problem,” he’d said. “You’ve got me to handle all that side of things for you. I’ll pay for it all. That will be my contribution.”
Remembering the words, I snort, feeling hysterical laughter bubbling up inside.
“Are you okay, sweetie? Are we still at the fuck stage?” Michelle asks cautiously.
“Definitely, absolutely,” I say. “As in I have been, and not in a good way.”
“You can do it without him.” Michelle sounds like she’s trying to inject enough confidence for the both of us into her words.
“Yes, I know I can,” I lie.
“Of course.” Even Michelle doesn’t sound convinced.
My own best friend isn’t sure I can make it. My parents certainly think I can’t. Something stirs inside me as I look at The Poppy House, like the house is reproaching me. I’m filled with an indignation, a determination to bloody well prove everyone wrong, even myself, and succeed.
“Other people do this and make it work, so why shouldn’t I?”
I deliberately move away from talking about Pete. I need to focus on something positive. The statistics about the numbers of Brit expats who don’t make it and return home briefly flit into my mind, and I soundly bat them away again. I only know about them thanks to Mum, who made sure I saw the article in the newspaper when she was trying to talk me out of the move.
Instead I think about Gran and how much she would’ve loved this house. It was Gran who inspired my love of France. When my older sisters were off doing the Duke of Edinburgh award or building orphanages in Africa, I used to travel with Gran – Champagne, The Alps, Côte d’Azur, Provence and the Pyrenees. She took me on my first trip to the medieval fortified city of Carcassonne. I was only twelve, but it made a big impression on me. She told me that Walt Disney was inspired to create the famous Disney logo when he visited the city with its cobbled streets and fairy tale spires.
Something about this area called me back when we were house hunting.
Then, when I walked up the track to Les Coquelicots for the viewing, I knew instantly. The certainty was so absolute I cancelled all the other viewings.
I know Gran would love this house.
My house.
She wouldn’t care that inside there’s no kitchen to speak of – just an ancient range backed up by an old electric cooker, a butler’s sink and a few shelves. The plumbing and electricity “need updating,” as estate agents put it. It just needs some TLC. As I stare at the house with its wild cottage garden leading up to the woods and the jagged mountain peaks in the distance, my heart does skip, just a little.
So it’s not broken then. Not irrevocably, anyway.
In spite of its sheer impracticality, I love it all. The house crying out to be loved and filled with life. The land that’s bigger than my local park back home. The impossibly wild, tangled woodland I don’t know how to care for.
This feels like coming home. I just wish I wasn’t coming home alone. It’s a big old house for one person and three miniature dogs.
“Are you still there, Poppy?” Michelle’s anxious tone cuts into my thoughts. She’s used to me drifting off. From our very first day of secondary school, when Michelle decided I was going to be her best friend. Her mum used to say I was having a “fairy” moment when I drifted off into a daydream, as in I was “away with them.” So, when I got the commission for the Fenella Fairy books, it seemed kind of appropriate.
“Yes. I’m here. Just about.” I swallow hard, trying to forget how Pete and I toured the bedrooms and talked about what might make the best room for a nursery one day. Maybe.
One day.
My jaw clenches with the effort of holding it all in. How did I miss this? I feel so utterly stupid.
“I wish I could get on a plane and come straight over there, but it’s not that easy now with the kidlets and then Tom being away from home four days a week for work.” Michelle sighs. “Would you like me to go around to Pete’s flat and sew rotten fish into his curtain linings? Do you still have his spare key? Or I could just let the kids loose in it for a few hours. They’ll trash his flat, no problem.”
In spite of myself, I giggle. I’m not entirely sure she’s joking.
“No. It’s okay. Well, no, it’s not really, but I just needed to connect. To hear a friendly voice, you know. To remind myself that I’m not totally alone in the world…” The pain in my jaw increases, and my voice wobbles with the realisation that I know no one here, no one at all.
“Of course you’re not alone, you daft cow. Why do you think God invented the Internet?” Michelle exclaims indignantly. “I’m going to write you a long list of all the reasons why you’re fabulous and then a second one about why Pete is a rude word beginning with C I can’t say right now because of little ears. I’ll email it over, okay? Have you got a good enough phone signal for email? I assume you’ve still got to get Wi-Fi sorted out?”
I check the bars on my phone. “Yes, I’ve got a full signal on my mobile. Here at the gate, anyway.”
I hear a crash and shriek at Michelle’s end.
“I’ve got to go now.” Michelle sounds harried. “But I’ll email soon. I can breastfeed and type at the same time now. I’ve got it down to a fine art.”
“Thanks, Michelle. I’ll be okay, you know.” I’m determined not to let her hear the catch in my throat.
“I know you’ll be okay,” she replies emphatically, as though by saying it we can make it true. “Now go explore your new house. I hope you’ve got some booze in?”
“Uh, yes, of course. I’ll toast you.” I don’t mention it’s the champagne I was keeping to break open with Pete when he got down here to celebrate the new house and us moving in together. “I ought to go and let the dogs out anyway. Thanks, Michelle.”
Once I’ve disconnected the call and manoeuvred the car through the gate, I let the dogs out to explore. Within minutes of excited sniffing, there’s a three-way, miniature-Yorkie-chihuahua chase going on. They all seem to know the rules of the game of tag somehow, trying to fool each other by changing the direction as they hurtle around bushes. Peanut performs her usual acrobatics – a mixture of forward and sideways rolls as well as dancing around on her hind legs like a little meerkat ballerina. When I first got her from the rescue centre, I was sure she must be some kind of meerkat/baby kangaroo hybrid as she spent so much time hopping around on her hind legs. She never fails to make me smile.
She’s certainly the smallest dog I’ve ever seen, but with a personality so huge I don’t know where she can possibly be keeping it all. The other two boy dogs obey her without question.
The dogs didn’t have the space to do this kind of racing round back home. The garden was tiny, and I was always worried about bigger dogs at the park. Their sheer, unbridled exuberance lifts my spirits. Treacle, the other chihuahua, is also a rescue dog and is still quite timid with humans. Then, shortly after I adopted him, I inherited Pickwick from Gran. Luckily he already knew the chihuahuas and loves joining in with their games. They might all be tiny, but they like a large space to
