‘Yes, it means exactly that. I was wondering – how do you fancy jumping on a plane and coming down? Surprise Helena on her birthday and then the next day you get to celebrate your favourite son’s birthday with him too.’
‘Idiot, you’re my only son,’ Joan laughed, trying frantically to think of an excuse even as the words, ‘Wouldn’t it be fun?’ left her mouth. She quickly backtracked. Her words might have indicated it would be fun to surprise Helena, but in reality she wasn’t so sure. ‘But Helena is probably busy on the retreat. Not sure she’ll want to be interrupted with us turning up.’
‘She’ll love it. Celebrate her birthday – and mine of course, then we can leave her to it if she’s too busy. I can show you around the riviera. So, how about it?’
Joan hesitated. She might have told both Helena and Leon it wasn’t a big deal not seeing either of them on their birthdays, that they would celebrate later, but, in truth, she would be sad on both days.
She took a deep breath. ‘Why not. A minibreak in the sun with my two favourite people would be good. The only real problem I have is Bella. I’ll ask Maureen if she can look after her for a few days. She has in the past, but this is a bit short notice. When I’ve done that, I’ll find a flight and book a hotel and send you the details.’
‘Great. When we moor in Antibes a couple of days before her birthday, I’ll phone Helena so she won’t be surprised too much by me turning up, but I won’t tell her you’re coming for the actual day. See you in the South of France. Ciao.’
‘Ciao,’ Joan echoed as the call ended, before slowly exhaling a deep breath. She felt as though she’d been steamrollered into agreeing. And yet Leon hadn’t pushed her – he had no reason to think she wouldn’t want to join them. And she did, if only it was somewhere else – anywhere but Antibes.
Could she really do this? Open the Pandora’s box of memories and skeletons that she’d kept firmly locked deep inside her for so many years. Harry had always said she should go back. She knew he would have been happy to go with her, he’d offered enough times. Help her to accept what had happened and to remember the good times, because of course there had been good times. Unexpectedly and drastically cut-short good times, but nonetheless wonderful. But Joan had always maintained she didn’t need to return, everything had happened so long ago, she’d come to terms with the past.
She didn’t have to open the box, she could keep the lid firmly shut and just live in the present without mentioning the past or its events to anyone. Antibes would surely have changed in the intervening years, so it would be like a first-time visit, with Helena and Leon at her side, the three of them making memories together. Decision made. She’d go, keeping her focus firmly on the present day, not the past. Neither Leon nor Helena knew anything about that part of her life because she’d never spoken to them about it. No need to talk about something that had happened years ago before they were even born.
Now to phone Maureen.
Thirty years ago, a heavily pregnant Joan, with her husband Harry and toddler son Leon, had moved into the village, where Harry had become the local doctor. Everyone had been keen to embrace the new doctor and his family, but three months later Joan was still feeling a little like the new girl in town. Meeting Maureen Dawson, at the door of the reception class in the local primary school with their respective children – Joan with new baby Helena secure in a sling whilst toddler Leon clutched her hand and a tear-stained Teddy clinging to Maureen – had changed everything.
Maureen, reeling from the unexpected shock of finding herself to be a single mother when her husband had declared ‘I can’t do this family thing any more,’ and walked out of her life when Teddy was barely three, recognised a kindred soul in Joan, who had been a single mum herself before she married Harry. Through the years, they had each become the sister the other had never had and the three children had become firm friends.
Joan hoped Maureen didn’t have anything planned for next week. Since she’d been made redundant from her librarian job, she’d been on a mission to live her life to the full and consequently had been on more ‘courses’ than a dedicated student.
‘Hi, Joan. How’s things?’
‘Good. I’ve got a favour to ask – if you are not busy, could you have Bella for me next week? I know it’s a bit short notice.’
‘Would love to have Bella next week. Where are you off to?’
‘Leon has suggested he and I surprise Helena for her birthday in Antibes. He’s there for a couple of weeks apparently,’ Joan answered and waited for Maureen’s reaction. Maureen was the only person left in the world who knew Joan’s history and could query the destination she was preparing to visit.
There was a short pause and Joan could guess what Maureen was thinking and also what her next words were likely to be.
‘Antibes and the Mediterranean? You’ve never been back, have you? I know Harry wanted you to go and lay the ghosts and you always refused.’
‘No, I haven’t. But it’s about time I did, don’t you think?’ Joan said firmly, pushing aside the niggling thoughts she’d had when Helena had announced where she was going. ‘The Mediterranean is a huge expanse of sea with a lovely coastline and I’m going to France not…’ her voice wavered. ‘Sicily. So a totally different part of the Mediterranean. I do have happy memories of Antibes and going back there for the first time with both Leon and Helena will be perfect.’
‘So long as you know what you are doing. Wish I was coming with you.’
‘No, you don’t. There’s nobody else to have Bella, so I wouldn’t be going,’ Joan reminded her.
‘That’s true. Teddy will be around for a few days next week – he’s offered to decorate the guest room for me, so we’ll both enjoy some long walks with Bella together.’
‘I’m off to google flights,’ Joan said. ‘Usual Sunday lunch in the pub? I’ll give you all the details then. And Maureen? Thank you.’
After the call finished, Joan went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Leaning against the Aga rail, she knew the concern Maureen had voiced had only echoed what she herself had thought when Leon had suggested the visit. For years, she’d maintained the past should stay in the past, believing there was no point in raking up bittersweet memories from a long-ago different life. Maybe there wouldn’t be any flights available, then she could leave Leon to surprise his sister without her feeling guilty about not being there. Mentally, Joan pushed aside the thought of leaving it too late to even book a flight. Wednesday and Thursday with neither of her children at home would be difficult enough without the added guilt of knowing she could so easily have been there.
21
The days at the retreat started to slip into a routine of swimming for some and writing, eating and evening aperitif walks together before dinner. Everyone had begun to get serious about why they were on retreat – even Becky, to Sandy’s unspoken surprise – and spent most of their time writing. It had become a significant moment at dinner for everyone to announce and celebrate their word count for the day – the competition to have written the most words was fierce. Becky had been the winner on a couple of nights with five and a half thousand words written and Sandy was hoping she would soon show her the pages she had written.
Lorraine had diffidently read a chapter of the book she was working on, saying that she knew that the stories she wrote in the romantasy genre weren’t for everyone. They’d all loved it, though, and clamoured for more, leaving Lorraine sitting back with a happy smile on her face. Becky and Lorraine seemed to have bonded slightly too, although Becky still refused to join her and the others for a morning swim, saying it just wasn’t her scene. Mandy, though, had finally been persuaded to accompany the other three in the mornings and was verging on getting fanatical about the benefits for her writing, her head was so clear afterwards. Isobel, who had firmly declared she would not be going swimming however many times they asked her, was nearing the end of her editing and had declared her intention to start writing a new book in a new genre for her by the weekend. Helena had read out some of the first chapter of the book she was working on and everyone had urged her to continue. Which left Liz.
There wasn’t anything that Sandy could pinpoint, but there had been a subtle change in Liz since she’d arrived last Saturday. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling. She’d told them all at dinner the other evening that she was hopeful that her writing mojo was back and she was working on a story set in the South of France. So far, she hadn’t contributed to the word count celebrations at dinner but had promised by the second week she would have something to share.
Helping herself to breakfast on Friday morning, Sandy herself, though, was feeling unsettled. All she could think about was that this was the last retreat for the foreseeable future – if not the actual last one. Romain was seeing the bank manager tomorrow morning with a business plan, plus their accounts for the last four years, and was optimistic that they would get a mortgage. Definitely not for the Belle Epoque villa but hopefully for something else. Sandy wished she could share his optimism, but a quick look on the internet had showed her there were very few villas in what they had defined as their price range. If only there was something like Villa Celestia available on a permanent basis.
