Doris thinking she was in love with Gabriel was going to be a problem. No one wished to see her hurt. Yet wasn’t it Pierre’s own idea that everyone was allowed to dream?
What had Laura said?People were stupid and couldn’t help hoping even when all the signs were against them.
“Hello,” Gabriel said.
She looked up, her heart in her throat.
“You looked very thoughtful there.” He sat beside her, a cup of cider in his hand.
“I didn’t know if you were coming. I texted you but you didn’t reply.”
“Ah. Yes.” He gave her an apologetic look. “Like an idiot I let my phone battery run down to nothing.” He sipped a little of the cider.
“I’d be careful with that.” She tipped her head towards his cup. “It’s intense.”
“I know. This is my second. I was freezing cold when I got here.”
“Oh dear, well you’d better eat something, or you’ll be no use to anyone soon.”
He laughed. He had this way of laughing with his whole body.
“Come on. We both need to eat.” He rose to his feet, offered her his hand, and pulled her up.
They went to the fire, and he got them two bread rolls filled with roasted pork.
“Careful.” He handed her one. “Watch your clothes.” He licked the side of his hand where the meat juices had run from the sizzling slices in his sandwich.
Just then, the music stopped, and everyone went quiet. People were stepping away from the fire, leaving an empty space.
Three men walked into it carrying a large urn between them.
Michael, who’d been playing the pipe stood up and smoothed his grey hair and braced his legs as if about to make a speech.
Hedge had put down his concertina and stood too.
“This is a time of great joy,” Michael said in a booming voice. “Because the end of winter is in sight, we give the land the best in our larders from last year’s season. The Wives’ Fete, being the night of the first moon after forty days from the birth of our Lord.”
Pierre and Gabriel exchanged looks. He had his brows knitted.
She did the calculation in her head. “So, this is somewhere between the fifth of February and the fourth of March, depending on the lunar calendar.”
“Quick arithmetic.” He shot her an admiring look.
Hedge and the other band members took their instruments and began a low tune as Michael recited,
“If the wives’ day be fair and bright,
Winter will have another flight.
But if it be dark with clouds and rain,
Winter is gone, and will not come again.”
“Well.” Gabriel winked at her. “Looks like winter is gone because we certainly had rain earlier.” He glanced up. “And I don’t know about the moon with all that cloud cover.”
“It won’t last,” someone said from beside them. Pierre hadn’t noticed the man standing with his wife; both had steaming cups of mulled cider. “Every year I’ve known it, the sky clears up on the Plough Festival night.” He pointed.
Sure enough, there were gaps forming here and there and La Canette’s famous stars shone through.
