Our House is Not in Paris (29 page)

Ryan, who was thirteen at the time, typed up a little paragraph to explain what they had done. This is exactly how he wrote it:

Well me Kaitlyn Munro and I (Ryan Camps) had an idea of calling the airport to say good bye to Mrs.

The idea cam about 2 o'clock an hour and a half before mrs flight left syd airport so kaitlyn came round my house for tea then I told her the idea so then I got the phonebook looked up airport Qantas etc. Then I was on the phone for an hour and a half then I heard in the back ground that the boarding gate is now closed just before that I asked if they could ask the captin they said I will go cheek I new this would make mrs cry but the door to the plane was locked and closed for takeoff.

What had been even more touching before I left was, in these days of email and Facebook, both Kaitlyn and Ryan actually asked me to send them a postcard. I was very touched by their request and Kaitlyn later told me that their cards both arrived on the same day. I had taken care to write different things to both of them, and, sure enough, Kaitlyn informed me that they both rushed round to share their postcards. I sent very few postcards to my friends and family, as we were simply so busy working, but I was so glad I sent theirs — especially when Kaitlyn said it had been a difficult week and my postcard was the highlight of her week.

The rest of the day was full of special moments and I was told by many students how much they missed me. By now, after my second year of going to France to work on our
petite maison
, lots of them knew about my other life and were eager to hear all about it. As many of them live in quite desperate circumstances, I always hoped that in some small way I was helping to open up a world of possibilities to them, especially as I sometimes told them that I too was very poor when I was their age and that I was now living a life I never dreamt possible.

After few a weeks at home, we heard the wonderful news from Liz that she was going to be fine. I cried with relief when I got her email. My heart felt light and happy, for I had kept repeating as a mantra, ‘Next year, next year,' as a promise to both of us. So now it was true: that every year we would have our reunion in Cuzance and Liz would cook for us and spoil us.

I emailed her in reply to say:

And the weather will be perfect and we will sit under the walnut tree and read and dip in the pool and drink wine and go to the markets and go out to lunch and all will be absolutely fine with the whole world.

And so, indeed, it is.

Published by Melbourne Books
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Melbourne, VIC 3000
Australia

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Copyright ©Susan Cutsforth 2012

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eisbn: 9781922129123

eBook prepared by eDilettante, Port Campbell Press
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