Chapter Twenty-Five
When finally I arrived in Brest, my father was waiting. He had this disappointed look on his face — the same look he used to have when he was displeased with something I’d done. My heart sank. He’d rarely given me that look as he was seldom displeased with me. I greeted him with an enthusiastic hug anyway.
“Ma Cherie, you’re looking wonderful,” he commented.
“Marriage is agreeing with me,” I responded.
I noted a grimace. “Your mother will have your favorite bouillabaisse ready by the time we’re home.”
“Três magnifique. I’m starving.”
He took my bag and we headed for the car.
We made small talk on the ride home. I wanted him to ask about my honeymoon or about married life. But he didn’t and I didn’t volunteer. Finally we pulled into the driveway of the gray stone two-story home. The white shutters needed painting and the wooden gate squeaked as I opened it. I wished I could help with the gardening like I used to. It looked overgrown. The lilac bush nearly reached my bedroom window.
At dinner I filled my parents in on the best parts of our honeymoon. “I’ll try and visit after the tour,” I added.
“I thought you’d get a job like last summer,” my mother continued.
“I make more selling postcards and also get educated visiting different places.”
“I hope it doesn’t fall apart like Liverpool.” I wished my mother didn’t look so grim.
“Be sure to check in with us once in awhile,” my father added. “It would put our minds at ease knowing you’re safe.”
“I’ll try,” I responded. “Speaking of which, I promised Keith I’d call.” I excused myself and left the room.
The phone barely rang twice before Keith picked up. “This better be who I want or I’m offing myself right now.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “Who did you want it to be?”
“Oh, it’s you, is it? I expected that ginger groupie . . . I mean, I hoped it was you.”
I giggled again. “I have a lot of red hair, mais je ne suis pas une groupie,”
“I get so randy when you speak French. It’s very sexy. I’m so despondent over you not being here I can’t think of a response. Please don’t hold it against me.”
I giggled. “I’d love to hold myself against you,”
“Well I guess you don’t miss me as much if you can be so clever. I’m crushed.” This time I stifled my laughter. “I do miss you. I’d love you to come here again.”
“When hell freezes over. Promise to hold yourself against me when you return?”
“Naturellement.
“You’re speaking French again. You’re torturing me, you know. I’ll stick the phone down my Levis and we’ll shag that way,?”
“Tu garcon vilain,” I squealed.
“You know you love it when I’m naughty and you’re only making this worse.”
I couldn’t control my laughter.
“I can put on an exemplary show tonight because I heard from you.”
“You always put on exemplary shows. Je reverai de vous ce soir.”
“Right, that’s it. Wait while I put the phone down my trousers. If you’re going to dream about me tonight, I want you to dream about us banging each other.”
I shrieked with laughter, before quickly restraining myself lest my parents figure out what our conversation was about.
We ended our conversation. As I replaced the phone I overheard my father say, “Apparently he makes her happy, but I give it a year tops. Once she graduates and starts a career, she’ll come to her senses.”
I returned to the kitchen, my good mood quickly dwindling, collapsed onto a chair across from them, wanting to be anywhere but where I was.
“I trust everything is well,” my father commented. “You certainly seemed to enjoy your conversation”
“I did.” I felt myself blush and hoped it wasn’t noticed.
“You know marriage is a sacred commitment and you run off and elope like it is some game,” my father said.
“We eloped because you two refuse to accept us and we didn’t want Keith’s biological parents finding out. We only invited the two people who supported us all along.” I tried hard to stay civil.
“What do you see in the lad? I thought we raised you to have good judgment but since you moved to London you’ve behaved irrationally. I should have listened to your mother and made you wait another year . . . ” His voice trailed off. He acted as if something horrible happened to me.
I couldn’t listen any more. I grabbed my art satchel that lay slumped in a corner. “I’m going out. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”
“But your time here is so short,” my mother complained. “I have chocolate cake and local cider for dessert.”
“I’m not in the mood,” I replied. I opened my satchel to check my supplies.
My mother gasped. “What happened to your brushes? The last time you were here that satchel was pristine and full of brushes. It looks like it’s been dragged through the streets. Being with Keith makes you irresponsible.”
“Zut!” I zipped my satchel shut. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but you’re so bent on thinking the worst, I will.” I briefly explained our last night in Paris.
This time my father gasped. “That’s exactly why you shouldn’t stay out late.”
I glared at him. “Then why didn’t you send me to a nunnery? Or place me in a glass cage? And for your information, Keith chased that rogue several blocks but lost him in an alley, then dug through bins to recover some of my items. I slung my portfolio onto my shoulder. “Don’t wait up. I may be late.” With that, I stormed from the house.
It was warm and breezy outside, but the breeze didn’t blow away my bad mood. The clouds hovered over the sea in perfect clumps and were tingeing pink. I had to hurry to capture them before dark. I walked the beach before finding my favorite rocks jutting a few feet upward. I slung my easel over one shoulder and my satchel over the other, got a foothold, grabbed few feet upward. I slung my easel over one shoulder and my satchel over the other, got a foothold, grabbed hold of another rock, inching myself up, before reaching the top. The roks flattened, providing the perfect view. I took out my paints and unrolled a piece of canvass, clipping it to my easel. I wished I had all my brushes. The waves swelled and exploded onto the beach. Each time a bit of spray wafted up to tickle me in the face as if trying to cheer me up. As beautiful as the scenery was, it couldn’t erase my disappointment.
I managed two paintings before darkness set in. I then realized I neglected to bring a torch. I would have to hurry back before it got completely dark. I tossed my brushes into my satchel and looked down to figure out the easiest way to descend. Then I noticed, to my utmost horror, the tide had devoured the beach.
“Je suis si stupide!” I yelled. I knew how quickly the tides came in on these beaches. I would have to find another way. In daylight this would be easy, but I had no torch and it was nearly dark. I hoisted my easel and satchel and meandered down the narrow path. However, as the path meandered into a wooded area, what was left of the sun did not shine through. It was pitch black. I heard the roar of the sea on my right and used trees as a guide so I didn’t fall off the cliff. The path went on forever and I hoped I hadn’t taken a wrong turn. Darkness enveloped me and I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face.
“To make matters worse, the temperature was plummeting making me shiver in my light cotton frock. The ocean spray wasn’t helping either as my clothes dampened with each crashing wave. The mist wasn’t playful now. I wasn’t even sure I was still on the path. I couldn’t see my feet and felt only moss and tree roots. I dared not speed up lest I lose my footing and end up in the surf. I’d walked these trails many times, but never at night. Surely I’d be home soon. I wasn’t sure how long I’d walked. Time seemed to stand still. The ocean spray continued pummeling me as the wind picked up.
I plodded along, terrified of losing my footing or tripping over a tree root. I strained my eyes, trying to make out any light, but only saw black. Had I strayed off the path? Would I end up spending the night in the woods, unable to find my way out until daylight? I panicked, then regained my composure. I got colder by the minute and my satchel felt heavy. I thought about leaving it and returning during the day, but then I might not find it. I’d already lost half my supplies at the hands of some rogue, so I gave it another hoist, and continued. The ocean sounded closer, which hopefully meant I was getting closer to lower ground and not wandering into the tide. Suddenly I glimpsed glints of light through the leaves. I walked faster and tripped on a root. Fortunately I regained my balance and soon stumbled to a clearing. I saw my parents’ house! Giving my satchel another boost, I quickened my pace.
“La tu es!” My Mother exclaimed when I walked in. She sounded angry with me. “Your father is looking for you. I was certain something terrible happened.”
“Oui, here I am. I got trapped by the tide,” I explained. “I had to find my way back through the woods, but forgot a torch and I’m freezing. I’m going upstairs for a soak.”
“You never did this before and you painted sunsets since you were a little girl. I stand by my previous observation you are not using sound judgment.”I no longer held my temper. “Only because you and Papa badger me so. If you hadn’t upset me, I might have remembered a torch!”
“I will not accept your marriage.”
“Mon dieu,” I groaned. “I don’t know why you can’t accept I’m old enough to make my own decisions. All you do is criticize me now!” I stomped out of the room.
I filled the bath deep, shed my damp clothes and sank beneath the floral scented bubbles. It was so relaxing I almost forgot my troubles and nearly drifted off to sleep.
I emerged from the bath and returned downstairs. My father returned, relieved I was safe. I didn’t stick around for him to chide me as my mother had, and retreated back to my room. The pink duvet was still on my bed and the walls were still pink. I flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. What will it take for my parents to accept Keith? Will they be like this after we’re married a year? Twenty years? What if we have children? I fretted over it all night.
The next morning at breakfast my father interrogated me. “Tell me, is Keith’s band going to earn any money from this tour?”
“I don’t have a crystal ball and I’m not their manager.” I didn’t give my father eye contact.
“I am not comfortable with you going on this tour,” my mother said. “You already have been mugged. How many disasters will it take before you realize you are making unwise choices? We can’t always help you out.”
This time I glared at them. “Well don’t worry! I can make it on my own and don’t need your help. Maybe coming here wasn’t a good idea.” I took my dishes to the sink. “I can’t live like a nun and I’m going on this tour and staying married to Keith!” I stormed out before they could respond and rushed to my room, slamming the door hard. I stuffed my clothes into my bag, grabbed my portfolio and headed back downstairs.
“Where are you going?” my father stood near the front door as I approached, lugging my bags.
“I’m leaving until you and Mama treat me like an adult and respect my choices.”
“I won’t accept your marriage to this lad. He’s bad news. I love you and cannot let you ruin your life.”
“If you don’t accept Keith, there’s nothing to discuss. I thought if I came here and you saw how happy I am, you’d change your mind.”
My father looked so sad I felt sorry for him. “I wish you would stay.”
“I can’t stay. You and Mama treat me like a child.”
“Ma Cherie, that’s not true. We’re disappointed you married this lad, but we do not think you are a child. Please stay.”
I cast my eyes towards the floor. “Coming here wasn’t a good idea. I should have listened to Keith. He as much said so.”
“He turned you against us.”
“No, Papa, you and Mama are pushing me away.”
“This lad is no good. I cannot stress that enough. Do not leave without saying goodbye to your mother.”
“I’ll say goodbye when she accepts I’m an adult.” With that, I gave my bags a hoist and opened the door.
“Let me at least give you a lift, “ my father said. “I would not want anything bad happening to you.”
“I don’t need you to give me a lift!” I went through the door, slamming it hard.
Though I was loaded with my bag and satchel, I ran several blocks so my father couldn’t follow, then waited for the bus. My throat started hurting. No one came after me, so I guess my parents didn’t feel guilty.
With a heavy heart, I plodded onto the bus, found a seat, and watched the scenery go by — the port, the tall masts of the moored ships. I wondered when I would see these scenes again. I never quarreled with my parents before.
A ten-minute bus ride dropped me at Place de la Liberté, the center of town. There I caught the shuttle to the airport. I was glad I had a few extra francs to pay the bus fare and hoped I wouldn’t have problems changing my return airline ticket. I originally planned to stay another day. I felt worse by the minute. My throat felt like I’d spent the night screaming and I started aching everywhere.
I arrived at the airport and waited in a queue. It took a bit of finagling, but I got my ticket changed. I was put on stand-by as this being the height of tourist season, most flights were full. I found a phone to call Keith. My throat still hurt, and I was getting increasingly congested. Why did this happen now?
By the time I landed in London, I was a right mess. The second I exited the plane Keith was jumping up and down, waving at me. I rushed to his arms.
“You better keep a safe distance,” I warned. “Je me sens soudainement terrible.”
“You’re ill? Physically or because of what happened with your parents?”
“Both!” I shot back. “I don’t need you catching this before the tour.”
“Nothing will keep me from you. Anyway, I never catch colds.”
We returned to our flat where Keith whipped me up some eggs and kippers, which I devoured with a huge cup of steaming tea.
“I’m supposed to go to Ryan’s. He has the tour schedule ready. “
“I’ll stay here,” I said. “I have a cold and need to make more postcards.”
I finished six postcards by the time Keith returned. “So let me see the itinerary,” I said. “I thought I’d write the names of the cities on my cards.”
“I have other things in mind.” He ran his hands up my legs.
“Not now, you twit,” I giggled. “I’m not feeling well and I’m up against it with making enough postcards.
“You’ll have time later. Come on, I just got you back.”
I saw a bit of white paper sticking out from the pocket of his tattered denim jacket and grabbed it. “Est ce l’itineraire?” I unfolded it and dangled it in front of him.
He tried grabbing it, but I yanked it away. “I see we play Northern England after Scotland, and what’s this? You’re playing Grimsby? Isn’t that where your parents moved?”
Keith looked pale as a ghost and grabbed the paper from me. “Let me see that.”
“I take it you haven’t looked this over?”
“No, I was in a hurry to get back to you.” He took the paper and perused it. “Fuck! Why did Ryan do that? I can’t play Grimsby. Fuck!”
“Why are you so averse to seeing them again? I understand about your mother, but your father didn’t abuse you, did he?”
”Not physically. But he never believed me. He always said to be good for Mummy. She always could explain my injuries. She said I broke my arm because I tried to play super hero and fly. I was never into super heroes and if he’d bothered knowing me, he might have suspected something and intervened.”
“Well Ryan can’t exactly cancel. Unless you can think of a good reason to get a restraining order against your parents, you’ll have to chance having contact with them.”
“That would serve my dad right if I got a restraining order. Then he’d have a clue what he did to me.”
I sighed and shook my head. “I doubt he pays attention to rock concerts anyway. You mentioned he preferred classical music.”
“I’m still having words with Ryan.”
“I wish you’d tell me what happened. You hide part of yourself, then your demons break out and I don’t like what I see then.”
“When you’re with me I can conquer the world. Frank and Louisa are my parents. Come on, we’ll go out for fish and chips.”
“I don’t feel like going out. Can you bring something back?”
“How did you catch this bloody cold? Maybe it’s your punishment for leaving me.”
“It’s my punishment for being daft enough to forget a torch.” I explained my ordeal of getting trapped by the tide and lost in the woods.
Keith grinned. “Yeah, you’re right, that was daft.”
I grabbed a cushion and whacked him. “You don’t have to agree with me so readily, you twit.”
“Hey, if you’re healthy enough to beat me up, you’re healthy enough to play. Let’s go to the bedroom.”
“You think I’m going to bed with you after you insult me?”
He got on his knees in mock prayer. “I’m sorry, your majesty. I had a momentary lapse of sanity. Please be lenient.”
“No. You’re going to treat me with more respect. Besides, I’m hungry.”
With a single bow, he left in search of comestibles, vowing to drop in on Ryan to argue about Grimsby.
I sat wondering about his childhood. What did his mother do? Would he ever confide in me? I was curious to meet his parents.
I wondered if they would show up at Grimsby.
[To be continued… Click here to view all chapters.]
