought she could see in his eyes some kind of resignation, a certainty that now was all he had. She was looking too hard.

  She put another log on the fire from the stack that rose on either side of the hearth. Her friends had been sympathetic. She rubbed her forehead hard, wondering how she would have managed without them. Caroline and Nige had introduced her to their contact who felled trees and now she had wood enough for the coldest winter. It made a wall on one side of the barn outside, next to the tractor. Caroline and her partner were kind to Evie; Ray and Paulette texted her each day and invited her over to O’Driscoll’s at least once a week. There were so many people she had begun to love.

  She closed the book and thought of Brendan and Maura. It was only a fortnight since Maura had returned to Dublin, and though she had been idle all the time she had been with Evie, either asleep or with her feet up, Evie had grown to like her. She felt sorry as she’d driven them both to Toulouse Airport; Maura was quiet and fretful, huddled down with her cases in the sports car.

  She thought of the phone conversations she’d had with Brendan over the last ten days. She recalled the new enthusiasm in his voice, and how what he had said to her made the tears stream down her face. New beginnings. She glanced around the house, at the tired paintwork, the heavy furniture. An idea came to her. She put the book on the floor and went upstairs. Her tread was light. She passed the main bedroom, her room, and she went back to look in again, her mind full of ideas. The curtains were closed, so she opened them, cracking the top window ajar and a little breeze came in and lifted the seams. There was dust on the dressing table and she smoothed it off with her fingers. There was more dust, lying light as a whisper on his photos, and she picked them up one by one, and examined the faces that had once posed for a camera. There was a new photograph, another of herself and Jean-Luc in the mountains, and she lifted it and touched his face with her fingers. She gave a little laugh: she was becoming as sentimental as him. She wondered if the old bed ought to go. Maybe a four-poster, with purple velvet drapes, or a strong wooden bed with drawers.

  ‘Hmmm.’

  On the landing she paused at the room Brendan and Maura had stayed in. That would need repainting, maybe a deep crimson, they might like that. A bit of colour might help them rekindle the passion in their lives. As if they needed much help; Brendan sounded so much happier on the phone since he had given his notice. And he and Maura had a new energy about them, when they’d spoken to her about their plans to move. Evie decided they’d need a new wardrobe. One each. And the spare room would take a lick of paint, ready for any other guests. She arrived at the smallest room, at the end. It was full of boxes of junk: most of it would have to go. The window frame was a dull white and the wood was dry and the edges were jagged. The old checked curtains were dirty at the seams and so thin they quivered in the gusts of wind. The view from the window was framed like
a picture, a square of vines in long rows, hills, and in the distance there was the thick mist and then the shadowy bulk of the mountains.

  There was a damp patch on the ceiling and the single bulb hanging from a dirty cable; the wallpaper was a dull orange colour with a wavy cream design that might have been fashionable in the 1970s, and it would all need stripping off. A pastel blue or a sumptuous pink paint might be in order or perhaps some sunshine yellow, or wallpaper with rabbits or hedgehogs or adorable bears. She closed her eyes and transformed the room in her imagination. She saw toys and fluffy clothes and a little bed and she imagined voices and laughter. It would be so lovely to have them here, the three of them. Not just for the help with the business, but for the company. For the craic. After all, they were family. More than family – they would all be close. She wondered if they would know the sex of the baby before it was born. It didn’t matter: a baby’s room could be done out in rainbow colours. She thought, wistfully, that Jean-Luc would now never teach this child to play the guitar, but perhaps one day the child would discover it and the house would once again be filled with its beautiful sound. Jean-Luc would have loved that. And she could watch the baby grow and run about in the vineyard, climb on the tractor, call her Grand-mère or just Evie. There were endless possibilities and they were all in her thoughts, in motion, taking shape.

  She was downstairs again, washing her cup, looking at the clock. It was gone three and Inès would be here shortly. She pulled on an old cardigan, one of Jean-Luc’s, tugged on knitted gloves, and went outside, closing the door tightly to keep the house warm.

  The sky was smeared, blotchy and grey, like wet paint; little clouds shifted quickly overhead and the breeze held a chill. She saw the sign for Cave Bonheur and she felt at ease: it was the welcome she had wanted for the place and he would have been pleased. She walked towards the fields where the grapes were being harvested. How difficult it was after she found him lying on the ground, until quite recently, to even say his name. Now it was easier to say it aloud, easier to remember him when talking to others, even though sometimes a pang of regret clutched at her and caught her unawares. This house would always be his place, his home, his business, but now it was hers too and she would be certain to make it work.