The best day had been when they went to the seaside. They had set off early and the only thing that threatened to mar Frankie’s enjoyment had been leaving Oscar and Belle for a whole day. It was the first time and she felt like she was abandoning them. Christalle came to the rescue, though, and offered to babysit. Jed and Frankie deposited the puppies across the road and Christalle reassured them that once Alma and Sacha came home from school they’d not want for attention.
Jed looked comical driving Frankie’s Fiat as they headed for Pornichet, a historical coastal resort with three sandy beaches and a quaint fishing harbour. He’d pushed the seat back as far as possible to accommodate his six-foot-one frame, his head touching the roof.
Passing Jed a bottle of water, Frankie chuckled. ‘You look like you’re driving a dodgem car.’
‘I feel like it. I reckon I’ll have cramp and curvature of the spine by the time we get there. Please say it’s not much further otherwise I’ll look like bloody Quasimodo.’
Frankie was creased with laughter as she checked Google maps and assured him they were almost at Pornichet. ‘Stop being mard and anyway I’m going to swap this for a French model soon so maybe you can help me choose… What would you get?’
‘A bloody tractor, or a space hopper. Anything would be better than mini-me’s dodgem car.’ When the sign for Pornichet and, finally, the beach came into view Jed did in fact stop moaning although the laughter continued for the rest of the day.
They were lying side by side on a quieter part of the beach, hand in hand, soaking up the rays from the sun. A stiff breeze from the sea took the edge off the heat. Frankie dozed, a hint of a smile on her lips. It wasn’t the first time that she’d compared her before life to the one she was living now. It was becoming a habit. And even though she judged it mainly on her achievements, her determination and how blessed she was to have been able to make the leap, deep down she knew the icing on the cake was Jed.
When she felt him stir, Frankie presumed it was to apply more sunscreen. So far he’d done this three times, insisting on rubbing the oil onto her skin in case she missed a bit and with a very suggestive wink, said he was very happy to splish splash splosh her, or whatever the saying was, regularly. It was no trouble whatsoever.
Pushing herself upright, Frankie watched the sand-surfers to her right, scooting across the beach, their sails blown by the Atlantic wind. Her eyes were then drawn to Jed who was standing and unzipping his shorts.
Turning to face her, he nodded. ‘Come on, sleepyhead, get your kit off. I fancy a swim and I need to test these bad boys out.’ With that he dropped his denim shorts to reveal the tightest pair of Speedos that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
Frankie knew her mouth was agape and her eyes… well, they actually didn’t know where to look. ‘What the hell are they? You’re not seriously going to walk about in those… Jed, you’ll get arrested for indecency.’
Jed looked down and pulled a confused face, flicking his shorts from round his ankles as he spoke. ‘I told you I was getting some and you didn’t believe me. I love them. D’you know what we used to call these at school?’
Shaking her head as she stood and began to remove her own shorts, Frankie grimaced. ‘I dread to think but go on, amaze me.’
‘Budgie smugglers, but these are parrot smugglers, as you can see.’ He then gave her a wiggle of his bits. ‘Right, last one in pays for pizza.’ Jed gave Frankie the thumbs-up, turned and started to run, in slow motion like on Baywatch, not caring about who was watching.
Taking up the challenge Frankie gave chase, flicking the elastic on his Speedos before yanking them up, giving him a nice tight wedgie. With that he was off, racing towards the waves, her in hot pursuit, laughing at his white bum cheeks all the way to the sea.
They had laughed and loved their way through the whole holiday, and eaten too, dining with their neighbours and at the bistro where Frankie introduced Jed to Maxence and the village regulars. They paid a visit to check on Henri who was still in a wheelchair but hadn’t lost his ability to drink wine, despite looking like a mummy with an arm and leg in plaster, and an uncomfortable neck brace.
Her favourite times, though, were first thing in the morning when she woke to find Jed by her side, Oscar and Belle barking at the bottom of the stairs as soon as they heard movement. And then lazy breakfasts in the morning sun as the mist lifted across the valley. To the sound of the birdsong that woke them each day, they ate fresh eggs courtesy of Luc, or croissants from the village shop, and were treated to a spectacle: a flock of swallows that swooped and dived, catching insects on the breeze, unbothered by their human audience.
In the evenings they’d take a stroll around the garden with the Frenchies while above the swallows took their final meal before disappearing to roost, watch the sun set and go to bed, together, leaving sleepy pups in their crate. Time flew, the hands of the clock spinning too fast.
By the time Ken and Spud trundled up the lane in Old Smoky, the bedrooms were ready and, thanks to Jed, they didn’t have to sleep on mattresses on the floor. The veranda was well underway and all that was left was the kitchen to fit, meaning that their schedule wasn’t quite so tight. Frankie was ridiculously pleased when they arrived not just because they were her first guests, Jed excluded. It was the reaction to where she lived, and the hug from Ken and the fist bump from Spud that made her day. And something else. It was the way Jed slung his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close as they watched for Old Smoky to chug into view, and when they waved to Ken and Spud it was as though they were welcoming them together, to their home. And it felt right. And it was killing her.
* * *
Once Luc and Jed had lifted Henri and his wheelchair up the steps to the veranda, and Alma and Sacha were occupied with the puppies, Maxence took charge of opening the wine while Frankie and Christalle brought out bowls of nibbles. There was a happy hum as Elise, Henri’s wife, admired the fancy napkins and Jed tongue-in-cheek told her that maybe later Frankie would show her how to fold them into dog shapes: apparently she was an expert!
The new, all-singing all-dancing barbeque had done them proud, as had chef Ken who flipped a mean home-made burger and – unlike his son – managed not to cremate the pork steaks that Frankie had marinated in maple syrup and wholegrain mustard. To please her French guests they’d had a platter of seafood for starters while poor Spud waited patiently, point blank refusing to try the langoustines and oysters that were passed around the table.
Frankie was feeling sorry for Spud, and slightly guilty so slipped him a giant bag of crisps to tide him over, and also because the poor lad was in pain due to an unfortunate sunbathing accident. As always he took his ribbing well, accepting the cold bottle of beer that Jed said might de-sizzle his rosy cheek.
Frankie still felt awful, wishing she’d been able to prevent Spud’s discomfort. Because they were ahead of schedule and an evening under the stars had been planned, once the granny trolley was done, Frankie had persuaded Ken to take the afternoon off.
While he and Jed went fishing in the lake, the lure of giant carp hard to resist, Spud did what he did best and chilled. With a bucket of cold water containing a four-pack of beer by his side, and his trusty earphones, naturally, he spread out on a blanket. To Frankie’s surprise he even rolled up his baggy jeans to reveal THE whitest legs in the Loire. But his Blossoms T-shirt remained stuck to his body: not even the gentle sun or angry wind would remove that.
Frankie left him to it and busied herself inside making a strawberry cheesecake and lemon meringue, happy in her task and kept company by two sulky Frenchies whose hero had left them behind.
She never gave Spud a thought: he was a month away from eighteen and wouldn’t want fussing. So by the time she’d done her prep, cleaned the kitchen and taken a shower, hours had passed and Jed and Ken returned, waking Spud from his slumbers. She heard the laughter from her bedroom window and popped her head outside to see what was going on. Jed was in hysterics, wiping tears from his eyes while Ken, hands on hips, shook his head.
‘Yer daft bugger, fancy staying out in the sun this long… have you been here since we went out?’
Spud nodded.
‘Did you put that sun cream on like I said?’ Jed was bending down, examining Spud’s face.
