‘Take her other hand, Fi. We’ve got to get upstairs…’
‘Why?’
‘Dada’s home. I heard the gate slam…’
Even now, after so many years, Fi could feel the fear that it was one of the bad days. Maybe one of the worst days, when someone, probably Mammy, might get hurt. She had to deliberately take a slow, deep breath. To remind herself that she was safe. That they were all safe.
But it didn’tfeelas safe as it had just a minute or two ago.
‘Watch Bonnie for me,’ Ellie’s movements were wooden as she got to her feet and went to the front door to go outside. ‘I need to get something out of the garage.’
When she came back a minute or two later, she had an old book in her hand. She made a space on the table and put it down. Fi could see the title of the story.
‘Swallows and Amazons,’ she murmured. ‘Isn’t that an old movie?’
‘It’s not the book that’s important,’ Ellie said. ‘It’s these.’
Beneath the cover was a slightly tattered looking envelope, the flap open enough to reveal that it contained faded, black-and-white photographs that looked as old as the book. One by one, she laid them flat on the table.
Jeannie had gone very pale. She picked up an image of two young boys sitting on a stone wall, holding ice creams and beaming at the camera. Her tone was hollow as she turned the photograph to read the scribble on the back.
Jeremy and Gordon. Cornwall.
She sounded shocked, but why was it so unexpected to find an old family photo in the house that had belonged to her brother-in-law?
‘I put this book back in the garage and tried to forget about it,’ Ellie said. ‘I didn’t want to bring up bad memories for you, Mam, but it was for my sake too. If it wasn’t for this book and this photograph, Julien would never have taken me to this village and we wouldn’t have been in that terrible accident that nearly killed Theo.’
Ellie touched another photograph. Two little boys were crouched beside a channel of water in a cobbled street, playing with a toy boat.
‘The village is called Saint-Martin-Vésubie.’ It sounded like Ellie was about to cry. ‘And it’s where we saw the painting in the gallery. I think it’s close to where this artist lives. Isawthe artist – in the market when I saw the painting for the first time. It was…’ Her voice trailed away, as if she didn’t want to try and describe the moment.
‘Oh,my…’ Jeannie whispered. ‘I knew there was a connection. Deep down I could feel it but I wasn’t sure Iwantedto know for sure. This village is where Gordon was born. He took me there on our honeymoon… I remember that little stream in the middle of the main street…’ Her voice broke.
Fi looked at her sisters. Ellie was reaching to touch Jeannie. To offer comfort. Laura looked…
…angry. Furious, even.
‘Idon’t want to know,’ Laura said, her voice icy. ‘If itishim, why would any of us care? He didn’t care about us, did he, when he walked out and never came back? I don’t understand why you’re doing this, Mam. I don’t…’ Her chair scraped on the tiles as she pushed it back. ‘I don’t want any part of it. I need to take Lili home for her nap, anyway.’
It was typical of Laura to take a decisive action to control both a distressing situation and her own emotions. Fi could feel the same pull back to ingrained behaviours. She wanted to do something to calm the raw emotions that were swirling around the room. To be the peacemaker. But the only thing she could think of doing was to help Laura as she frantically gathered Lili’s toys to stuff them into the baby bag. She wanted to reassure her that everything would be okay, but how could she do that? A door to the past was about to be opened and it could be a disaster, but it was too late to stop this happening.
That fragile thing had already shattered. She could feel the shards all around them. One careless move and someone was going to get hurt.
Maybe they all were.
8
When tension was enough to make it feel like you could cut the air with the proverbial knife, Fi had long ago learned that the best place to be was outside.
Preferably with horses.
Or, perhaps even better, she had now decided, with donkeys.
Having a reason to spend quite a lot of time with them was a bonus, which was why Fi was carrying her leather tool bag and farrier’s apron as she headed for the olive grove in La Maisonette’s garden.
If she had gone to simply sit near Marguerite and Coquelicot – as she’d done when she’d first arrived here – she would undoubtedly have felt a lot better for bathing in the peaceful vibes the donkeys exuded, but she didn’t have the cushion of exhaustion as a buffer against disturbing thoughts or emotions today. It would be too easy to go over everything that had happened in the last couple of days and get sucked deeper into an evolving family drama. Fi couldn’t afford to do that. It already felt like she was walking through a minefield of potential triggers for flashbacks she desperately needed to avoid.
Had she jumped from a frying pan into the fire by coming to France?
