But it was true, she couldn’t deny it. She was there in France, outside her new home with nobody to share it with, a choice that had been hers alone. Splendid isolation of mind body and soul, that’s how she planned it, that’s what she’d got. The fact she had no one by her side was down to her, Little Miss Independent and NO WAY was she giving headspace to the name that suddenly pinged into her head.Jed.
He’d have loved this, probably have jumped out of the car, pushed open the gate and waved me in, eager to get inside, carried me over the… STOP!
That was quite enough, and Frankie literally shook the thought from her head. Leaving the engine running, she got out of the car and after lifting the latch of the wooden gate, pushed it open. Seconds later she was on her way up the wide drive, tyres flipping dry stone onto the grass that was in need of a cut, before coming to a halt at the front door.
As expected, the area resembled a mini building site with a concrete mixer, bags of what looked like plaster and various piles of rubble and wood scattered about, telling her a trip to the tip – ordéchetterieto be correct – was on the cards. After a quick rummage in her bag Frankie found the keys which she squeezed in the palm of her hand. This was it.
When the door creaked open the first thing that hit her was the smell of fresh paint, and as she stepped inside the second thing was the quiet, and she imagined the house holding its breath, waiting for her to speak, give approval, say hello even. Again, Frankie was taken aback and remained silent as she scanned the scene before her, as though seeing her home through new eyes. In the past the open-plan ground floor had been littered with builder’s bits and bobs. In truth it always looked like organised chaos but one in which Henri seemed to thrive. What she saw now were two wide and empty spaces, swept clean apart from a few dead flies. The walls were plastered and bare. The new pine stairway that cut through the middle of the lounge and dining room was the focal point. The only other adornments were the pile of kitchen units still in their cardboard boxes and a range wrapped in polythene. And the fridge that stood alone against the wall, like a lonesome sentry.
The place looked huge, a blank canvas that dwarfed her solitary figure. Still the house hung on, not daring to breathe out, watching Frankie intently, and then she relented, gave it a sign.
As her eyes passed over the lounge walls that would soon be painted in warm caramel hues, then sofas and cushions, cosy throws and a rug perhaps. The kitchen would be vibrant, aubergine or maybe muted greens, olive or sage, and copper pans would hang from the ceiling on a wooden rack, jars of herbs on the shelves, a plait of garlic tied to a hook, a bowl of summer fruit on the counter and a meal bubbling on the hob. There would be two armchairs in front of the kitchen log burner that Henri had already installed and Frankie couldn’t wait to use.
When she turned her head back to the lounge her eyes rested on the open fireplace where logs would burn in winter, she could see the orange flames, yellows and reds of autumn, the scent of log smoke on her clothes. As though feeling the warmth from the grate, Frankie’s face lit up with a smile and the house finally breathed, a sigh echoing around each room.
Wasting no more time, Frankie took the stairs at a run, her hand gripping the banisters on either side, making her mark on the smooth yellow pine. Reaching the wide landing, she took in the solid wooden doors to the four bedrooms that took up each corner of the house and in the centre, opposite the stairs was the main bathroom.
The two rooms on either side that looked over the rear of the property and the woods were for guests – her mum and dad really, because she had no one else to invite. The room to her left would be her office and the one on her right that also overlooked the front of the house and magnificent views of the valley was her own, posh en suite included. It was here Frankie headed first. None of the bedrooms were huge but plenty big enough for a king-size bed and furniture. Opening the large windows to let in some fresh air, and allow a desperate moth out, Frankie sucked in the summer and pure unadulterated sun washed over her face, warming her skin and lighting up her smile.
Before she had time to take in the view and commit the scene to her first-day memories, she heard the faint sound of her phone that she’d left on the seat of the car and remembered she was supposed to ring Jed and text her mum when she arrived. Epic fail.
So racing back down the stairs, flicking away cobwebs that brushed her face, Frankie made it to the car and her phone on what she imagined was the final ring, out of breath but happy at seeing Jed’s face on the screen. Somewhere in between taking a deep breath, answering and hearing his voice, another one whispered in her ear saying,I wish he was here.
* * *
Once she’d assured Jed she was fine and he’d asked ten million questions, Frankie had sent her mum a quick ‘I’m safe and sound’ email, then set about making sure the house was even more spotless than when she arrived. By the time she hit the shower, not a dead fly, moth, spider or cobweb could be seen and everywhere held a tinge of Dettol and bleach.
At 7pm she headed across the lane laden with a bag full of shopping plus gifts, sweets and chocolate for the children, Alma and Sacha, wine and liqueurs for the grown-ups. Turning as she closed the gate, Frankie smiled at her beautiful home, and even though her stomach rumbled and she was looking forward to seeing her neighbours, she also couldn’t wait to get home again. A good sign.
* * *
It was almost 10pm, quite a respectable time to be in bed considering she’d dined with the French. In the past, be it with Cristalle and Luc or Henri the builder and his wife, Elise, or at the hotel with Maxence and his buddies, she’d rarely made it to her bed before midnight and once managed to see sunrise before they called it a day.
After a wonderful meal, giant home-made pizza cooked outside in the bread oven, Frankie had been grateful that Luc and Sacha had walked her home, the little boy taking her hand as they made their way by along the lane, guided by the moon, the only other source of light emanating from the windows of Luc’s chicken shed.
In his five-year-old voice, Sacha bravely told her, ‘Do not be scared of the dark, I will take care of you.’
Frankie smiled and wondered if his bravado was masking his own childlike fears. She was a pro at kidding herself, too. Once they deposited her at her gate, little Sacha suddenly became concerned, looking first at the house, then Frankie, as though the situation had just dawned on him. ‘You will be on your own. I have Alma. She makes me laugh when I get scared at night. What will you do if you have a dream?’ His eyes were round and his hand squeezed tightly.
Luc stepped in and tried to smooth things over. ‘He is a worrier, and going through a phase of bad dreams at the moment… Come now, Sacha, Frankie will be fine.’
Sacha didn’t look at all convinced so Frankie reassured and diverted him as best she could. ‘I promise I will be okay. How can I have bad dreams when I am so happy to be here in France with you? And don’t forget, tomorrow I am bringing my little dogs home and you are coming to see them after school so you need to go straight to sleep. No bad dreams, okay?’
At this he brightened, nodding enthusiastically as his father gently guided him away. ‘Yes, I will bring Alma too. We can hold one each… goodnight, Frankie.’ He waved as he walked, glancing back until the darkness swallowed them up.
Frankie was feeling confident as she walked up the drive towards her front door lit by two bright lanterns either side. Her pep talk had done the trick and not only for Sacha.
Or had it?
You’ll be on your own. No matter how much she tried to ignore them, the words kept pinging into her head as she locked the door, then made her way upstairs. Usually her next move would’ve been to tap the BBC app on her phone and listen to the radio. Frankie had always preferred it to the television. For her, the sound of a DJ’s friendly voice in a studio no matter where in the world it was, told her someone else was still up, in the wide-awake club like her.
Tonight was different, though, because she didn’t want to muffle creaking sounds with music, or focus on a gentle voice across the airways hoping it would soothe her into sleep and smother her fears. Frankie needed to hear the silence, soak it up, listen to what it was telling her. She had to get used to her new surroundings and being more alone than ever.
There were no traffic noises, and the night bus wouldn’t screech its brakes as it let someone off at the stop outside her window. A taxi wouldn’t honk its horn or the passengers slam its doors before they headed into the city, and she wouldn’t be woken by their jeers and laughter when they returned in the early hours, drunk and disorderly. There’d be no Devilchild making a racket or his mother screeching, angry and exasperated, or the sound of the people in the flat below having noisy make-up sex after an even noisier row.
Frankie had prepared herself as best she could for this, knowing she might have a wobble at some point. As she lay on her camp bed that she’d pushed into a corner, she talked it through with herself once more.
The silence wasn’t an enemy, it was telling her not to worry. Those days were gone. She’d made the leap, escaped. Nobody knew where she lived, nobody knew her business, about her past or why she’d run away – which meant they wouldn’t gossip, point their fingers, stare or say things behind her back. The silence was her friend. It was wrapping itself around her home and if she let it, it would keep her safe. It was her haven now.
