looked up.
I stumbled through my little speech, about being new in the area and needing help with a few things. She looked at me closely, smiled a little and cut me off mid-sentence.
‘You want your local school?’ she asked.
‘And a car,’ I added.
She marked St Paul’s école maternelle on a map. There was a car dealer on the way.
‘Good luck,’ she said, with a small smile, and we left.
‘It’s still raining?’ Bella asked incredulously. ‘Sweetie, are you sure you’re in the right place? You did go to the south of France? You’re not in Calais?’
‘It’s fine,’ I told her, firmly. ‘It is still raining, and we are in the right place, but I don’t mind the rain. Alice has got a place at the village school which is brilliant. I’ve got to go to see the mayor and get her a certificate, and she’s got to have a TB jab, but once that’s done they’re happy to have her in the tous petits . It’s the sweetest place and she loved it. And at least we’re warm, now. I’ve had a shower. I can’t tell you what a luxury it was. I just wish I had a hairdryer.’
I shifted closer to the radiator, and looked out of the window at the small front garden. The trees were bare. Water was coursing down the path, into the ditch. At least the front garden was manageable. The water drained away and the plants were small and bare. The fig tree didn’t look, to my inexpert eyes, as if it needed pruning. The whole of the back garden seemed to be a swamp. A hectare had sounded just right. Half of it was completely wild. All of it was boggy. I stretched the phone lead and pulled the cable through the hall, so I could look at the back garden through the windows in the door. It was a wasteland. I tried to imagine the trees in bud, the lawn soft and not muddy, the flowers pushing up.
‘All this water must be good for the garden,’ I added brightly.
‘Emma!’ Bella was almost shouting at me. ‘Emma, for fuck’s sake. Let me get this straight. You’re in the arse-end of nowhere with wet hair. You know nobody. Your central heating has just been fixed after five days and that’s only because a random woman in a café took pity on you. It’s rained every single moment since you arrived. You’re sharing a camp bed with a two-year-old. Water is pouring into your attic and you have to empty twenty containers every hour or so. Matt’s in London, merrily working away without a care in the world. He’s taking nice long lunches and sleeping in a bed under clean sheets. OK, he has a bachelor pad, doesn’t he, so maybe they’re not that clean, but still, it’s a bed. And you’re still pretending that this does not constitute a disaster of the first magnitude? I know you’ve half convinced Mum that it’s great, but I’m not that gullible. Don’t you dare try to tell me you wouldn’t rather be in Brighton.’
‘I would rather be in Brighton,’ I admitted, putting on my bravest voice, ‘but it’s all fine. All this is temporary. And it’s an air bed, not a camp bed. How are you? How’s Jon and the boys?’
‘We’re all right. You know, working. Boys are on good form. Do you want me to come out?’
I bit back my ‘Yes!’ I did want her to come out – I wanted to see her, desperately – but I couldn’t have borne it had she felt sorry for me. She would have been angry with Matt for ever. She would have seen that the house was a shell, that everything needed replacing. I wanted to present my friends and family with the finished product, not with the present mess. I wanted to show them success. I wanted them to admire me. I needed to sort everything out before anyone was allowed to see it.
‘Oh God!’ I exclaimed, suddenly. ‘Bel, can I call you back? I haven’t rung the builders.’
By Wednesday, I was almost proud of myself. It had always been me, rather than Matt, who had made arrangements, but I had never sorted out a whole new life before, and particularly not in a foreign language, even
I stumbled through my little speech, about being new in the area and needing help with a few things. She looked at me closely, smiled a little and cut me off mid-sentence.
‘You want your local school?’ she asked.
‘And a car,’ I added.
She marked St Paul’s école maternelle on a map. There was a car dealer on the way.
‘Good luck,’ she said, with a small smile, and we left.
‘It’s still raining?’ Bella asked incredulously. ‘Sweetie, are you sure you’re in the right place? You did go to the south of France? You’re not in Calais?’
‘It’s fine,’ I told her, firmly. ‘It is still raining, and we are in the right place, but I don’t mind the rain. Alice has got a place at the village school which is brilliant. I’ve got to go to see the mayor and get her a certificate, and she’s got to have a TB jab, but once that’s done they’re happy to have her in the tous petits . It’s the sweetest place and she loved it. And at least we’re warm, now. I’ve had a shower. I can’t tell you what a luxury it was. I just wish I had a hairdryer.’
I shifted closer to the radiator, and looked out of the window at the small front garden. The trees were bare. Water was coursing down the path, into the ditch. At least the front garden was manageable. The water drained away and the plants were small and bare. The fig tree didn’t look, to my inexpert eyes, as if it needed pruning. The whole of the back garden seemed to be a swamp. A hectare had sounded just right. Half of it was completely wild. All of it was boggy. I stretched the phone lead and pulled the cable through the hall, so I could look at the back garden through the windows in the door. It was a wasteland. I tried to imagine the trees in bud, the lawn soft and not muddy, the flowers pushing up.
‘All this water must be good for the garden,’ I added brightly.
‘Emma!’ Bella was almost shouting at me. ‘Emma, for fuck’s sake. Let me get this straight. You’re in the arse-end of nowhere with wet hair. You know nobody. Your central heating has just been fixed after five days and that’s only because a random woman in a café took pity on you. It’s rained every single moment since you arrived. You’re sharing a camp bed with a two-year-old. Water is pouring into your attic and you have to empty twenty containers every hour or so. Matt’s in London, merrily working away without a care in the world. He’s taking nice long lunches and sleeping in a bed under clean sheets. OK, he has a bachelor pad, doesn’t he, so maybe they’re not that clean, but still, it’s a bed. And you’re still pretending that this does not constitute a disaster of the first magnitude? I know you’ve half convinced Mum that it’s great, but I’m not that gullible. Don’t you dare try to tell me you wouldn’t rather be in Brighton.’
‘I would rather be in Brighton,’ I admitted, putting on my bravest voice, ‘but it’s all fine. All this is temporary. And it’s an air bed, not a camp bed. How are you? How’s Jon and the boys?’
‘We’re all right. You know, working. Boys are on good form. Do you want me to come out?’
I bit back my ‘Yes!’ I did want her to come out – I wanted to see her, desperately – but I couldn’t have borne it had she felt sorry for me. She would have been angry with Matt for ever. She would have seen that the house was a shell, that everything needed replacing. I wanted to present my friends and family with the finished product, not with the present mess. I wanted to show them success. I wanted them to admire me. I needed to sort everything out before anyone was allowed to see it.
‘Oh God!’ I exclaimed, suddenly. ‘Bel, can I call you back? I haven’t rung the builders.’
By Wednesday, I was almost proud of myself. It had always been me, rather than Matt, who had made arrangements, but I had never sorted out a whole new life before, and particularly not in a foreign language, even
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