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Authors: Helena Frith-Powell
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closing.
In the distance either Frank or Lampard screeches. Nick bought them from an aviary near Montpellier a few days after we moved here. They roam around the estate looking elegant and squawking occasionally. It feels like they have been here forever, like they belong to the house and land.
I love the sound they make: itâs an aristocratic sound, the sort of sound you only ever hear in England when youâre on a visit to some stately home. Whenever I see our peacocks wandering around regally Iâm reminded of the TV show Brideshead Revisited . But where is Jeremy Irons when I need him?
I get up and walk out onto the terrace. It is a chilly January morning. There is no frost but a light mist hangs over the vineyards and the sun is just beginning to wake up. It seems inconceivable that Nick could risk his family and all this: Frank and Lampard, Sainte Claire, our new life, our vineyards, everything heâs dreamed about for so long, just for a good sex life. I need to understand why. I feel utterly confused and abandoned. How the hell did this happen?
I turn to my rose. âMaybe this is just one of those moments of madness?â I ask it. âMaybe he will wake up today and realise the huge mistake heâs made.â Then I decide that talking to a flower may be considered a moment of madness in itself. You can only get away with that if youâre next in line to the throne.
How long does a moment of madness normally last? Is it a kind of mid-life crisis? Maybe it had been building up for months. Did Nick think the move to France would answer all his problems, dispel his dissatisfaction, and then find it didnât? Or did he realise that the only thing that could satisfy him was Cécile and her self-waxing legs?
Of course I donât know that theyâre self-waxing, but I assume she didnât get my husband to stick around for so long by wrapping hirsute pegs around him. I walk back inside and over to the mirror. I lift up my nightie and look down at my own legs. Yep, theyâre predictably hairy.
Is he right? Have I really let myself go? I need to call Sarah, I need to talk to someone. Last night I just couldnât face anything, but today I need to work out what to do.
A scream from the kitchen stops my rêverie. I run downstairs and find Edward trying to wrestle Emilyâs precious Peter Rabbit bowl, a sixth birthday present from her best friend at school in England, from her.
âSit in your place, Edward,â I say, taking the bowl from him. If Iâm goingto be a single parent thereâs going to have to be a policy of zero tolerance around here. âGirls, lay the table.â
âWhy does he get to do nothing?â moans Charlotte.
âBecause heâs only five and he doesnât get to do nothing, heâs going to help me clear the table.â
The twins think about rebelling but I give them one of my âdonât even think about itâ looks so they get out bowls, plates and cups. They put one in Nickâs place.
âNot there, silly,â says Charlotte to Emily. âHeâs gone to London to work.â
âHe didnât say goodbye,â says Emily before putting her thumb back in her mouth.
âHe asked me to say goodbye and give you all a kiss,â I lie. Why am I protecting the bastard? Actually Iâm not, Iâm protecting them.
I leave the room, partly to get dressed but partly so they canât see that I am about to start crying again. Maybe I should hold off telling them. He was always going to be away during the week and even some weekends, so as far as they are concerned nothing has really changed. Right now Iâm so unsure of what will happen. Maybe in a few weeks I will be able to forgive him? Or maybe he wonât want to come back at all after a few weeks of the full Cécile treatment.
I pull my nightie over my head and resume my investigation of myself in the full-length mirror. How
In the distance either Frank or Lampard screeches. Nick bought them from an aviary near Montpellier a few days after we moved here. They roam around the estate looking elegant and squawking occasionally. It feels like they have been here forever, like they belong to the house and land.
I love the sound they make: itâs an aristocratic sound, the sort of sound you only ever hear in England when youâre on a visit to some stately home. Whenever I see our peacocks wandering around regally Iâm reminded of the TV show Brideshead Revisited . But where is Jeremy Irons when I need him?
I get up and walk out onto the terrace. It is a chilly January morning. There is no frost but a light mist hangs over the vineyards and the sun is just beginning to wake up. It seems inconceivable that Nick could risk his family and all this: Frank and Lampard, Sainte Claire, our new life, our vineyards, everything heâs dreamed about for so long, just for a good sex life. I need to understand why. I feel utterly confused and abandoned. How the hell did this happen?
I turn to my rose. âMaybe this is just one of those moments of madness?â I ask it. âMaybe he will wake up today and realise the huge mistake heâs made.â Then I decide that talking to a flower may be considered a moment of madness in itself. You can only get away with that if youâre next in line to the throne.
How long does a moment of madness normally last? Is it a kind of mid-life crisis? Maybe it had been building up for months. Did Nick think the move to France would answer all his problems, dispel his dissatisfaction, and then find it didnât? Or did he realise that the only thing that could satisfy him was Cécile and her self-waxing legs?
Of course I donât know that theyâre self-waxing, but I assume she didnât get my husband to stick around for so long by wrapping hirsute pegs around him. I walk back inside and over to the mirror. I lift up my nightie and look down at my own legs. Yep, theyâre predictably hairy.
Is he right? Have I really let myself go? I need to call Sarah, I need to talk to someone. Last night I just couldnât face anything, but today I need to work out what to do.
A scream from the kitchen stops my rêverie. I run downstairs and find Edward trying to wrestle Emilyâs precious Peter Rabbit bowl, a sixth birthday present from her best friend at school in England, from her.
âSit in your place, Edward,â I say, taking the bowl from him. If Iâm goingto be a single parent thereâs going to have to be a policy of zero tolerance around here. âGirls, lay the table.â
âWhy does he get to do nothing?â moans Charlotte.
âBecause heâs only five and he doesnât get to do nothing, heâs going to help me clear the table.â
The twins think about rebelling but I give them one of my âdonât even think about itâ looks so they get out bowls, plates and cups. They put one in Nickâs place.
âNot there, silly,â says Charlotte to Emily. âHeâs gone to London to work.â
âHe didnât say goodbye,â says Emily before putting her thumb back in her mouth.
âHe asked me to say goodbye and give you all a kiss,â I lie. Why am I protecting the bastard? Actually Iâm not, Iâm protecting them.
I leave the room, partly to get dressed but partly so they canât see that I am about to start crying again. Maybe I should hold off telling them. He was always going to be away during the week and even some weekends, so as far as they are concerned nothing has really changed. Right now Iâm so unsure of what will happen. Maybe in a few weeks I will be able to forgive him? Or maybe he wonât want to come back at all after a few weeks of the full Cécile treatment.
I pull my nightie over my head and resume my investigation of myself in the full-length mirror. How
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