Brendan turned over, taking the duvet with him and giving Maura the cold side of his back. He had said very little all evening. He was not interested in Maura’s chatter. He squeezed his eyes shut.
‘I can see why she loves it here. Those people were so nice. Paulette and Ray, what great people, and I did enjoy chatting with Nige. He is such a knowledgeable man. Imagine, all the travelling he has done around the world and still he loves this place the best. Such interesting people.’
Brendan blew a shot of air out of his mouth.
‘And Jean-Luc. What a lovely man he is. So gentle and he obviously thinks the world of your mother.’
Brendan thought grimly to himself how different his and Maura’s relationship was. Jean-Luc had listened attentively to Evie’s conversation all evening, leaning towards her, his arm protectively around the back of her chair, nodding in agreement with her thoughts.
‘She’s landed on her feet with him and this place, Brendan. And she is happy. You can’t deny it.’
He thought about telling her that she should shut up. Evie and Jean-Luc had kissed and smiled into each other’s faces. He had never seen his mammy like that with his father. He was uncomfortable with the whole situation; his mother no longer needed him at all, and he couldn’t understand it. He rolled over, pushing his head into the pillow to send the images away.
‘So, what about their invitation to stay here for a few days? I mean, we can stay for a while, can’t we? It would give you some time with your mother.’
Brendan was counting time in his head. His interview was in ten days. They had not bought return tickets. It was feasible. They could stay for a week. He would not tell Maura, though. He felt peevish and wanted to keep her waiting.
‘I’d love to stay here for a while,’ she said, hope in her voice. It irritated Brendan that she clearly hoped his mother’s new romance would rub off on them. She was chattering, patting his arm, enjoying the experience. He closed his eyes. After a few minutes, she stopped talking and the room was dark and filled with silence. A sigh shuddered through her body as she turned her back to align with his. Minutes passed. He could not sleep. He could feel that she was thinking and he knew she was awake too, but he had nothing to say.
Evie brought a silver coffee pot to the table; Brendan put his head in his hands. She poured coffee into his cup, dropped two sugar lumps in, and paused. His head still rested on his fists, which lifted up the sinking flesh from his cheeks into little rolls. Evie stirred his coffee and poured her own. Moments later, Maura came downstairs, sitting opposite Evie, muttering good morning and running her hand over a tired face.
‘Did you both sleep badly?’ Evie asked, and Maura groaned softly. She turned to Brendan. ‘Why won’t you come with me this morning?’
Brendan shrugged and took a mouthful of coffee.
‘Will you come with me, Maura?’ Evie filled another cup.
‘Where to?’
‘It’s market day in Saint-Girons and I sometimes do the stall there, selling wine. Benji will be there already, setting up, so I am going straight over after breakfast with some food for him and I usually stay for a few hours. Oh, it’s a marvellous little market and my friend Caroline will be there with her jams and I have such a good time. My French is getting a bit better and I usually sell lots of bottles to all sorts of people. Lots of them are tourists. You’d enjoy it.’ She looked at Brendan. ‘Both of you.’
Brendan forced a smile. ‘I might go for a walk, Mammy.’
‘I’ll come with you, if that’s all right, Mo— Evie.’
Evie beamed at Maura. ‘That would be grand.’ She noticed Brendan’s eyes move furtively towards Maura’s just as his wife’s moved quickly away. Evie passed them a plate of croissants. ‘Freshly baked this morning. Jean-Luc drove to the boulangerie at seven before he went out to do a bit of work. You should go up and see him, Brendan; it is so interesting, all the different things he has to do to make wine.’
Brendan made a little noise in his nose and took a croissant, nibbling it carefully. Maura took one and did the same. Evie exhaled, took a croissant and bit it in half, chewing thoughtfully.
Evie had never seen Maura look so happy. She was watching the people walking past in the market, noticing Benji sell bottles of wine to French customers and to hesitant tourists. She helped Evie to replenish the stall and she stood at her shoulder as Evie sold a case of sparkling wine to an English lady who said she came from Dunstable. When a young couple approached and asked her directly if someone spoke English, Maura gave them a winning smile and said she could certainly help. She told them about the bottles of wine they had drunk at their own table the night before and how good it was and, while Benji poured two small glasses for them to taste, Maura was effervescent, praising the young woman’s dress and asking her where she had bought it and complimenting them both on their suntans and wishing them a happy holiday after they bought a case of the red wine.
‘You’re a natural, Maura.’ Evie put her hand on Maura’s shoulder and, for a moment, she saw the gentle face of the bubbly girl Brendan had brought home so many years ago.
‘She wants to take my job, Evie,’ Benji joked, and Maura looked really pleased.
‘It’s good to have the help here,’ Evie told her. ‘But you should take an hour off and go round the stalls. You’ll love it. You have an hour or so then I’ll have twenty minutes. I need to go and see the wood-carver: he is doing a special job for me.’
It was noon and the market was thriving; heat rose from the concrete and people flocked to the shade. Trade was good and Evie hardly noticed the time pass, but it was almost two o’clock when Maura returned, carrying three cartons of couscous and bottles of water. She had other purchases under her arms and her hair was covered in a colourful scarf which she’d bought from the African stall. Her face was flushed and she was smiling. Evie took some money from a French woman and handed her two bottles of red, waving her off with a ‘Merci Madame. À bientôt.’
Maura took her place behind the stall. ‘I had a lovely chat with your friend, Caroline. She’s such a nice person, so genuine. I bought some jam from her and some whisky marmalade. Oh, and the African stall is gorgeous. They were playing music. They had drums – djembe, the man told me they were called – and some sort of stringed instrument called kora. It was lovely. And I bought a skirt and a scarf. Then there were some lovely ceramic pots and, oh, the chunky jewellery. I wish I’d brought more money. And I got myself a pair of comfortable sandals – look, I bought these so I could stand behind the stall with you. I thought they would be ideal – real leather. And I bought you this – it’s called zaalouk, with tomatoes and aubergines, and I couldn’t walk past the stall, it smelled so good. Is that all right?’
Benji shovelled plastic forkfuls into his mouth and Evie picked up her carton. ‘It’s a Moroccan dish. I like the aubergines. Lovely.’
Maura was impressed. ‘I can’t believe how you have changed, Evie. I mean you were in that stuffy old home but look at you now. You speak French, you look completely different and you are so nice—’
‘I wasn’t nice before?’
Maura put her hand over her mouth and Evie could see the returning memories of their last conversation in Sheldon Lodge in her expression, her face reddening. ‘I – I mean, well, back then, it was—’
Evie helped her out. ‘It wasn’t right for me. Sometimes a change is a good thing and this is a better life here. Me being in that home was no good for any of us.’ Her mouth held itself in a grim line for a moment.
Maura was silent, her eyes thoughtful, and Evie thought of the vast gulf that had been between them for years. Perhaps she had disliked Maura simply because she was Brendan’s wife. Perhaps she hadn’t fully let Brendan go, allowed him to become the man he needed to be. She wondered whether she hadn’t been in the way, as far as her son’s relationship was concerned, and perhaps she’d been a little bit jealous of his transferred affection to his wife. She glanced at Maura, who offered a rueful smile. Maura had been good company at the stall, and eager to learn. Evie thought about telling her that she had a lovely smile; she hadn’t seen it often.
‘Let’s have a big supper tonight, all of us.’ Evie brought her hands together. ‘Sparkling wine, a nice meal; I will make a clafoutis for dessert.’
‘Clafoutis!’ Benji jumped up and down, repeating the word. ‘It is my favourite. Clafoutis.’
‘I will do an extra one for you, Benji, pour ta mère.’
Maura was puzzled. ‘What is it, clafootee?’
‘A bit like a cheesecake. I put cherry brandy in mine. Just a little. I must go and buy some fresh cherries – oh, it’s a pudding, Maura. Jean-Luc loves it. It has such a light batter.’ Evie grinned. ‘It might cheer Brendan up a little bit. He’s had a face on him like a smacked arse.’
Maura shrugged. Evie was thinking that her son was moody, more reticent than usual, and the relationship between him and his wife had seemed somewhat distant. A good dinner always sorts out marital problems, she thought. Especially if there is plenty of drink on the table.
That evening the wooden table was set with food: bread, glasses and bottles of wine, a casserole steaming in the middle. There were buttered potatoes and colourful plates with peas and beans, yellow and green. Tomatoes and carrots, green leafy salads and dishes Brendan had never seen before, made with peppers and olives and garlic, and bowls of balsamic vinegar with golden oil floating in the centre. Brendan looked at his mother as she busied about, creating dishes with such ease and enjoyment, adding butter and herbs to vegetables she would have previously taken from a tin. She wore a long African skirt that wrapped around and tied at the waist and a T-shirt, dark grey with a splash of batter from the pudding. Her hair, newly washed, was light and soft. Her skin was brown but also firmer, less papery; her movements seemed more fluid and her eyes brighter. He could not get used to the way she would move around the room with her hands full, singing to herself, then find herself in Jean-Luc’s arms and smile up at him with such ease and familiarity. He even saw her pinch his bottom and giggle. Brendan was quiet and brooding.
Since she had returned from the market, Maura had not stopped babbling, and his forehead was beginning to tighten. She was following his mother everywhere, watching what she was doing, her hands twitching in the air, ready to help. Jean-Luc washed a few dishes and then picked up his guitar, playing a few chords to himself. After a while, he put it down deliberately and went to the table, pouring four glasses of wine and giving one each to the women. He took the other two and came to sit next to Brendan who was in the armchair next to the grate where the logs were piled high. He handed him a glass and said, ‘Santé.’
Brendan swallowed a mouthful, followed by a second. When he glanced up, Jean-Luc was looking at him, his dark eyes steady. Brendan had the feeling that Jean-Luc understood his thoughts. He was about to attempt conversation when Evie called them all to table.