Daisy's French Farmhouse, page 17
“It wasn’t bad.” I stare at him imploringly, lest he think his dead wife hates me and this is some kind of sign… “Well, I’d better go now.”
Anton waves a hand in Pickle’s direction. “I shall wash it and…”
“No, it’s fine. Please don’t. Just, umm, dispose of it please?” Pickle ranks several of Anton’s odd socks amongst his favourite toys, stolen and hidden around the house, but I draw the line at having my bra carried around the house and presented to visitors.
And there’s just no way I could ever wear it again.
“And you’re definitely okay to cycle?” Anton frowns at me, following me down to the front door, dogs following at his heels. “I’m really not sure it’s such a good idea if you’ve banged your head badly.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s really not far.” I hurry out of the house, feeling an urgent need to get away. My head really is sore and I know Anton was probably right about my not cycling but the urge to escape the intensity and awkwardness is stronger than my common sense at the moment.
I’m feeling better after a shower and a lie-down. Later that evening, Cal has disappeared with Leo to discuss possibly extending the restaurant opening hours next season and I’m enjoying a late-night hot chocolate sitting with JoJo and Poppy at the kitchen table. It’s a comforting ritual by now and one designed to get me to share all the gossip. Apparently I’d mumbled something about Claire and losing my bra and Anton being strange about it all. I’d made no sense and they made sure I had a sleep but kept checking on me and waking me once an hour to see I was okay when I mentioned about the bang to my head.
Now that I’m feeling more with it, they’re dying with curiosity to know what on earth happened at Anton’s today.
They react with horrified shock when I explain about Claire’s urn and are suitably sympathetic when I explain about feeling overwhelmed and the bang to my head. Once I go on to describe the clean-up operation and stuffing my bra out of the way in a dog bed they seem to find it hysterically funny though. So much so, particularly when I get to the bit about Pickle wanting to play with the bra and presenting it to Anton, that I find myself half groaning, half laughing with them.
“I wish I’d been there to see the look on Anton’s face,” JoJo says, and her comment has the effect of sobering me instantly.
“Hmm, I’m worried it might affect things between us.” I stare down into the cup. Not even JoJo’s hot chocolate can completely rid of me the feeling of unease. “Don’t get me wrong, he was concerned about my head and kept telling me not to worry and that accidents happen, but he was really pale. I think it was a real shock to him.”
“So, what is the thing that’s bothering you the most, Daisy?” Poppy asks. “You didn’t pick up anything… bad from the ashes, did you?”
“No, not at all. There was absolutely no sense of any negative feeling or intention.” I frown. “I think it was just that I felt too much at once; it was like my system was overloaded. I suppose my biggest fear is that because Claire is the reason Anton pulled back in the first place, what if this causes him to pull back again?”
“Just take things slow, Daisy. If Anton has more things to process then maybe just give him the space to do that,” Poppy suggests gently. “I think it’s one of those things you just have to let play out on its own. It’s not exactly like any of us can know what’s ahead of us, really. Sometimes we just have to take a risk.”
JoJo nods her agreement. “She’s right, I’m afraid. If you overthink everything you could end up sabotaging yourself or not getting to enjoy the start of a lovely relationship because you’re worrying about the middle or the possible end. Just enjoy it.”
“She’s right, you know,” says Poppy. “Save the angsting for when you really need it.”
“That wasn’t quite the message I was going for actually.” JoJo laughs and rolls her eyes.
“Are you bothered by what happened, Daisy?” Poppy asks perceptively. “Not worried about Anton’s reaction but concerned by anything on your own behalf?”
“Maybe a little.” I shrug. “He hardly ever talks about Claire and it bothers me a bit. I think it would be more natural if he did mention her and healthier somehow. But I don’t want to force the issue.”
“I think it’s like JoJo said,” Poppy adds. “This is early days in your relationship. Try to just enjoy it and let things work themselves out naturally.”
“Or if you really get frustrated by it and find it a problem you can just ask him outright. Make it clear you’re absolutely fine with him talking about Claire,” JoJo says. “If going out with Cal has taught me anything it’s that men are not mind readers and they can get odd notions in their heads or operate under the influence of a misunderstanding, thinking they’re doing exactly what we want. If you want to avoid that then you need to use clear and direct communication. No assuming they know what might seem completely obvious to us. No assumptions at all, just to play it safe.”
“True.” Poppy nods. “I’d say it’s just a question of giving him time to get to know you but Leo still needs me to spell things out really clearly.”
“Is someone taking our names in vain?” Leo asks, entering the kitchen with Maxi, the large Pyrenean mountain dog at his heels. Cal follows closely behind.
“It’s as I thought,” Cal says. “They talk about us all the time because they haven’t got anything more interesting to talk about.”
“Oh please.” JoJo rolls her eyes scornfully even though we had just been talking about them.
“Actually, we were talking about Daisy’s upcoming birthday,” Poppy says, and I admire her use of a diversionary tactic.
“Does Anton know it’s your birthday coming up soon?” JoJo sips the last of her hot chocolate and sighs contentedly.
“No, of course not and I’m not going to tell him.” I reach down to pick up Pickwick who’s tapping at my leg asking for a lift up. He’s not as nimble as Flump or the chihuahuas who can all leap quite amazing heights for their size and tend to just arrive rather than wait for an invitation. I give him a cuddle on my lap. “That would make it look like I’m telling him because I’m expecting him to do something special or buy me a present or something. It would make me feel awkward; it’s too soon in our relationship.”
“Well we’ll have to do something to celebrate your birthday,” Poppy says.
“If Cal’s in the country for it we could get him to cook you a special meal,” JoJo offers.
“That’s very kind of you to volunteer his services but he must get sick of cooking surely. I don’t want to create extra work for anyone.” I look anxiously over at Cal but he just winks at me.
“I never get sick of cooking and I’d be happy to cook a special meal for you, but if you’d rather go out somewhere special it might be difficult to do in the evening but we could probably all manage to go out for lunch and then Anton could come along without it being too much pressure.”
“Thanks,” I say, still feeling overawed that Callum O’Connor, celebrity chef, would be willing to cook for me.
I stroke the back of Pickwick’s head and he tilts it back towards me, enjoying the fuss.
“Whatever you’d prefer,” JoJo says. “It’s completely up to you. I don’t want to make you feel awkward.”
“I think after today I’ve set the bar pretty high for feeling awkward.” I smile. “Anything else will be a breeze by comparison.”
Cal and Leo look at us enquiringly but I give Poppy and JoJo a tiny shake of my head. Some stories are definitely not for public consumption.
“That’s the spirit.” JoJo grins.
I rub the lump on the back of my head absentmindedly. I swear it’s getting bigger and it’s really tender.
“Are you okay, Daisy?” Poppy peers across the table at me. “How is the head?”
“Okay.” I nod and then wince, wishing I hadn’t. “Maybe not quite as okay as all that.”
“Maybe an early night would be a good idea.” JoJo gets up and starts tidying away the empty mugs into the dishwasher. I stand up too and put Pickwick down on the floor.
“I thought you said you were feeling better?” Poppy frowns. “No nausea or any other head injury symptoms you’ve neglected to mention?”
“Just a headache,” I say. “I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”
“Take Pickwick with you tonight then – he looks like he needs extra cuddles.” Poppy picks him up and puts him back into my arms. I know she thinks I’m the one in need of cuddles, rather than Pickwick, who gets wall-to-wall cuddles and fuss as it is. He does really enjoy the one-on-one attention though and as I’m still feeling a little odd I gratefully accept.
“Okay, thanks, I’m off to bed then.” I head towards the back door. “I must say I like these canine hot water bottles that stay warm all night and don’t need refilling.”
“You probably won’t be saying that on a baking-hot night in the height of an August heatwave. We’ve been lucky so far and the nights haven’t been too bad yet,” Poppy replies. “But yes, I take your point. Enjoy your cuddles, both of you!”
The next time I see Anton is a Monday morning when I’m picking the dogs up at the bookshop to take them out for a long walk with instructions to “wear them out so they sleep all afternoon”. I’m not sure it’s actually possible to wear Squeaker out to that extent. She seems to have a fairly quick battery re-charge time. Anton’s being perfectly friendly but is busy with some documents he’s brought to the shop to appraise so it’s hard to tell whether everything is okay with us given it’s perfectly normal for him to get preoccupied and a little distant when he’s engrossed in his work.
Monday is market day in Mirepoix, which means the place has become a heaving throng of tourists, locals, and stallholders by the time I return from the long river walk. There are so many delicious-looking treats and interesting artisan craft stalls that I’d love to browse and take my time perusing but there are also lots of other dogs and it’s quite the crush so I focus on getting Pickle and Squeaker back to Anton.
Eventually I make my way through to the side street and push open the door to the bookshop, the dogs close at my heels. I love the old-fashioned tinkling sound that announces our arrival. I love the feel of the bookshop, so peaceful, especially after the noisy crowds in the square. It’s nice to see so many independent shops down the narrow side streets that lead from the market square.
Anton looks up from his desk in the corner and smiles. It’s that gorgeous smile, the one that always gets me, makes me feel lit-up inside. I smile widely back automatically. I really do hope things are okay between us. There seemed to be a slight distance in Anton’s texts since the urn incident. I wish I knew what he was thinking and that I could get him to understand the way touching the urn and the ashes affected me. Can he really understand though? Especially if he’s never experienced anything similar himself.
I’ve been so used to people in the past deciding I’m crazy, because they can’t understand me and think I must have some hidden agenda to scam them. The fact I’ve never, ever tried to market my ability or charge money for intentionally using my gift doesn’t make any difference to their attitude. I’m positive Anton doesn’t think I’m a scammer but I never really explained to him why I ran off the first time it happened with him, when I touched the grimoire. Maybe explaining some of my history, especially surrounding how I’ve been treated because of incidents I couldn’t control, might help him understand me better.
“It’s packed out there.” I bend to unclip the dogs’ leads and they go to flop on the cool tiled floor behind Anton’s desk after having a long slurpy drink from the bowl of water he keeps for them there.
I must admit I’m pretty thirsty too, and not particularly looking forward to cycling back to the guesthouse just yet. I look at the cool floor tiles and am tempted to flop down next to the dogs.
“Would you like to get some lunch?” Anton asks, closing the books. He puts away the papers he was working on and gets to his feet.
“Yes, I’d love that, but what about the dogs? It’s a bit of a scrum out there.” I hesitate. “You know, like a rugby scrum?”
“Yes, I know,” he says, picking up his shop keys. “I’ll close up for a little bit. I could do with a break and I think the dogs are so worn out they’re just going to sleep.”
“They had a nice time playing in the river,” I say, and follow Anton out of the shop, waiting while he locks up.
He nods hello to the man who owns the antique shop. The man nods back but is also gazing at me with blatant curiosity.
“Pickle is coming on so well lately and it’s definitely down to you.” Anton reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “I’m really grateful.”
“It’s my pleasure, really it is,” I reply, enjoying walking hand in hand with Anton. I’m glad that things are starting to feel a bit more… relaxed between us now. “Honestly, I love seeing him come out of his shell. I know he has his moments still but they’re a lot less frequent than they used to be. And Squeaker has always been such a joyful little thing but I’m sure Pickle being happier must make her feel more settled too.”
“Yes, I’m sure it does. I think you’re having a good influence on all of us.” He squeezes my hand. The tone of his voice is gentle and I feel a soft sigh of relief escape my lips.
“So, where are we going to go?” I ask, looking around at the square which seems to be pretty packed.
“How about Le Chapelier Fou?” Anton points to a café over the other side of the main square.
“Is that the Mad Hatter, the Alice in Wonderland themed café? Poppy was telling me about it.”
“Yes, it’s run by an English lady. You can even get a decent bacon sandwich there – that’s what Claire used to say anyway. I thought you might like it.”
The grasp of his hand in mine remains firm and I’m glad he’s mentioning her without it feeling in the least bit awkward.
“A bacon sandwich? I’m definitely fancying one now,” I say lightly. “Do you think that’s awful, that I come to France and still crave English food occasionally?”
“Well, nobody is perfect.” He laughs and I turn to him, raising my eyebrows in mock outrage.
The atmosphere feels much more relaxed between us now and Anton seems happy for me to take my time looking at the stalls, admiring the homemade jewellery being sold and the beautiful racks of screen-printed silk scarves. As we cross the square in the middle we pass a stall with some eye-catching pottery for sale – beautiful glazed vases of all shapes and sizes and mostly coloured with swirls of bronze and turquoise glaze. They remind me of the ocean somehow. I stop to touch one of them, mesmerised by it. All of a sudden I’m suffused with warmth, with love and laughter and an image of running on the beach with Anton. Startled, I withdraw my hand quickly.
I glance at him to see if he’s noticed I’m acting oddly and he obviously has as his face is pale. The stallholder greets him and they speak quietly in such low tones I can’t translate what they’re saying in French, just pick up the odd words.
Anton still has a firm grip on my hand as we make our way to a table that has just been vacated outside the Mad Hatter Café.
We sit opposite each other. Anton doesn’t look at the menu but stares pensively back at the pottery stall.
“Is everything okay, Anton?” I ask, tentatively.
He meets my eye. “What did you feel, Daisy?”
Briefly I consider lying; this is too soon after the urn incident but I’m only briefly tempted. There can be no real relationship between us if he can’t accept all of me, including my odder quirks.
“I felt warmth, love, and sunshine, and running on the beach with… erm well, with you.” I shrug. “I just felt drawn to that stall in particular. I can’t really explain why.”
“So no one told you what Claire used to do?” He runs a hand through his unruly hair, still appearing shaken.
“Used to do?” I ask blankly. “No. Why? Oh, I see, the vases. She made them? But…”
At that moment a waitress comes over to take our order. Anton orders an omelette and a coffee and I order a bacon and sausage sandwich and an orange juice, making sure to ask for ice. I really need to cool down.
When the waitress leaves we’re quiet for a minute, surrounded by the bustle of the market and the conversations of people at the tables around us.
“Yes, she was a potter,” he says eventually. “Though she didn’t sell directly at the market. After she died I sold the rest of her stock; the pieces I didn’t want to keep for myself, I gave to Francine to sell.”
“She was extremely talented,” I say gently, reaching out my hand to lay it on his.
“She would be happy to know her art was still being sold, going out to brighten up other people’s homes,” he says. “That’s why I wanted her work to continue to be sold; she would’ve wanted that.”
“They are really beautiful.” I smile and he eventually smiles back.
“Sorry.” He shakes his head. “It was just weird for me. You being able to… it’s hard to understand.”
“No need to apologise,” I say. “Really, I do understand it’s strange for you. It’s difficult emotionally anyway, and then you’ve got my reactions when I touch things relating to her to cope with too. It must be odd to get your head around.”
“I felt your reaction this time,” he says, meeting my eye directly. “I knew you’d felt her, even though rationally I can’t understand it, I knew. Maybe because I was holding your hand? Or because there’s a bond between us now? I don't understand it.”
“Welcome to my world,” I joke.
We are interrupted again with the arrival of our order.
The cold drink is very welcome and I take several long sips while we wait for privacy again.
“Tell me about your world,” Anton says, looking at me intently and I know for sure he’s not humouring me. He really wants to know, wants to try to understand.
So I tell him about how awkward it was growing up with the ability. How my grandmother encouraged me and had the same gift and the subsequent rift with my mum. Then the pressure to conform as a teenager and the bullying when I wasn’t able to hide some reactions when my gift kicked in.
Anton waves a hand in Pickle’s direction. “I shall wash it and…”
“No, it’s fine. Please don’t. Just, umm, dispose of it please?” Pickle ranks several of Anton’s odd socks amongst his favourite toys, stolen and hidden around the house, but I draw the line at having my bra carried around the house and presented to visitors.
And there’s just no way I could ever wear it again.
“And you’re definitely okay to cycle?” Anton frowns at me, following me down to the front door, dogs following at his heels. “I’m really not sure it’s such a good idea if you’ve banged your head badly.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s really not far.” I hurry out of the house, feeling an urgent need to get away. My head really is sore and I know Anton was probably right about my not cycling but the urge to escape the intensity and awkwardness is stronger than my common sense at the moment.
I’m feeling better after a shower and a lie-down. Later that evening, Cal has disappeared with Leo to discuss possibly extending the restaurant opening hours next season and I’m enjoying a late-night hot chocolate sitting with JoJo and Poppy at the kitchen table. It’s a comforting ritual by now and one designed to get me to share all the gossip. Apparently I’d mumbled something about Claire and losing my bra and Anton being strange about it all. I’d made no sense and they made sure I had a sleep but kept checking on me and waking me once an hour to see I was okay when I mentioned about the bang to my head.
Now that I’m feeling more with it, they’re dying with curiosity to know what on earth happened at Anton’s today.
They react with horrified shock when I explain about Claire’s urn and are suitably sympathetic when I explain about feeling overwhelmed and the bang to my head. Once I go on to describe the clean-up operation and stuffing my bra out of the way in a dog bed they seem to find it hysterically funny though. So much so, particularly when I get to the bit about Pickle wanting to play with the bra and presenting it to Anton, that I find myself half groaning, half laughing with them.
“I wish I’d been there to see the look on Anton’s face,” JoJo says, and her comment has the effect of sobering me instantly.
“Hmm, I’m worried it might affect things between us.” I stare down into the cup. Not even JoJo’s hot chocolate can completely rid of me the feeling of unease. “Don’t get me wrong, he was concerned about my head and kept telling me not to worry and that accidents happen, but he was really pale. I think it was a real shock to him.”
“So, what is the thing that’s bothering you the most, Daisy?” Poppy asks. “You didn’t pick up anything… bad from the ashes, did you?”
“No, not at all. There was absolutely no sense of any negative feeling or intention.” I frown. “I think it was just that I felt too much at once; it was like my system was overloaded. I suppose my biggest fear is that because Claire is the reason Anton pulled back in the first place, what if this causes him to pull back again?”
“Just take things slow, Daisy. If Anton has more things to process then maybe just give him the space to do that,” Poppy suggests gently. “I think it’s one of those things you just have to let play out on its own. It’s not exactly like any of us can know what’s ahead of us, really. Sometimes we just have to take a risk.”
JoJo nods her agreement. “She’s right, I’m afraid. If you overthink everything you could end up sabotaging yourself or not getting to enjoy the start of a lovely relationship because you’re worrying about the middle or the possible end. Just enjoy it.”
“She’s right, you know,” says Poppy. “Save the angsting for when you really need it.”
“That wasn’t quite the message I was going for actually.” JoJo laughs and rolls her eyes.
“Are you bothered by what happened, Daisy?” Poppy asks perceptively. “Not worried about Anton’s reaction but concerned by anything on your own behalf?”
“Maybe a little.” I shrug. “He hardly ever talks about Claire and it bothers me a bit. I think it would be more natural if he did mention her and healthier somehow. But I don’t want to force the issue.”
“I think it’s like JoJo said,” Poppy adds. “This is early days in your relationship. Try to just enjoy it and let things work themselves out naturally.”
“Or if you really get frustrated by it and find it a problem you can just ask him outright. Make it clear you’re absolutely fine with him talking about Claire,” JoJo says. “If going out with Cal has taught me anything it’s that men are not mind readers and they can get odd notions in their heads or operate under the influence of a misunderstanding, thinking they’re doing exactly what we want. If you want to avoid that then you need to use clear and direct communication. No assuming they know what might seem completely obvious to us. No assumptions at all, just to play it safe.”
“True.” Poppy nods. “I’d say it’s just a question of giving him time to get to know you but Leo still needs me to spell things out really clearly.”
“Is someone taking our names in vain?” Leo asks, entering the kitchen with Maxi, the large Pyrenean mountain dog at his heels. Cal follows closely behind.
“It’s as I thought,” Cal says. “They talk about us all the time because they haven’t got anything more interesting to talk about.”
“Oh please.” JoJo rolls her eyes scornfully even though we had just been talking about them.
“Actually, we were talking about Daisy’s upcoming birthday,” Poppy says, and I admire her use of a diversionary tactic.
“Does Anton know it’s your birthday coming up soon?” JoJo sips the last of her hot chocolate and sighs contentedly.
“No, of course not and I’m not going to tell him.” I reach down to pick up Pickwick who’s tapping at my leg asking for a lift up. He’s not as nimble as Flump or the chihuahuas who can all leap quite amazing heights for their size and tend to just arrive rather than wait for an invitation. I give him a cuddle on my lap. “That would make it look like I’m telling him because I’m expecting him to do something special or buy me a present or something. It would make me feel awkward; it’s too soon in our relationship.”
“Well we’ll have to do something to celebrate your birthday,” Poppy says.
“If Cal’s in the country for it we could get him to cook you a special meal,” JoJo offers.
“That’s very kind of you to volunteer his services but he must get sick of cooking surely. I don’t want to create extra work for anyone.” I look anxiously over at Cal but he just winks at me.
“I never get sick of cooking and I’d be happy to cook a special meal for you, but if you’d rather go out somewhere special it might be difficult to do in the evening but we could probably all manage to go out for lunch and then Anton could come along without it being too much pressure.”
“Thanks,” I say, still feeling overawed that Callum O’Connor, celebrity chef, would be willing to cook for me.
I stroke the back of Pickwick’s head and he tilts it back towards me, enjoying the fuss.
“Whatever you’d prefer,” JoJo says. “It’s completely up to you. I don’t want to make you feel awkward.”
“I think after today I’ve set the bar pretty high for feeling awkward.” I smile. “Anything else will be a breeze by comparison.”
Cal and Leo look at us enquiringly but I give Poppy and JoJo a tiny shake of my head. Some stories are definitely not for public consumption.
“That’s the spirit.” JoJo grins.
I rub the lump on the back of my head absentmindedly. I swear it’s getting bigger and it’s really tender.
“Are you okay, Daisy?” Poppy peers across the table at me. “How is the head?”
“Okay.” I nod and then wince, wishing I hadn’t. “Maybe not quite as okay as all that.”
“Maybe an early night would be a good idea.” JoJo gets up and starts tidying away the empty mugs into the dishwasher. I stand up too and put Pickwick down on the floor.
“I thought you said you were feeling better?” Poppy frowns. “No nausea or any other head injury symptoms you’ve neglected to mention?”
“Just a headache,” I say. “I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”
“Take Pickwick with you tonight then – he looks like he needs extra cuddles.” Poppy picks him up and puts him back into my arms. I know she thinks I’m the one in need of cuddles, rather than Pickwick, who gets wall-to-wall cuddles and fuss as it is. He does really enjoy the one-on-one attention though and as I’m still feeling a little odd I gratefully accept.
“Okay, thanks, I’m off to bed then.” I head towards the back door. “I must say I like these canine hot water bottles that stay warm all night and don’t need refilling.”
“You probably won’t be saying that on a baking-hot night in the height of an August heatwave. We’ve been lucky so far and the nights haven’t been too bad yet,” Poppy replies. “But yes, I take your point. Enjoy your cuddles, both of you!”
The next time I see Anton is a Monday morning when I’m picking the dogs up at the bookshop to take them out for a long walk with instructions to “wear them out so they sleep all afternoon”. I’m not sure it’s actually possible to wear Squeaker out to that extent. She seems to have a fairly quick battery re-charge time. Anton’s being perfectly friendly but is busy with some documents he’s brought to the shop to appraise so it’s hard to tell whether everything is okay with us given it’s perfectly normal for him to get preoccupied and a little distant when he’s engrossed in his work.
Monday is market day in Mirepoix, which means the place has become a heaving throng of tourists, locals, and stallholders by the time I return from the long river walk. There are so many delicious-looking treats and interesting artisan craft stalls that I’d love to browse and take my time perusing but there are also lots of other dogs and it’s quite the crush so I focus on getting Pickle and Squeaker back to Anton.
Eventually I make my way through to the side street and push open the door to the bookshop, the dogs close at my heels. I love the old-fashioned tinkling sound that announces our arrival. I love the feel of the bookshop, so peaceful, especially after the noisy crowds in the square. It’s nice to see so many independent shops down the narrow side streets that lead from the market square.
Anton looks up from his desk in the corner and smiles. It’s that gorgeous smile, the one that always gets me, makes me feel lit-up inside. I smile widely back automatically. I really do hope things are okay between us. There seemed to be a slight distance in Anton’s texts since the urn incident. I wish I knew what he was thinking and that I could get him to understand the way touching the urn and the ashes affected me. Can he really understand though? Especially if he’s never experienced anything similar himself.
I’ve been so used to people in the past deciding I’m crazy, because they can’t understand me and think I must have some hidden agenda to scam them. The fact I’ve never, ever tried to market my ability or charge money for intentionally using my gift doesn’t make any difference to their attitude. I’m positive Anton doesn’t think I’m a scammer but I never really explained to him why I ran off the first time it happened with him, when I touched the grimoire. Maybe explaining some of my history, especially surrounding how I’ve been treated because of incidents I couldn’t control, might help him understand me better.
“It’s packed out there.” I bend to unclip the dogs’ leads and they go to flop on the cool tiled floor behind Anton’s desk after having a long slurpy drink from the bowl of water he keeps for them there.
I must admit I’m pretty thirsty too, and not particularly looking forward to cycling back to the guesthouse just yet. I look at the cool floor tiles and am tempted to flop down next to the dogs.
“Would you like to get some lunch?” Anton asks, closing the books. He puts away the papers he was working on and gets to his feet.
“Yes, I’d love that, but what about the dogs? It’s a bit of a scrum out there.” I hesitate. “You know, like a rugby scrum?”
“Yes, I know,” he says, picking up his shop keys. “I’ll close up for a little bit. I could do with a break and I think the dogs are so worn out they’re just going to sleep.”
“They had a nice time playing in the river,” I say, and follow Anton out of the shop, waiting while he locks up.
He nods hello to the man who owns the antique shop. The man nods back but is also gazing at me with blatant curiosity.
“Pickle is coming on so well lately and it’s definitely down to you.” Anton reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “I’m really grateful.”
“It’s my pleasure, really it is,” I reply, enjoying walking hand in hand with Anton. I’m glad that things are starting to feel a bit more… relaxed between us now. “Honestly, I love seeing him come out of his shell. I know he has his moments still but they’re a lot less frequent than they used to be. And Squeaker has always been such a joyful little thing but I’m sure Pickle being happier must make her feel more settled too.”
“Yes, I’m sure it does. I think you’re having a good influence on all of us.” He squeezes my hand. The tone of his voice is gentle and I feel a soft sigh of relief escape my lips.
“So, where are we going to go?” I ask, looking around at the square which seems to be pretty packed.
“How about Le Chapelier Fou?” Anton points to a café over the other side of the main square.
“Is that the Mad Hatter, the Alice in Wonderland themed café? Poppy was telling me about it.”
“Yes, it’s run by an English lady. You can even get a decent bacon sandwich there – that’s what Claire used to say anyway. I thought you might like it.”
The grasp of his hand in mine remains firm and I’m glad he’s mentioning her without it feeling in the least bit awkward.
“A bacon sandwich? I’m definitely fancying one now,” I say lightly. “Do you think that’s awful, that I come to France and still crave English food occasionally?”
“Well, nobody is perfect.” He laughs and I turn to him, raising my eyebrows in mock outrage.
The atmosphere feels much more relaxed between us now and Anton seems happy for me to take my time looking at the stalls, admiring the homemade jewellery being sold and the beautiful racks of screen-printed silk scarves. As we cross the square in the middle we pass a stall with some eye-catching pottery for sale – beautiful glazed vases of all shapes and sizes and mostly coloured with swirls of bronze and turquoise glaze. They remind me of the ocean somehow. I stop to touch one of them, mesmerised by it. All of a sudden I’m suffused with warmth, with love and laughter and an image of running on the beach with Anton. Startled, I withdraw my hand quickly.
I glance at him to see if he’s noticed I’m acting oddly and he obviously has as his face is pale. The stallholder greets him and they speak quietly in such low tones I can’t translate what they’re saying in French, just pick up the odd words.
Anton still has a firm grip on my hand as we make our way to a table that has just been vacated outside the Mad Hatter Café.
We sit opposite each other. Anton doesn’t look at the menu but stares pensively back at the pottery stall.
“Is everything okay, Anton?” I ask, tentatively.
He meets my eye. “What did you feel, Daisy?”
Briefly I consider lying; this is too soon after the urn incident but I’m only briefly tempted. There can be no real relationship between us if he can’t accept all of me, including my odder quirks.
“I felt warmth, love, and sunshine, and running on the beach with… erm well, with you.” I shrug. “I just felt drawn to that stall in particular. I can’t really explain why.”
“So no one told you what Claire used to do?” He runs a hand through his unruly hair, still appearing shaken.
“Used to do?” I ask blankly. “No. Why? Oh, I see, the vases. She made them? But…”
At that moment a waitress comes over to take our order. Anton orders an omelette and a coffee and I order a bacon and sausage sandwich and an orange juice, making sure to ask for ice. I really need to cool down.
When the waitress leaves we’re quiet for a minute, surrounded by the bustle of the market and the conversations of people at the tables around us.
“Yes, she was a potter,” he says eventually. “Though she didn’t sell directly at the market. After she died I sold the rest of her stock; the pieces I didn’t want to keep for myself, I gave to Francine to sell.”
“She was extremely talented,” I say gently, reaching out my hand to lay it on his.
“She would be happy to know her art was still being sold, going out to brighten up other people’s homes,” he says. “That’s why I wanted her work to continue to be sold; she would’ve wanted that.”
“They are really beautiful.” I smile and he eventually smiles back.
“Sorry.” He shakes his head. “It was just weird for me. You being able to… it’s hard to understand.”
“No need to apologise,” I say. “Really, I do understand it’s strange for you. It’s difficult emotionally anyway, and then you’ve got my reactions when I touch things relating to her to cope with too. It must be odd to get your head around.”
“I felt your reaction this time,” he says, meeting my eye directly. “I knew you’d felt her, even though rationally I can’t understand it, I knew. Maybe because I was holding your hand? Or because there’s a bond between us now? I don't understand it.”
“Welcome to my world,” I joke.
We are interrupted again with the arrival of our order.
The cold drink is very welcome and I take several long sips while we wait for privacy again.
“Tell me about your world,” Anton says, looking at me intently and I know for sure he’s not humouring me. He really wants to know, wants to try to understand.
So I tell him about how awkward it was growing up with the ability. How my grandmother encouraged me and had the same gift and the subsequent rift with my mum. Then the pressure to conform as a teenager and the bullying when I wasn’t able to hide some reactions when my gift kicked in.
