Summer Memories by Andrea Robinson

 

Alice closed her eyes and lifted her face up to the warmth of the early morning sunshine and sighed.  Life couldn't be better so why did she feel that it was all about to come crumbling down on top of her.  She knew it would be hard to shake off the fear from her marriage but wondered tiredly if she was going to spend the next ten looking over her shoulders, jumping at her own shadow the whole time.

 

Children's voices chattering away in the street below the terrace interrupted Alice's dark thoughts.  She leant forward over over the balcony and saw her daughter heading off to school with a little gaggle of children.  She waved to her delighted as always at the transformation in a few short months in her daughter.  Gone was the thin, pale introverted little girl who'd arrived with her in Balon that terrible night the previous year and instead here was a lively, pretty, inquisitive child who was already speaking fluent French and well integrated into the village school.   

 

The voices of the children faded as they made their way up the narrow cobbled street. Alice leant against the rusty railings of the balcony and gazed over the valley enjoying the early morning tranquillity and the view of the village below her.  Balon was built on a large rocky outcrop nestling in the shadow of Mount Ventoux in Provence.  It was a huddle of terracotta roofs around a 14th century church, facing down over a green and lush valley of lavender pastures, orchards, and olive trees, a landscape that seemed little changed since the middle ages.  Despite appearances however 21st century life had intruded in many way as the villagers no longer needed to farm the steep hillsides to feed their families, instead tourism had taken over from farming and the village had adapted to the changing times by opening shops selling the local produce and distinctive yellow and green pottery of the region.

 

The day was slowly coming to life as the sun rose higher and hotter in the bright blue clear sky.  A dog barked further down the valley, a car backfired in the narrow cobbled street leading to the church square and the first cicadas of the day were already chirping their distinctive calls in the hope of attracting a mate.

 

For Alice, life since her arrival in Balon was nothing short of miraculous.  She shuddered when she remembered how desperate she'd been when she arrived with her small daughter the previous September with just the clothes they were wearing and €10 in her purse.  She'd thrown herself at the mercy of grandparents she'd never met before.  Her mother had always steadfastly refused point blank to discuss her family and it had been a complete surprise, after her death to discover from her mother's birth certificate that she had a French family. 

 

Alice heard her grandfather throwing open the shutters to the shop two storeys below the tiny attic apartment where she and Matilda now lived.  When Alice arrived her grandparents had sold only meat and after a couple of months of working in the dark and dated little shop, Alice had persuaded her grandparents to redesign the layout fired by an enthusiasm that she'd not had since her days at art college.  Infused by her energy and creativity they had, with some initial scepticism embraced her ideas and to everyone's delight the shop was flourishing and now also sold bread and local sausages, meats, cheeses, olives, rosé wine and herbs and spices. Alice loved working in the shop and she adored her grandparents. Despite the shock of Alice and Matilda appearing out of the blue, they'd accepted them without question showering them both with unconditional love and affection.

 

Alice reluctantly tore herself away from the view and headed downstairs to the shop to help her grandmother.  The two women had bustled about the shop, taking delivery of the day's bread, chatting amiably together.  Already even at such an early hour, the first tourists were making their way up and down the narrow windy streets of the village, guide books in hand and expensive cameras at the ready.  It was market day and Alice took advantage of a lull in customers to nip out to buy some fruit for lunch.  She made her purchases and was just wandering back through the thronging crowds idly enjoying the smells and sounds around her when she stopped dead, her heart leaping into her throat..  A man wearing a straw fedora a few feet in front of her, stopped to inspect wine at one of the stalls and as he turned his head to talk to the stall holder, she was sure it was her husband, Mark. The bag of peaches Alice was holding in her hand dropped to the floor with a soft splat as she froze in shock.  Someone behind her bumped into her and apologised, jolting her out of her temporary paralysis. 

‘I tell you, it was him.  I saw him.'  She insisted as her grandfather sat her down, and handed her a glass of water.  She was trembling so badly that she spilt it. Both grandparents hovered anxiously over her.

‘How can it be him?  How can he know that you are here?'  Her grandmother said confused.

‘I don't know.' Alice wailed in despair.

 ‘Now stop.'  Her grandfather said sternly, gently pushing her back down onto the chair.  ‘He can't know you are here.  You're imagining things.' 

‘I knew this day would come. I must get Matilda and leave.'  Alice fought back tears as spoke.

‘Leave!'  Her grandparents echoed in dismay.

‘Yes leave.  I can't risk him trying to take Matilda away from me.'  Alice pushed her hair out of her face and took a deep breath.

‘This is ridiculous.  You can't run from this man for the rest of your life.'  Her grandmother shook her head in anger.  ‘You must stand up to him - if it is him.  Tell him you want a divorce.  Tell him you have a new life here with us.'

‘You don't understand.'  Alice had said flatly.  ‘Mark is not the sort of man you divorce.  He once told me that if I ever left him, he would kill me and I believe him.' 

‘Well, he can do nothing here.  We will protect you and if he tries anything, he'll have us to account for.'  Alice's grandfather said firmly and Alice looking at him saw in him what her grandmother must have seen many years before when he fought for the resistance in the war - a strong and proud man who was not afraid of anyone. His resolve gave her strength and although they made her promise not to leave, they couldn't stop her worrying and jumping at her own shadow. 

 

A week passed with no sign of Mark, and slowly Alice began to relax again thinking that perhaps she had imagined him.  Bravely she ventured out alone to go and pick up a prescription for her grandfather.  

‘I can't hide away for ever.'  She'd told him with a tremulous smile.

She walked to the chemists and when she got the prescription, she set off quickly back to the shop when suddenly and shockingly she felt a hand grip her arm and she was twisted roughly around to be confronted with the red sunburned face of her husband glaring at her.

‘Hello Alice.'  He said menacingly.

‘Mark.'  She said stiffly through frozen lips, immobile with fear.

 ‘Is there anywhere we can go for a little chat?' He said pleasantly enough, but his grip on her arm was painful.

‘What do you want?'  Alice whispered through numb lips, her heart was pounding violently in her chest and she was finding it difficult to breathe properly.

‘Let's sit here and have a drink.' Mark almost dragged her to a small table outside a little café.

‘We'll have two glasses of wine.' Mark said loudly and very slowly in English to the young waitress.

‘I have to say, you are looking very well.' Mark said eyeing her almost suspiciously.

‘How did you find me?'  Alice asked noticing that he'd put on a lot of weight and looked florid and unhealthy. 

‘Doesn't matter.' He said dismissively. ‘Didn't think you could hide forever did you? ‘He grimaced not bothering to hide his impatience whilst the waitress put down two glasses of chilled rosé wine and a small dish of green olives in front of them.

‘I want a divorce, Mark.' Alice was surprised at her own bravery.

‘Don't be so ridiculous. You can't have a divorce, Alice. You are coming home with me as soon as we've collected our daughter. I know that I might have lost my temper once or twice but hell that's no reason for you to walk out on me and our marriage - damn it!'

Alice looked at his angry contorted face and an amazing thing happened.  Her fear completely fell away and all she felt was anger, pure and clean flare through her.  She shook her head in disbelief.

‘Mark, you broke two of my ribs, ruptured my spleen and gave me concussion.  I was in hospital for two weeks.'

Mark shrugged.  ‘Dare say you deserved it.  However, if you had behaved like a proper wife, it wouldn't have happened in the first place.'

Alice leant forward so that their faces were very close.  ‘You listen to me and you listen carefully.  Don't ever come near me again.  I want a divorce and I don't ever want to see you again.'  She pushed her chair back and ignoring his astonished spluttering, she forced herself to walk away.  However, when she heard his heavy footsteps behind her she broke into a run.  The shop was mercifully empty and she shouted to her grandmother to phone the Police as she swung the shop door closed.  She wasn't quick enough and Mark bashed it open knocking her backwards into a display of soap and the little coloured bars shaped like Cigales scattered everywhere.  Mark slipped on them and fell heavily to his knees giving Alice time to scrabble to her feet and through the doorway up the stairs.  Mark grabbed her and wrapped his fingers around her throat cursing and swearing.  Then suddenly he froze and slowly with a look of complete surprise on his face, he toppled forward to slump in an unconscious heap by her side.  Behind him Alice saw her grandfather holding an old skillet pan in his hands.

‘Go to the farm and don't come back until we tell you.  Grandma will pick Matilda up from school.  GO!'  He roared as she tried to protest. 

Alice scrabbled past him and grabbed the car keys from her grandmother's hand.  The two women clasped hands briefly.

‘Go.  It'll be fine.' Her grandmother pushed her out of the door, locked it and swung the sign to say ‘Closed.'

 

It was late at night before her grandfather came to get her, bumping across the field in his old Renault 4.  He told her that Mark had left and that Alice had nothing to worry about as he was not coming back.  When Alice tried to ask him about it he told her very firmly that the subject was closed and repeated that Mark was finally out of her life and she and Matilda were free. 

 

It was like any other day in the shop and although Alice's throat was sore, she felt almost euphoric with relief that she no longer had to worry about her violent husband. At mid-day she picked up a bottle of wine and told her grandmother that she would take some bread upstairs for their lunch.

‘I'll take some of this pate too,' she said and made to pick up one of the little pile of jars placed decorously on the counter.  With surprising speed her grandmother's hand shot out and slapped her hand away saying abruptly. 

‘Take some cheese instead.  Don't eat the pâté.'  

 

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