Gemini Rain (10 page)

Paul allowed himself to chuckle as r
elief and calmness came over the table
, at last the ordeal of admission was over and we’re actually getting somewhere he thought, ‘this is one piece of excitement we could do without,’ as he sat forward, elbows resting on the table, his fingers entwined.

             
‘And what
do you suggest we could do?’ those
hazel eyes became quizzical. ‘I mean it’s not going to be easy, when a can of worms like this opens up they have a tendency to ooze out on all sides, it’s very difficult to push them back in with one hand while trying to hold the can with the other.’

Paul slightly winced at the description as he responded, ‘but that’s where you come into the picture isn’t it, there won’t be just one pair of hands.’

             
Those hazel eyes smiled once more, ‘
let’s
finish dinner then we get down to thinking of how there won’t be, I still in shock you know, I need some nourishment.’

Paul laughed, ‘After that description of worms, are you still hungry?’

‘I’m only half way through starters! Give me a chance to think man.’

Chapter 8

Marseille -
Working on her computer Lauren was attempting to translate a note
Emma
gave her from the school. Unable to focus on it her mind kept slipping back to last night contemplating
Emma
’s
little
outburst and Keith’s words.

Thinking of the innocence of children sometimes, how their straightforward talking can hurt, can cut into the chest and twist when they don’t even realise they’re doing it, Lauren corrected herself,
‘
they’re just saying what they think, its their way, only as adults are we afraid to
openly
express our innermost thoughts
, our true feelings
.
’

‘Why did you bring us here?’
Emma
cried to her mother, ‘y
ou can’t even read a simple note from school!’

‘
A simple note
,’
Lauren thought,
‘
the bloomin’ thing is four pages long.
’
She tried some reasoning,
‘
Emma
, I’m learning. It
’s harder for an adult you know
I’ve been speakin
g and reading English for over
30 years!’ How many times have I repeated that sentence to her? 

‘Thirty-nine actually Mammy’

‘Ha Ha’ Lauren sarcastically smiled at her daughter. 
Keeping calm Lauren explained for the hundredth time of her needs, of what she wanted for them as a family and how starting a new life here in France was a fantastic opportunity, hesitating
a little
as she added it was something she and Daddy only dreamt about. Watching her daugh
ter she jokingly thought, eight
years of age
now
but carries on sometimes as if
she was closer to eighty-eight
.

Emma
’s big blue eyes were starting to fill with tears; Lauren sm
oothed back her daughter’s mousy brown
hair caressing her soft cheek knowing what was coming next.

‘I miss my cousins and my friends,’
Emma
moaned with a deep heavy sigh, her hand held up to her forehead. Lauren rolled her eyes up to heaven, this is like a worn-out soap opera on TV, keep
ing
ca
lm Lauren pressed
rewind on an old
video tape in her own head.

‘
Emma
, sweetpea. Do we have to go through this again? You could win an Oscar with this performance!’ Lauren pecked
Emma
’s button nose smiling, ‘d
on’t you like living here? Mammy always being around able t
o spend time with you and Keith. And besides you’re only back from visiting everyone last weekend.
’
Lauren brought them back to Dublin nearly every month so far.

Emma
thought about it for a minute, contemplating this new question which was not normally introduced whenever they had this debate. Slowly she remembered what it was like when her parents worked, Lauren watched her daughter’s expression through her eyes,
‘
she’s thinking about it
’
-
Lauren smiled.

‘Yes, I do,’
Emma
lightly, perfectly stated. ‘You were never like this before you don’t look cross and you always have time to play, it’s nice. But … but will you ever return to work?’ a worrying frown appearing which looked more at home on an a
dult’s face rather than an eight
year old. As per usual
Emma
was looking for something to worry about and knew it was a good question to bounce back to her mother.

‘I’m not thinking about that yet, financially we’re comfortable,’ recently
with the advantage of being able to spend more time with her children,
Lauren developed the talent of easily reading her daughter’s mind, ‘but first I must learn to speak and read French. Later on, who knows? We could go back to Ireland, move to Italy or Spain or….’

‘Oh Mammy stop!’
Emma
giggled, ‘No more moves, the last one was bad enough.’

‘Okay I’m joking, but remember sweetheart…’

‘
It’s
sweetpea today,’
Emma
politely corrected Lauren lowering the tone of her voice because of the seriousness of her mother’s mistake.

‘Sorry sweetpea. Remember never be afraid I’ll always be by your side, girls together yeah?’

‘Girls together,’
Emma
happily responded lifting up her hand to Laurens placing her small palm against her mothers in a now familiar pact then softly their fingers entwined. Lauren’s elegant long fingers slipping through her daughter’s similar shaped but naturally younger hand.

‘Now cuddle up with Pooh Bear and go to sleep. Take care and
Bon nuit
.’ Lauren kissed her daughter’s forehead as she turned off the small lamp.

Checking on Keith she could see the torchlight under his blankets, forever reading or creating battles with action man and dinosaurs. ‘Good night Keith!’ The light was out before she finished saying his name.
‘
He’ll probably turn it back on as soon as he hears me going down the stairs
,’
she smiled to herself, ‘and don’t turn that torch back on. I’ll be up in ten minutes to check.’

But then she changed her mind heading for his room; turning on his small lamp light she quietly sat on his bed whispering, ‘Hey mister,
come
out of there
for a minute please
.’

Keith and action man poked their heads out from under the blanket
. Lauren hesitated for a minute
he smiled that lovely cheeky grin and big soft brown eyes. And she liked his new tight haircut even though she nearly cried when she heard him informing the hairdresser
that he wanted a number one cut
. When the
young French barber
said he would check with his mother first
, Keith stared at him in disbelief,
Lauren felt an arg
ument ensuing but
thankfully the barber also saw her expression leaving at least a
centimetre
of hair
without giving any f
urther comment or opportunity for
Keith to argue
.

‘What is it Mammy?’
Keith returned Lauren to present day.

‘Do you like living here mister?’ she asked softly as her heart melted with his smile.

‘Yep,’

‘Do you miss home and everybody there? Which would you prefer?’ she dreaded his answer.

‘Yep and both.’

‘We can’t have both.’

Bending his head forward he gave her that grinning
I know
look arching one of his eyebrows, it was a comical face sometimes with the gaps in his teeth showing where his baby ones once took pride of place. Trying to hold in her laughter she got up from the bed but he stopped her midway, ‘I just wish Daddy was here too and then your dream would be… would be all together, wouldn’t it?’

Lauren felt a sharp blade running down her throat, closing her eyes s
he bitterly thought, if only he knew Keith
wouldn’t have said that, thankfully she hoped he was
too young to know or understand.  Leaning down to kiss him and hugging him tightly she whispered, ‘but you and
Emma
are here with me and that’s paradise to me.’

‘Night Night Mammy, I love you.’

‘Take care mister, love you too.’   

As was natural with children, both were now practically fluent in French and Lauren was still struggling. Both
Emma
and Keith had no fear or inhibition to learn something new, they knew the only way they would make new friends was by learning how to speak to them first.
And
they had school, while with Lauren her lack of constant daily practice was a big drawback.

Contemplating taking private lessons, she could now understand what people said to her most of the time. But her difficulty with pronouncing the words because of her Dublin accent and reading was proving to be a greater obstacle than she first t
hought, ‘thank God for Google Translator,
although
not p
erfect
it’s close enough and
it
definitely gives the gist of what I’m trying to translate
.’

The CDs
also he
lped but the people on them
were so correct in pronouncing their words while in reality and in particular, the South of France it’s like they sing their words and of course they possessed their own Provencal lingo, it was difficult but beautiful.

Had she done the right thing by moving here? The locals, she knew were curious about her, feeling their stares when she called to the village but they were friendly stares with a smile here and there. How she loved the way they greeted each other with a handshake or
with
kisses, the odd
Bonjour
and plenty of that friendly term
Ca va
, which could mean anything from ‘hello’ or ‘are you well?’ even responding with the same words which could mean ‘I’m fine, how are you?’, the list went on with that simple phrase.

Bursting into embarrassing laughter, she remembered her first visit to the town hall for her
Carte de
Sejour
, the permit needed after three months living in France. The administration and paperwork was unbelievable, French Civil Servants or at least their employers create work for themselves, Lauren declared to
Debbie
in one of weekly calls back home.

The woman in the office was so kind and spoke with broken English, but Lauren was certain the administrator was thinking ‘Crazy English woman.’ People always presumed she was E
nglish just because she spoke the language
.

The woman asked Lauren why did she want to live in a country where she couldn’t even speak the language, ‘How will you earn an income?’ she asked. Lauren smiled to herself
–
‘
that’s my business.
’

But she quickly found out it wasn’t, the French authorities wanted to know everything - translated birth certificates, a death certificate for Peter, proof of residence, proof of sufficient financial resources, the list went on and on.

Aren’t both countries member states of the EU? Lauren was shocked, what happened to freedom of movement for EU citizens, it made her more determined to succeed. If this was going to be their new life, she was going to greet all obstacles like a bull charging at a red cape but one that knew there wasn’t a sword waiting on the other side of that cape. 

She stopped typ
ing and stood
up to walk towards the window; the view in front of her was c
hanging as the temperatures changed
. It was amazing how much
she could see from this window;
whoever built this house knew the area well. It was one of the most beautiful sights one could imagine, nestling higher than any other house in the region, not even the bread man would call, as the small road was too steep for his old van. At least the postman calls, watching the middle-aged man huff and puff his bike up the hill towards her post
box with her daily delivery.