A French Escape

As if.

After all I’m ‘everything he came to the south of France to get away from’. After that remark I’m not even sure I can be polite to him, never mind wanting to be intimately involved with him.

You don’t know me.

How many times has that thought echoed in my mind over the past year? Enough that it stirs me up, disturbing the emotional silt I’ve been successfully keeping well below the surface since I moved here.

What about the fact that I came here to get away from the world Cal belongs to? He is the one disturbing my peace, not the other way round.

I was here first.

That childish argument almost makes me smile at my own belligerence but I’m too upset. I had hopes of a professional working relationship with a man I admire and want to learn from. I set out this evening to impress him and I failed. Big time.

Suddenly I’m really, really tired. I feel a familiar pressure behind my eyelids and squeeze my eyes tight shut. I refuse to let that man make me cry. He doesn’t know me, so his opinions mean nothing.

But still they niggle and prick at me to the extent that I have to lie to Poppy and tell her I have a migraine.

I can’t tell her what I overheard. She’d fret and it might cause problems between her and Leo. After all he’s Leo’s friend and I’m her friend. Maybe this will seem less terrible after a good night’s sleep. Most things do.

Except I don’t get a good night’s sleep. I get a terrible one, unable to switch off the repeated conversation going around and around in my mind. I think of all the things I’d like to say and that leads me to older feelings, to the anger I never expressed to Aiden and Sally. I swallowed it all down then, like I’m trying to do now, and my body isn’t happy.

I’m still feeling grumpy when I’m unloading the dishwasher the next morning. Cal, on the other hand, is making an effort and I really wish he wouldn’t. It’s too late now I know what he thinks of me. He’s rolling round on the floor with Barney in a way I would have found adorable only yesterday. In a way I’m glad I overheard him because now, if I feel my hormones fluttering and quivering in response to his very manly pheromones, all I have to do is recall what he said about me and the temptation is easy to turn down.

‘He’s a great dog.’ Cal gets up off the floor and sits at the kitchen table. ‘They all are, super cute.’

Humph. I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously, feeling like channelling my inner Miss Piggy. She wouldn’t have put up with any nonsense from Cal.

He rubs the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. ‘Do you know where I can get a razor around here? I left mine at home.’

‘There’s a supermarket outside Mirepoix,’ I say. Yesterday I would have offered to drive him, but I really wouldn’t want to inflict my company on him.

Never mind my inner Miss Piggy, my inner bitch is out and dealing with the situation just fine.

‘You know, Barney’s old owners were going to have him put down because he’s getting on a bit and has gone blind,’ I add and reach down to stroke his huge floppy ears when he ambles over in response to hearing his name. ‘But you know, he’s the happiest dog I’ve ever met. Just goes to show you shouldn’t make assumptions, doesn’t it? It’s why labelling people … or dogs … isn’t very kind. Don’t you agree?’

I don’t meet Cal’s eyes. I’m not interested in confronting him for Leo and Poppy’s sake. I focus on Barney instead, stroking him and appearing casual.

‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ Cal replies at last and I glance over at him. He’s studying me quizzically. The coolness of yesterday isn’t there in his eyes. He’s looking at me, not through me. Maybe he decided to give me a chance after Leo stood up for me. That’s all good except I’m not sure I want one any more.

My good manners battle with my bruised pride and sleep-deprived mind and reluctantly I relent.

‘I’m going to the supermarket later. I can pick up a razor for you if you tell me what brand you want. Or you could come with me, but I’ve got an awful lot to get and you’d be hanging around for ages so …’

‘I don’t mind hanging around.’ Cal smiles and I’m sure there’s a glimmer of humour in his eyes; they sort of crinkle at the edges, like he’s someone who smiles and laughs a lot. Like he’s taking pleasure in disconcerting me.

Okay, so the truth is he is so bloody sexy my hormones are swooning all over the place. I fancy him but I’d rather die than admit that now. No way am I going to give Cal the satisfaction of saying he was right, that I’m some kind of career celebrity girlfriend, looking for my next meal ticket.

Our eyes lock and my cheeks feel warm.

I do my best to ignore the flipping sensation in my stomach. He came to France to get away from ‘people like me’. I have to remember that; I can’t get swept away. And I came to France to get away from people who think they know me, who make judgements based on lies and prejudice, so this … this cheek-burning, stomach-churning hormone-induced head-fuckery is going to have to stop.

I bite my lip and Cal’s gaze fixes on my slightly parted lips. Time seems to slow down, neither of us speaking. Even the dogs are silent, watching us solemnly.

Then the kitchen door opens and Leo and Poppy arrive, dispelling the weird tension between Cal and me, plunging me into confusion.

Later I’m throwing Pickwick’s ball for him in the garden while the Chihuahuas and Barney sunbathe. The grass is long and needs cutting but I haven’t had time to get round to it yet. As a result Pickwick is bouncing along like he’s on springs, for reasons best known to himself, and he does look very cute, which is why I can’t resist him when he brings the ball back to me and looks adorably hopeful again and again and again …

‘You’ll be doing that all day.’ Poppy joins us and flops down onto the grass next to Barney. ‘He’s got you wrapped around his paw.’

Pickwick then drops the ball at Poppy’s feet and proceeds to take it in turns who he gives it to.

‘He’s got both of us wrapped around his paw,’ I comment.

‘True. Well, they love you like you’re one of the pack, so until you get your own dog you know you’re welcome to borrow my little horrors any time you want, yes?’ Poppy says, watching the Chihuahuas mutt-mobbing me, her lips quirking into a smile. ‘In fact, I’m kind of counting on it given the gallery work, finishing my next book and arranging a wedding … I’m not sure how I’m going to get everything done. My to-do list is humongous and it never seems to shrink.’

I’m amazed she’s left it a full twenty-four hours before bringing the subject of me rescuing a dog up again.

‘That’s why I’m here. I’m your spare pair of hands,’ I say. I’ve been selfish, focusing on how unsettled I feel by Callum O’Connor’s presence in the house. It’s time to stop thinking about myself and be what Poppy needs me to be. ‘Why don’t we relabel it and call it your “do it” list? Much more positive. We could use an app to sync the list to our phones and split the tasks between us. If we’re sharing the list, it means we both stay accountable.’

We both know I mean she stays accountable and I’m being kind in not saying it. Creative and lovely Poppy may be but organised and practical she isn’t.

‘Thanks, you’re a star.’ Poppy gives me a quick squeeze of a hug and turns abruptly away, bending down to pick up Pickwick’s ball.

I swear I see unshed tears in her eyes. I thought she was taking on too much and I’ve tried to say so but Poppy was adamant she could do it all. I’m not sure she would’ve listened to me or Leo, however we approached it, she’s been so fired up about her new projects.

After she’s thrown the ball again for Pickwick and he’s gone bounding off she turns back to me.

‘You really are a star, you know,’ she says seriously, a tiny frown line in between her eyes. ‘And I don’t think I’m the only person around here who thinks so – you know, there was a definite frisson in the kitchen earlier. I’m sure he fancies you. We didn’t interrupt anything, did we?’

‘No, he definitely doesn’t fancy me and no, you absolutely didn’t interrupt anything.’ I snort. ‘Trust me, you’re way off base there. Besides we only just met.’

I wrap my arms protectively around my body. I’ve had no end of people who think they know me because they’ve seen me on television or, worse, online. The ones who feel the need to tell me about it usually either hate me or think they’re in love with me, rarely anything in between. The ones who supposedly ‘love’ me have seen my naked emotion on the TV show or my naked body in the sex tape, or both, and imagine themselves in love with a version of me that only exists in their head.

‘Really? That’s odd. Hmmm,’ she muses. ‘You know, I’m rarely wrong when it comes to picking up those kinds of vibes between other people. I read about this scientific study that says it only takes us three seconds before we decide if we’re attracted to someone. So the length of time you’ve known each other really doesn’t mean anything—’

‘Stop,’ I cut her off before she has me and Cal married in her head. ‘I mean no, don’t go there, please, Poppy. I really think you’re wrong in this case.’

I think about what Poppy said, the three-second factoid. If I were a pre-Aiden version of JoJo, meeting Cal for the first time, would I or wouldn’t I? The answer is obvious: of course I would. He is exactly my type. Which is exactly why I’m not going there.

I’m sure Poppy thinks I’m protesting too much and secretly I’m dying for a man to come along and sweep me off my feet, but she couldn’t be more wrong. The whole sweeping thing is overrated. I’d rather keep both my feet firmly planted on the ground.

I’m never going to let a man unbalance me like that again.

Poppy bites her lip and then drops down onto the grass next to the Chihuahuas. I sit down next to her, recognising the look on her face. There’s something she wants to talk about. I do my best to ignore the flutter of alarm deep inside me.

‘You know, I’ve been thinking …’

‘Uh huh?’ I eye her with wary caution, wondering if we’re still on Callum, or me adopting a dog, or whether she has a brand new topic on her mind.

‘I’ve been thinking about how you can move on,’ she says.

Move on? The flutter is instantly upgraded and my stomach twists in a sharp response. I try to control my breathing.

‘But I thought you said this was my home … Have you spoken to Leo since we talked, is that it?’ I keep my voice as calm as I can but even so all the dogs stop what they’re doing and watch me, ears pricked and eyes curious.

Poppy frowns, her face a mask of incomprehension.

‘Of course this is your home.’ She pats me on the arm. ‘What’s wrong, why are you upset?’

‘You said move on … like you want me to leave here.’

‘I meant metaphorically, of course,’ Poppy says, looking at me like I’m nuts for misunderstanding her.

‘So …?’ I steady my breathing again, reassured I’m not about to be turfed out with nowhere to go except the one place I can’t.

‘I was thinking maybe you should look up what other people who’ve been victims of sex tapes have done, how they’ve moved on,’ she suggests, her tone becoming more confident as she gets going. ‘I’m sure some of them must have found it empowering, eventually.’

I hate to burst her bubble and I know she’s only trying to help but I have to be honest with her. Nothing else will stop her once she’s got an idea in her head.

‘The thing is, Poppy, except for those who’ve actually made the tape themselves and sold it for cash, it seems to pretty much universally lead to a desire to die.’

Peanut must hear the catch in my voice because she gets up from where she’s sunbathing and comes over to me, hopping back onto my lap and rubbing her head against my chest like she’s a cat. Actually, all of Poppy’s dogs seem to think they’re other species. They also do good impressions of parrots, meerkats and even baby kangaroos.

I stroke Peanut’s head. She’s the tiniest fully grown dog I’ve ever seen but she has the biggest heart.

‘Seriously?’ Poppy deflates and frowns, scooping Treacle up onto her lap, absentmindedly stroking him and not noticing that Pickwick has come back and has dropped his ball by her feet.

‘Yep, I tried researching it a while back to see if anyone else’s story gave me hope.’ I sigh. ‘Apart from a few celebrities who went on to put it behind them and become even more successful it was pretty much doom and gloom. After the fourth suicide I stopped reading.’

‘Oh, Joanna.’ Poppy plops Treacle onto my lap, clearly deciding that this is a two-Chihuahua kind of situation.

Pickwick also brings me his ball, so I’m inundated with cute.

As if sweet pupsters can make things better. Though actually they kind of do. There’s plenty of room on my lap for both the Chihuahuas and they stare up at me, concern shining in their big eyes as I stroke them both, trying to reassure them that I’m okay, it’s okay, everything’s okay.

They’ve both got a history of abuse in their past and they can get anxious, Treacle in particular. I stroke his head and he settles down contentedly next to Peanut, a big smile on his face. He’s one of the few dogs I’ve met who really does smile.

‘Even the celebs who went on to recover admitted there were times when they wanted to die too,’ I say quietly, looking down at Treacle and Peanut as I stroke them and not meeting Poppy’s eye.

‘But you’re … okay, yes? You know you can always talk to me if … well …’

‘Yes, I know, thanks, and I’m fine,’ I say.

‘Because for all the people who couldn’t cope there must have been plenty of others who have coped. It’s just that you’re not going to find those stories online.’ Poppy eyes me hopefully.

‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right.’ I tell her what she needs to hear.

It’s partly true. Though I can’t imagine anyone taking it completely in their stride. They might look okay on the outside but I’m sure they’ve had their moments. I’ve long abandoned the myth that most people are coasting along the surface of life. I’ve been under water and I’ve seen the frantic thrashing. A lot of people have ‘stuff’ that they just don’t talk about.

I am fine though, certainly getting there. There are lots of days when I can almost forget anything bad happened, when the sun is shining and I’m browsing in the market with no one recognising me. I love cooking here and doing up the accommodation, and helping Poppy set the guesthouse up has been a lot of fun. Having a project to occupy my mind really helped. Poppy is always saying how much I’ve helped her. She really doesn’t get just how much she’s helped me.

I’m not going to mention all the nights I woke at two or three in the morning and lay awake until the first note of birdsong provided a soundtrack to the soft light of dawn. On those days I would get up and go for a run as soon as there was enough light.

Running has helped. I’ll never tire of watching the sunrise reflected in the surface of the lake, or marvelling at how still the world is at dawn. There can be movement all around me from nature but there’s a particular type of stillness that the absence of other humans creates and I love it.

In the early days here in France it was the only way to stop the anxiety from eating me up. Running takes me out of my head somehow, away from the thoughts that do me no good at all and could drive me mad if I let them. Poppy loathes running and has made it plain she thinks I’m nuts for being a runner, but then she always loses herself in her artwork when she’s stressed. I guess we all have our way of coping with things.

‘You’re okay really?’ Poppy breaks into my thoughts, her gaze searching.

‘Yes, I am. Maybe not all the time but I’m certainly getting there,’ I reply more truthfully.

Pickwick has given up trying to get Poppy’s attention. When actually putting his ball on her foot doesn’t work, he brings it to me again instead. I can’t resist his hopeful little face and throw the ball for him, watching him bouncing through the grass undaunted, his optimism undiminished by the fact he’s lost the ball. I know he’ll keep looking until he finds it too.

I wish I had that kind of bounce. People talk about bouncing back, and hey, you know, that sounds fantastic to me, but they hardly ever talk about how you do it.

‘Didn’t your friends in England help you at all?’ she asks.

‘Well, Sally was my best friend. We were in each other’s pockets ever since the first year of primary school. Maybe that was partly the problem: we were friends simply because we were put together and we both liked the colour pink.’ I shrug. ‘I can’t help feeling we can never really know someone else, not really. We might think we do but … Anyway, I don’t want to talk about Sally.’

We both watch Pickwick trotting around, leaving no clump of grass unexamined until he finally finds his ball and seizes it triumphantly. I turn my face up to the sun and wish life could be as simple as this all the time. Poppy, the dogs, the garden … But Poppy is getting married, Callum O’Connor is in residence and I don’t know what happens next.

‘What about your other friends?’ Poppy sounds hopeful and I hate to disappoint her.

‘You remember that thing I said about not really knowing people? Ex-boyfriends and friends sold their stories about me and their photos of me. Most of the stories weren’t true and I honestly didn’t see that coming either.’

I stare down at Treacle where my fingers are buried in his sandy, soft fur. Peanut has turned to rest her tiny muzzle on my chest, her eyes tiny pools of concern. I manage to give her a small reassuring smile, albeit wobbly. Poppy and I don’t usually talk about this kind of stuff but I don’t mind opening up now. Not to Poppy anyway.

Those months after the first blow last year felt like a rapidly growing snowball, gathering up one betrayal after another as it hurtled out of control and became an avalanche, capable of sweeping my whole life away.

Okay, maybe not my whole life. I don’t want to be overly dramatic about it and I know some people lose absolutely everything in life in terrible ways, including losing the roofs over their heads. I wasn’t homeless and I had food. Also, my family remained reliable. They couldn’t look me in the eye, but they stood by me all the same. To be fair, my sister Annabel was great about it all and she understood when I just had to get away. I think she would’ve come with me except I needed her to cover for me at the café. At the time it was ‘just until things blow over’. Except that moment never seemed to arrive.

‘They can’t have been very good friends then.’ Poppy wrinkles her nose as though unable to comprehend selling out a friend for cash. It’s one of the many reasons I love her.

‘I suppose not.’ I shrug and meet Poppy’s eye, trying to give her the same reassuring smile I gave Peanut. ‘I’m okay, Poppy, honestly. It’s behind me now. I’ve got a new life here and new friends, both human and furry. I’m happy being single too. The absolute last thing I want is for you to matchmake for me. I know that’s hard for you to understand in your current loved-up state.’

She has the zeal of a new believer since she fell in love with Leo. Her matchmaking is probably just a symptom of getting engaged. It seems wedding planning has only increased her desire to see everybody paired off and as happy as she is. I overheard her asking Leo about Angeline’s love life the other day.

Or maybe she’s feeling it too, that the wedding will mark the end of the time we’ve spent together, just the two of us. Our safe little hideaway where we both licked our respective wounds, painted walls and drank hot chocolate is changing. Maybe she’s worried about me. That seems much more like her than an assumption that a man is all we need to make everything better.

She doesn’t reply and I glance over at her. She’s staring into the distance and hasn’t seen Pickwick drop his ball at her feet again.

‘Sorry, Poppy, I didn’t mean it. I appreciate you trying to help, really I do.’

I shift up next to her on the grass and rest my head on her shoulder, awkwardly giving her a half hug. Only awkward because the Chihuahuas insist on being in the middle of it and the logistics are difficult.

‘Is it too early for a drink, do you suppose?’ Poppy asks, finally noticing Pickwick and throwing his ball for him again.

‘Definitely not too early but I’ll have to wait until later, I’ve got a supermarket shop to do.’ I rub at my temples.

‘Have you still not got rid of your migraine from last night?’ Poppy asks, solicitously. ‘I can do the supermarket shop today if you like?’

‘Have you got time? I might be all right if I take more meds.’ My offer is half-hearted though. I am starting to get familiar stabbing pains behind one of my eyes. I don’t mention I’m supposed to be giving Cal a lift. I really wasn’t looking forward to having to make polite conversation for the duration, pretending I don’t know what he really thinks of me. Holding my tongue for Poppy and Leo’s sake is going to be hard but I’ll try. I owe them that much.

It’s all my own fault that I really do have a migraine coming on now, karma for saying I had one last night, or maybe it’s my body giving me an out. I throw the ball that has just landed on my foot.

‘Don’t be silly, it’s fine,’ Poppy says, as I knew she would. ‘Why don’t you go and take your meds and lie down? If you’re okay this evening we’ll have that drink.’

‘Okay.’ My sleep-deprived mind readily accepts. We get to our feet, both watching Pickwick as he heads off into the grass that’s taller than he is in places, utterly undaunted and relentlessly optimistic. Bounce, bounce, bounce …

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