talking, in their bored, formal way, about the vineyard, and about last year's wines, and about the neighbours. I let it all drift past. The parents were on reasonable terms with everyone in the village. I hardly knew anybody, because I never knew what to say to anyone, and they all thought I was snobbish and cold. Nobody invited me anywhere. I had gone to International School because Mother wanted English to be my first language. Tom and I both wished we had gone to the local school. That way we would have known everyone, and we would have felt properly French. As things stood, I was neither French nor English. There was nowhere that I belonged, apart from here, in this weird, messed-up family, in this big, wasteful chateau.
I swallowed. Nobody spoke for a few minutes. I could hear Papa chewing his meat. The sound turned my stomach. Mother looked at me, and looked away again. She drained the red wine from her glass.
'Helen,' she said, in her formal little voice. 'Could you possibly manage to pass me the peas?'
I sighed. 'Yes, of course,' I said. As I passed them, I forced myself to speak again. 'How far away would you let me go?' I demanded, avoiding eye contact. 'Could I go to Paris?'
They looked at each other, in shared, suppressed amusement.
'Do you want to go to Paris?' asked Mother, carefully.
I looked at her, and then at Papa.
'I don't know,' I told them. 'I haven't decided yet.'
By the time I returned home, waving away the parents' predictable suggestion that I stay in the big house with them all afternoon, the cloud had closed in. The fog was so thick that I couldn't see my own cottage. I stumbled because of the wine. The gravel path was the whole world. I looked back. It was good to see the chateau swallowed up. The day was still and damp, and I stood for a moment to savour the cold.
Tom was standing at the door of the cottage. As soon as I was close enough for him to hear, he shouted.
'I think I've found her!' he yelled.
I ran. 'How? Where?' The door banged shut behind me, and I raced to the computer, the end of my nose cold, my fingers frozen.
'Look,' he said, pointing. There was a site up on screen. 'Babytalk,' it said at the top. 'Pregnancy Forum' was written underneath.
A baby website?' I asked. 'Pregnancy?'
'She registered last night. Look.' Tom double clicked on a message, and it filled the screen. We read it together.
'Hi,' it read. 'May I join you? My name is Liz. I'm 37 and I seem to be headed for single motherhood in August. Are there any other single mothers out there? This pregnancy was not planned and I'm overwhelmed and still trying to come to terms with it. Hoping to hear from somebody — anybody. Thanks, Liz.'
'She hasn't been doing this for long,' said Tom, with a smile. 'Look at her username. LizGreene. It took me about five seconds to find her.'
'We don't know it's her,' I objected.
'That's why you've just registered. You have a new identity, H. From now on, you're Frenchmaid. Look, I've written you a profile. So you're on here because you're broody, even though you're young. OK? Start asking questions. We'll soon suss her out.'
I sat down. Nervously, I clicked on the 'reply' button under her message.
'Here goes,' I said to Tom, and I started typing.
'Hello Liz!' read my message, by the time I posted it. 'I'm not in your situation but I want to lend you some support. I'm sure you will be fine though it probably seems difficult at the moment. Can your own mother help you out? Any time you want a shoulder to cry on, I'm around. Love, Frenchmaid.'
'What do you think?' I asked Tom. He nodded, and I clicked the 'submit' button..
In the evening, she responded.
'Thanks for your message,' she wrote. 'Your support means a lot. Unfortunately I don't have a mother — my dad brought me up on his own. He and my stepmother don't know about the pregnancy yet but you're right, I'm sure they'll do what they can. I'm in London and they're in Sussex, which actually isn't too far away.
I swallowed. Nobody spoke for a few minutes. I could hear Papa chewing his meat. The sound turned my stomach. Mother looked at me, and looked away again. She drained the red wine from her glass.
'Helen,' she said, in her formal little voice. 'Could you possibly manage to pass me the peas?'
I sighed. 'Yes, of course,' I said. As I passed them, I forced myself to speak again. 'How far away would you let me go?' I demanded, avoiding eye contact. 'Could I go to Paris?'
They looked at each other, in shared, suppressed amusement.
'Do you want to go to Paris?' asked Mother, carefully.
I looked at her, and then at Papa.
'I don't know,' I told them. 'I haven't decided yet.'
By the time I returned home, waving away the parents' predictable suggestion that I stay in the big house with them all afternoon, the cloud had closed in. The fog was so thick that I couldn't see my own cottage. I stumbled because of the wine. The gravel path was the whole world. I looked back. It was good to see the chateau swallowed up. The day was still and damp, and I stood for a moment to savour the cold.
Tom was standing at the door of the cottage. As soon as I was close enough for him to hear, he shouted.
'I think I've found her!' he yelled.
I ran. 'How? Where?' The door banged shut behind me, and I raced to the computer, the end of my nose cold, my fingers frozen.
'Look,' he said, pointing. There was a site up on screen. 'Babytalk,' it said at the top. 'Pregnancy Forum' was written underneath.
A baby website?' I asked. 'Pregnancy?'
'She registered last night. Look.' Tom double clicked on a message, and it filled the screen. We read it together.
'Hi,' it read. 'May I join you? My name is Liz. I'm 37 and I seem to be headed for single motherhood in August. Are there any other single mothers out there? This pregnancy was not planned and I'm overwhelmed and still trying to come to terms with it. Hoping to hear from somebody — anybody. Thanks, Liz.'
'She hasn't been doing this for long,' said Tom, with a smile. 'Look at her username. LizGreene. It took me about five seconds to find her.'
'We don't know it's her,' I objected.
'That's why you've just registered. You have a new identity, H. From now on, you're Frenchmaid. Look, I've written you a profile. So you're on here because you're broody, even though you're young. OK? Start asking questions. We'll soon suss her out.'
I sat down. Nervously, I clicked on the 'reply' button under her message.
'Here goes,' I said to Tom, and I started typing.
'Hello Liz!' read my message, by the time I posted it. 'I'm not in your situation but I want to lend you some support. I'm sure you will be fine though it probably seems difficult at the moment. Can your own mother help you out? Any time you want a shoulder to cry on, I'm around. Love, Frenchmaid.'
'What do you think?' I asked Tom. He nodded, and I clicked the 'submit' button..
In the evening, she responded.
'Thanks for your message,' she wrote. 'Your support means a lot. Unfortunately I don't have a mother — my dad brought me up on his own. He and my stepmother don't know about the pregnancy yet but you're right, I'm sure they'll do what they can. I'm in London and they're in Sussex, which actually isn't too far away.
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