BooksBarbecue
Back Escape to the French Farmhouse
Chapters (79)
  1. COVER
  2. About the Author
  3. Also by Jo Thomas
  4. DEDICATION
  5. ONE
  6. TWO
  7. THREE
  8. FOUR
  9. FIVE
  10. SIX
  11. SEVEN
  12. EIGHT
  13. NINE
  14. TEN
  15. ELEVEN
  16. TWELVE
  17. THIRTEEN
  18. FOURTEEN
  19. FIFTEEN
  20. SIXTEEN
  21. SEVENTEEN
  22. EIGHTEEN
  23. NINETEEN
  24. TWENTY
  25. TWENTY-ONE
  26. TWENTY-TWO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. TWENTY-FOUR
  29. TWENTY-FIVE
  30. TWENTY-SIX
  31. TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. TWENTY-NINE
  34. THIRTY
  35. THIRTY-ONE
  36. THIRTY-TWO
  37. THIRTY-THREE
  38. THIRTY-FOUR
  39. THIRTY-FIVE
  40. THIRTY-SIX
  41. THIRTY-SEVEN
  42. THIRTY-EIGHT
  43. THIRTY-NINE
  44. FORTY
  45. FORTY-ONE
  46. FORTY-TWO
  47. FORTY-THREE
  48. FORTY-FOUR
  49. FORTY-FIVE
  50. FORTY-SIX
  51. FORTY-SEVEN
  52. FORTY-EIGHT
  53. FORTY-NINE
  54. FIFTY
  55. FIFTY-ONE
  56. FIFTY-TWO
  57. FIFTY-THREE
  58. FIFTY-FOUR
  59. FIFTY-FIVE
  60. FIFTY-SIX
  61. FIFTY-SEVEN
  62. FIFTY-EIGHT
  63. FIFTY-NINE
  64. SIXTY
  65. SIXTY-ONE
  66. SIXTY-TWO
  67. Epilogue
  68. Acknowledgements
  69. RECIPES
  70. Lavender shortbread
  71. Apricot jam sponge cake
  72. Lavender lamb
  73. READ MORE
  74. Prologue
  75. ONE
  76. TWO
  77. THREE
  78. FOUR
  79. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

‘The dog’s friendly,’ I say quickly, then look down to her knee, and up again at the girl, who is suddenly unsure, watching my face. ‘You have a child,’ I say quietly. The little one giggles again, Ralph barks playfully – and everything drops into place. She was taking fruit the other day from the strawberry stall, and now the biscuits, not for her but for the little boy, who is holding a tuile in one hand and pointing at Ralph with the other. She picks him up and holds him to her on her hip. Something in me twists at the sight of him smiling, crumbs around his mouth and over his hands, holding the girl’s plait and covering that with crumbs too.

‘Maman,’ he says, and tries to poke the biscuit into her mouth, clearly used to sharing food, but she moves her mouth away.

‘Non, mange!’ she tells him. Eat. She is doing what anyone would, feeding her child first. But how old can she be? Sixteen, seventeen? Certainly no more than eighteen. A child herself.

‘Is …’ I say tentatively, ‘… is he yours?’ I smile at him. He points at Ralph, who pants, his tongue hanging out of his grinning mouth. And right now, I think Ralph is the best dog in the world. We may not have got off to a great start, but I couldn’t love him more for being Ralph.

‘Yes! He’s mine,’ she snaps back. ‘I am a good mother!’

‘Yes, yes! I’m sure you are.’ Outside the room people are still going up and down the stairs, men’s voices shouting, and I wonder how on earth she can live like this. I feel sick, realizing how full of pity I was for myself the night Ollie left. But I have a house and it feels safe. Not like this place. The little boy points to me and smiles. I have no idea how to talk to children – I’m not used to being around them. I don’t have nephews or nieces, and I’d kept my distance from friends who were having babies and then second babies. It was like a world I wasn’t a part of. Some tried to include me, asking me to be godmother, but I declined. I always felt on the back foot when I saw them, trying to work out how to speak to the children or hold them. It just made me more awkward. In the end, I turned down the invitations to birthday parties and days out. I felt I was on show, having to play a part. I couldn’t have kids so I was labelled the ‘fun aunt’. But it wasn’t fun: it was strained. And the hole inside my heart got bigger. But I smile back at this little boy and reach out a hand to touch his.