French Kisses Read Free Page A

the children were older, though she doubted whether she would ever really have done it. She loved her husband and it seemed to her that marriage was bound to be unexciting sometimes, so she was furious when Michael decided to jump ship. Whenever she thought about it, all the frustration came rushing back.
     
    * * *
     
    Rachel had been clearing out one of the sheds at the side of the house to use for storage and was dusty, tired and thirsty. The children were out with friends so she was on her own. Michael had gone into the village and came back with only half the things she had asked him for, looking rather sheepish. That’s when he’d broken the news: he hadn’t been to the village, he’d gone into Dreste to see Amelie and – Rachel guessed – to make sure that the girl really did want him.
    That moment was frozen in time and Rachel could remember every detail: the chickens preening in the dust that swirled around the courtyard, the church bell striking 3pm, the sound of children splashing around in a neighbour’s swimming pool.
    She had stood there, open-mouthed, not making sense of the words that washed over her. Then Michael had put on his reasonable voice, the one he used to clinch a property deal. The one that made her cringe.
    “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Rachel’s brain couldn’t take it in for a minute. “That you’re leaving?”
    Michael nodded, looking sorrowful. “Of course I still love you and the children . . .”
    “But you love that girl more than us.”
    Michael had paced around the terrace, rubbing the top of his bald head as he tended to when he was upset.
    “Rach, this isn’t easy for me either.”
    “Pah!” Rachel almost spat the word at him. “Not easy for you? How dare you say that! You’re walzing out of my life with Miss Tippy-Toes leaving me with two kids and this bloody great house to manage on my own. With no money.”
    Michael raised his hands in a gesture of submission and looked pained.
    “I’m sorry sweetheart . . .”
    “Don’t bloody well ‘sweetheart’ me!”
    “Rachel, you’ll be fine. We’ll sort out the money – I won’t let you starve.” He had stopped pacing and was looking from the sun-baked terrace towards the kitchen, where Rachel had put a pile of new prints that she planned to get framed.
    “With the maintenance and the money from your work, you’ll be fine.” He smiled weakly. “And I’ll pay you rent to use the garage, of course.”
    That had been the final straw.
    “I don’t want you anywhere near the garage. You can keep that geriatric vehicle of yours in Dreste. Or better still, take it to the wrecker’s yard where it belongs.”
    For the first time, Michael looked shocked. He shook his head and looked pained.
    “How can you say that about Di-Di?”
    Rachel felt the teeniest sense of remorse bubbling under the fury as she pictured the old mustard-yellow car, a 2CV Dyane that had been pretty ancient when they had acquired her and the house from their canny neighbour all those years ago. He, Monsieur Seurat, had looked about 90 then but was still going strong, unlike the car. Despite the fact that Di-Di had a tendency to conk out at inopportune moments and that they now had a proper car, they had clung on to her.
    “I’ve got things to do here,” said Rachel, fearful that she was about to cry over a darned metal box.
    Michael nodded, and looked relieved to have an excuse to leave. “I’ll go now, but perhaps we can talk again tomorrow. You know that you can call me anytime.”
    The look he got made him beat a hasty retreat.
    “Okay, I’m off.”
    And with that he turned, got into Di-Di and drove off, the engine stuttering and farting as it went.
    The details of the next few days and weeks were a blur. After some initial tears, the children had been remarkable sanguine about it. All their friends’ parents seemed to be divorced. Amelie had taught Alice ballet, so it was not as if she was a complete stranger to