Clémence was a strong-looking woman in her fifties or sixties, her dark hair short, and wearing a jumper and jeans. The bed and breakfast was situated on some type of smallholding with chickens and goats. Brendan thought it would be a perfect spot to take children for a holiday. The great outdoors, countryside and scenery to explore, cycling, camping. Clémence ushered them inside the house where there was a table set for two. A carafe of wine was laid out on a large farmhouse table, together with crusty bread and a steaming basin of stew. Brendan mumbled, ‘Merci’, and sat down, resting his head in his hands. Clémence left them to eat and drink, which they did in silence. Brendan asked Maura twice if she would like more to eat and drink, and she held out her glass and plate without speaking. Clémence brought them a slice of something sweet, a pie made from eggs and fruit, possibly cherries, which tasted comforting. By the time she had put two cups of black coffee in front of them, Brendan’s eyes were starting to close.
Their room was at the top of the house. Brendan carried both cases, and Maura followed, shoes in hand. The room was dark, with floral wallpaper and a huge wooden wardrobe with carvings of a traditional peasant man and woman farming the land. The man held a scythe and the woman wore an apron. The floorboards were wooden and creaked beneath their feet and the wind buffeted the rafters, but Brendan could only see the bed with the brass headwork and the embroidered coverlet. They brushed their teeth over a small basin and Brendan changed into his pyjamas. Maura had already slipped beneath the covers and was facing away from him. Her body felt warm and he snuggled close to her, but she jerked away as if she was shocked. He put a tentative hand on her shoulder, which felt cold.
‘We’ll make the most of this place tomorrow, shall we, Maura? We could have breakfast and go and taste some wine and look at the river while Olivier is fixing the car. What do you think?’
Maura said nothing for a while. Brendan patted her on the shoulder. ‘Maura, I know things haven’t gone right today. I’m sorry about the car.’
She sighed, keeping her back to him. ‘It was all going so well.’
He tried again. ‘I know. We’ll have a good time though. Wait and see.’
A sigh. ‘I hope so, Brendan. I liked Brittany so much …’
He stretched out a hand, touching her shoulders, massaging away the tension as he remembered Penny Wray doing to his muscles in the staff room at school. He pressed firmly, with newly acquired skill.
‘Ow. You’re hurting.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘Sorry, Maura.’
‘What are you sorry for, Brendan? The car, or ruining the holiday? We were happy last night, weren’t we?’
He rolled onto his back, stared into the darkness, thinking for a while. Then his voice came out as a croak, ‘Maybe if we’d had children.’
There was a long pause and he thought he heard her snuffle. Then her voice came, a whisper. ‘It’s too late for all of that now.’
He moved his eyes, straining to see something in the blackness which surrounded him, something which might help him figure the problem out. ‘We could start again though; try to get on a bit better together, when we get back.’
‘It’s always later with you, Brendan. Never now. You’re not spontaneous.’
He made a sound through his lips. ‘You’re spontaneous enough for us both.’
‘Yes, but sometimes, it’d be a nice thing for you to take the initiative.’
He knitted his brow and stared into the darkness. ‘Initiative?’
She huffed, briefly. Then an idea came to him. He rolled back to her, curved his hand into a palm and smoothed it across her hips, held the roundness of a buttock for a moment, then slid his hand to caress the other.
‘Maura, we could book a holiday in Corfu? A second honeymoon? What do you think? We could book it when we get back. Spontaneously.’
He tried again, massaging one buttock, then another, and he nuzzled his face into the soft hair at the back of her neck and whispered, ‘My love.’
Then the demon voice came again from the darkness: ‘Go to hell, Brendan.’
He turned away from her and, as his eyes closed on the day, a small thought wormed its way into his mind. He didn’t understand Maura at all. After all these years, he didn’t know what made her happy. He doubted that he could do it any more. Those times had gone and he wasn’t sure he’d ever get them back.
Maura tore a croissant in half and pushed the soft bread into her mouth. She nodded at Clémence as she poured from the coffee jug and Brendan muttered his thanks as his cup was filled up. Clémence smiled and brought in a carafe filled with orange juice. Brendan thanked her again in French and tried to explain that he and his wife might need to stay one more night depending on whether the car could be repaired in time. Clémence nodded, told them she had many English visitors and could speak the language quite well, then she moved back into the kitchen. Maura stuffed the other half of her croissant into her mouth and washed it down with coffee. She pulled a face and added two lumps of sugar. She stared directly at Brendan.
‘Well, I hope for your sake the car can be mended today. This holiday has turned into a nightmare.’
Brendan took a breath. ‘If you think back, Maura, it was never meant to be a holiday. We came here to get my mother.’
She made a mocking face and put on with it a mocking voice. ‘Always your bloody mother.’
‘That is not very nice, is it?’
‘Oh come on, Brendan, she’s never liked me. Not since the day you first took me home.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘It is. The first time I met her she gave me cold tea and then ignored me and spoke just to you. If it hadn’t been for your father, no-one would’ve spoken a word to me all through the dinner, you and your mammy with your heads together all the time. She only tolerated me because she wanted grandchildren. She never has anything to say to me; talks to you as if I’m not there. She’s always given me the brush-off.’
‘She likes you.’
‘Oh, you couldn’t see it. She can’t do anything wrong, your precious mother. And you’d never defend me, Brendan.’ Another croissant was ripped in half.
‘That’s not fair.’
‘But you aren’t interested in what I think, are you?’ Maura shoved the last piece of croissant into her mouth. He could hear the muffled words. ‘I hope the bloody woman is dead.’
Brendan stood up and pointed his finger. ‘That’s enough, now.’
Maura stared at him. ‘Well, of course I don’t mean that, for sure. I’m sorry for what I said. But I’ve reason enough to be angry with her.’
‘What reason would that be?’
‘I’ve a list as long as your arm. Remember all those years we were trying for a little one, how upset I’d get each month I found out I wasn’t pregnant? And she’d be totally insensitive. She’d never ask me how I was feeling. Oh no, it’d be all about her and the miscarriages she had, all the babbies who would’ve been girls with silly names and how she kept trying and trying till eventually she had you. Well, bully for her.’
‘It upset me too. I wanted a baby just as much as you.’
‘And she thought we were totally unsuitable for each other.’
‘She did not.’ He stared into his coffee.
Maura clenched a fist. ‘She told me so many times how proud she was you were a sports teacher, and how you loved the cycling and swimming and football. When I told her I wasn’t the sporty type, she suggested I buy a bike and try harder. As if I had to change who I was for you. And you know how I hate exercise. I’d rather do anything in the world than climb up on a bicycle.’
‘Well, maybe Mammy had a point. It would be good to share things.’ He was thinking of Penny Wray, her golden ponytail, her white shorts. ‘Maybe we’d be more compatible if we shared a hobby.’
Maura was looking up at him, and the anger in her eyes became wide panic. ‘Brendan, why can’t you understand—?’
‘I don’t know, Maura. I’ve no idea what to say any more. We’ll try and get along as best as we can and then we’ll collect Mammy and take her back to Dublin.’ He sighed, without looking at her.
Maura made her eyes narrow. They resembled mini-missiles, glittering: perhaps she would shoot him dead if she could. He stared harder. She looked away. Brendan took another gulp of coffee and swallowed audibly. Clémence was at Maura’s elbow, holding out more croissants. Maura took one and shredded it into pieces.
They walked past the river and through the town, where the roads narrowed and the houses were three storeys tall, in white and brown stone. The card in Brendan’s hand gave the address of the garage and Clémence had explained to him how to get there. Maura dawdled just behind him and he knew she was tired; her heels clacked on the pavement and occasionally she would stop and slide a finger into the sling-back fastening, slowing him down. He resolved that today would be different: everything would go well. He’d pick up the car, drive it away; they’d stop somewhere special for lunch. Maura would smile, the skin around her eyes crinkling and happy. He’d make her laugh and they’d hold hands across the table. She’d tell him she was sorry for being angry and he’d promise to be more communicative and affectionate and they’d find a hotel, make love and fall asleep in each other’s arms. In the garage, Brendan saw the Panda straight away. There was no-one around, so he walked through the lines of vehicles and into the office, leaving Maura slouching, sullen, leaning on the car.
There was no-one in the office; papers were strewn on the table and on the wall there was a calendar with pictures of the town, Cantenay-Épinard, showing, for this month, a colour photo of the river and surrounding greenery. A clock shaped like a wine bottle ticked on the wall. It had a slogan which read ‘Pays de la Loire’. The time was ten forty. Brendan walked out of the office hoping someone would be outside working but there was no-one.
He went back to Maura, who had opened the Panda’s door and was sitting down with one shoe off, rubbing her heel. She looked up at Brendan. ‘Well?’
‘There’s no-one here.’
‘OK, that settles it. Let’s get in the car and drive off.’
‘Maura, we—’
‘The keys are in it. If no-one can be bothered to turn up to ask us to pay then that is their fault.’
‘But—’
‘There are no buts about it, Brendan. I am not staying here any longer.’
A cheery voice called, ‘Bonjour’, and Olivier appeared around the corner, wearing extremely clean-looking red overalls. He shook Brendan’s hand and started to talk about the car. Brendan asked him to slow down please and to repeat. Olivier put his hands out and showed the size of the problem. It was a big one. The radiator was finished, terminated, kaput. He could fit a new one but the car was a Fiat and they did not have one in stock. Someone in Angers could bring one out tomorrow or, at worst, in two or three days’ time. Maura seemed to have understood because her arms were folded tightly across her chest and her face was thunderous. Olivier was sorry, but Clémence had a lovely kitchen, he knew this because she was his aunt and why did they not enjoy a little holiday while he fixed the car for them with a brand new radiator which would be very reliable? Brendan thanked him and said yes, a new one would be a good idea and they would be happy to wait. He turned to see Maura walking out of the garage, standing by the edge of the road, looking uncomfortable in her heels. Brendan thanked Olivier, who leaned forward and tried out his English, indicating Maura with a flick of his head and using a low tone. ‘The women. They kill us every day, hein?’
Brendan agreed and he glanced at Maura first to see if she was listening. Then he went over to join her by the side of the road.
‘How many days did he say it would take?’
Brendan waved his hands as Olivier had done to show the extent of the problem. ‘Tomorrow. Maybe the next day. Never mind. We can spend time here. We could even take a bus into Angers—’
Maura heaved herself to full height, wincing in the heels. ‘I am not taking a bus. Anywhere.’
She walked away to the other side of the road. There was an immobilier, a local estate agent, with photos of houses for sale, and she was gazing at the window. Brendan pulled out his phone and turned away. He found his mother’s number and typed in a message: Where are you staying in Angers, Mammy?
Maura did not move except to shift her weight from one foot to the other, her shoulders slumped, her face unhappy.
Brendan’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out, pressed the button and read his mother’s reply: Very stormy weather yesterday. Gone south to the sun. Brendan heaved a deep sigh before he could stop it and wondered what to do.