A Year at the French Farmhouse

Worse, she’d now discovered that, all things being equal, when faced with an ultimatum, he wouldn’t be willing to make a sacrifice for her. Not entertain her idea even for a trial period.

She’d spent years and years moulding herself around him, Ty, their family. Making sacrifices – maybe not earth-shattering ones, but the everyday sacrifices that parents make. And what had helped her through the difficult times, the frustrating moments – the moments when she’d felt completely invisible or unloved – was knowing that one day it would be her turn. She’d have the chance to live her life the way she’d always wanted; with Ben at her side.

It was hard to know exactly what feeling flooded through her at that minute on a wave of adrenalin. A kind of heady cocktail of anger, resentment, fear, hurt, disappointment, anxiety. But as it settled into her body it filled her with an unwavering certainty. She stood up, took a breath to steady herself, then walked into the living room.

‘Ben,’ she said, quite quietly, fists clenched at her sides. Her breathing was ragged, her heart pumping harder than it did during her aerobics class or when she had to run for the bus.

He looked up at her warily and muted the TV. ‘Uh-huh?’ he said. He appeared for a minute like a wild animal, cornered.

She felt a sense of calm; a stealthy predator frozen, preparing to strike. She took a deep breath. ‘Ben, I’m moving to France. I’m buying that house. I’m going to go over, sign the papers, meet the mayor guy…’

‘But…’

‘I’m going to live in it, do it up, find a way to make it work.’

‘But…’

She felt hot tears spill, but kept her eyes focused on her husband. ‘I’m going to sit in cafés and swim in the lake, and make new friends.’

‘Lily…’

‘I’m going to perfect my French and start building a business.’

‘But, love…’

‘Because it’s what I’ve dreamed of for years. I’ve made no secret of that. And you’ve let me believe all this time that it would happen one day. You’ve let me plan and fantasise and imagine what my life will be like in the future when we make a go of it.’

‘I’m so sorry… I really thought…’

‘Sure, maybe I won’t make a success of it. Maybe I’ll lose money, or discover that I don’t actually like France as much as I think I do. Maybe it will be an unremitting, terrible, ill-advised disaster…’

‘Come on, love…’

‘But at least I will have done it,’ she said, feeling heat surge into her palms.

Say it! Her mind urged. Tell him you don’t want to do it without him.

‘And if I have to do it by myself, I will.’





6





With a sigh, Lily watched as the cluttered tarmac of the airport fell away and within seconds the whole area became a tiny square, covered with toy planes, model buildings; ant-like people scurrying back and forth. As the plane gathered momentum, her horizons expanded. Fields and towns and roads and houses became map-like and surreal: tiny playthings in a child’s model village.

She knew that, somewhere down there, a tiny Ben was making his way to work; a pea-sized Ty was off to stay with a friend who had a pool. No doubt a mini Grahame was sitting at his desk in Banks Designs, opening the first email of the day. Everything carried on, yet she’d slipped into a different life, stepped away from the roles that had defined her for twenty years. Wife, mother, designer, she’d shrugged them off as if they were unwanted items of clothing rather than facets of her identity. It was liberating; it was terrifying.

It was a relief too in some ways, knowing that although of course Ben was as heartbroken as her, the structure of the life she’d left behind was still standing; would continue to function without her in it. It had looked, beforehand, as if everything she was involved in would crumble if she was removed from the world she’d created. But she’d gently pulled herself from the tower of responsibilities and familiarity like a piece of a Jenga puzzle, and life was carrying on as normal.

She couldn’t let herself think about last night, when Ben had tried for the last time to persuade her not to go. ‘Don’t I mean anything to you?’ he’d asked, eyes pooling with unaccustomed tears. ‘Stay! Please.’

She’d cried too. ‘Ben – I have to do this,’ she’d said. She tried to add: Please come with me. It won’t be the same without you! But the words had stuck in her throat.

Ty had been surprisingly understanding about it all when she’d broached the subject with him a week ago. ‘Will I be able to bring my mates out?’ he’d asked.

‘When things are sorted with the house, of course! And you’re welcome any time. Plus, I’ll be back. It’s only an hour and a half flight.’

He’d nodded. ‘Bit weird about Dad though,’ he’d said.

‘I know,’ she’d said, brushing his hair with her hand. ‘Sorry, Ty.’ Then, ‘Maybe he’ll come and join me in the end.’

He’d grunted and shrugged in a kind of teenage acceptance. ‘It’s OK. Dad’s a big boy, I guess.’

She’d kissed the top of Ben’s head as she’d left him that morning, when he was fast asleep and looked heartbreakingly funny and rumpled. After their late night where nothing had been achieved except the sharing and perpetuating of misery, she’d decided to resist the urge to wake him and try just once more to get him to join her.

‘Don’t you see,’ she’d said last night. ‘I have stayed for you. I’ve put off this dream for years, for you, for Ty, for the family. I’ve loved you enough to stay over and over again the whole time we’ve been together. And you promised that we would do this. It might seem unimportant to you, but believing we’d do this one day was the thought that kept me going through everything.’

It hadn’t worked. He loved her, she really believed that. He just didn’t love her enough. And even though there was nothing wrong with their relationship, realising that her husband’s love was in fact, conditional rather than the opposite, had made it a little easier to walk away.

Even so, although she’d known it was pointless, she’d kept finding herself glancing at the road behind as her taxi had made its way to Stansted this morning, hoping to see him in pursuit in his Volvo estate. Then, when strolling half-heartedly around duty-free waiting for her flight to be called, had found it almost impossible to tear her eye from the passport queue – perhaps she’d see his messy brown hair over the top of the crowd and discover that, after all, he had decided she was worth the risk and prove that, in fact, love did conquer all – even worries about security, mortgage payments and work commitments. The ultimate airport movie moment.

But feeling the upward motion and hearing the ting of the seat belt sign, she knew now without doubt – and somehow for the first time – he really wasn’t coming. That it really had been goodbye rather than au revoir. Part of her wanted to roar with frustration, another to curl up in a ball and weep and weep. She wanted to stop the flight, to rush back to him. Yet she wanted to move forward too. How many more years would he have let her wait before he’d admitted he was never really on-board with the plans she’d thought were theirs rather than hers?

She felt a sob well up in her throat and held it back. Then, to avoid ugly crying in front of a plane full of strangers, she put in her headphones and selected the ‘guilty pleasure’ playlist on her phone – a list filled with some of her out-of-date and slightly embarrassing favourite tunes: Elton John and WetWetWet, a bit of Bryan Adams and James Taylor and a smattering of songs she’d enjoyed while at uni.

Then she settled back in her seat, closed her eyes and tried to picture what it would be like to wander round her new home for the very first time. The online pictures had shown a traditional stone farmhouse with an overgrown garden. Powder blue shutters at the windows. A cherry tree in the back. A slightly neglected, uninhabited property just waiting for someone to adopt it and love it and bring it back to life.

She’d been to Limousin a several times with her parents, although never to the edge of Creuse where the hamlet she’d soon call home was situated. The weather wasn’t scorching like in the south but temperatures in May would be a balmy 25 degrees on average – just the perfect weather for doing anything and everything she wanted without needing to constantly seek out the shade.

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