Short Story: Discover

Short Story: Discover

She turned off the engine and sat, reluctant to move, in the sanctity of the car in the profound silence that followed.

The quiet however was in fact, relative. There was now no engine noise but her reluctance to move was for a very practical reason. It was raining so heavily that sitting out the cloudburst in the safety of her car seemed a far more sensible plan rather than making any attempt to run for the hotel entrance which was half a street away.

Anyway, the respite gave her time to gather her thoughts – at least those thoughts she was willing to give head room to. Others, like her bags in the boot, she carefully and deliberately set to one side. This was a break she needed. She was determined to enjoy it.

She closed her eyes and listened to the rain as it battered on the car windows. She had no idea how long she sat like that but when she decided to open her eyes again, the rain didn't seem to be any lighter. She set off the windscreen wipers and noticed that there were lots of people crowded together in the town square just a few hundred meters from where she had parked, under marquees which had been erected for some special event she couldn't readily identify.

She decided it was better to make a move. Through various bodily contortions she got herself, still sitting in the drivers' seat, into her waterproof jacket and pulling up its hood to protect her hair, she opened the car door and made a dive for the catch on the boot. She grabbed her bag from it and ran pulling the case on wheels and pressing the lock button on her car key at the same time. She heard nearby bells striking out the time.

The Hotel when she got inside, looked ok. She had chosen both it and the town on the internet with no idea of what to expect from either.

New ground.

Neutral ground.

Safe ground.

She hoped.

Even after her mad dash the rain was dripping from her as she stood in reception. The lady behind the desk took a moment to register that there was someone there but when she did her eyes followed the drips onto the floor of her foyer. “Bonjour!” she said with a smile. Her French was poor but she had enough to make it understood that she had a booking and Madame's smile broadened as she gave her the key to her “chambre deluxe”. She couldn't really afford the extra expense but it had been the only room left when she had made the enquiry and she wanted to book something, anything, before her courage failed her so here she was unlocking the door to a large room furnished rather eccentrically but appealingly and with a bathroom bigger than the apartment she lived in.

She dropped her case more heavily than she meant, threw off her wet jacket and slumped into one of the two old fashioned and ornately painted chairs by a similarly decorated coffee table. The clock struck the quarter hour.

She had arrived.... but what now?

She found she couldn't settle.

Immediately she snatched her jacket up again and headed out of the room, back down the stairs where her host resumed her smile but with a slight hint of worry as she asked, “Votre chambre – c'est acceptable? Oui?”

Her smile and enthusiastic nod pleased the older woman and she wished her, “Bonjournee!”

Once outside, she noticed the rain had stopped and as she headed again for the town square, those who had been sheltering under the marquees were now out trying to dry off benches and seats. She saw a chef whose white working shirt was now transparent because of the rain but he was enthusiastically trying to tempt people to brave the uncertain weather to watch him cook and then they would be offered the chance to taste his wares. She realised this was meant to be a celebration of the produce of the area. A feast for the eyes, the stomach and the imagination: rain or no rain.

She stood on the edge of the small crowd and enjoyed the distraction for a while. But then she felt the stranger she so obviously was. The language. The fact that everyone else knew what this gathering was about and knew where to queue and why they should, left her with a strong sense of being an observer only, amongst all these festive participants.

She walked to a nearby cafe and ordered a coffee. There were a few families scattered around the cafe having come in, she presumed, for shelter earlier. Most appeared to be local but there was one family from England. She could tell from the behaviour of the children. The French kids sat with their parents, used to long whiles at tables. The English pair moaned about being bored, wound each other up and so obviously wanted to go.

She found herself longing to merge into the background, hoping that her own nationality was not so obvious. She could do with a bit of anonimity and while that wasn't possible whilst she drove her car (due to the obvious number plates) she liked to think that on the streets she didn't stand out in the least. She hoped she was simply a face in the crowd.

That said, local custom dictated that whenever anyone came in or went out of the cafe they said 'Bonjour!' as they passed others at their tables. They did this – even when passing hers and it brought a smile to her lips. Let her think that she was one ‘of them’. Perhaps it wasn't anonimity she needed, she thought ruefully, so much as a sense of being accepted. As she was. No questions….

The local church towered over one end of the village square. It was the bells in its tower that had been chiming out the quarter hours since she had arrived. It was a huge monstrosity of a building that seemed way out of proportion to the size of the town. Or so she at least thought. The plaque on one wall told her that it was a “Monument Historique” and the weeds growing from various parts of the building hinted at the monumental problems this historical edifice's upkeep posed for the townspeople. Perhaps it pointed too, to their lack of faith - in keeping with so much of modern France.

There were the inevitable beggars at the door to wish her a “Bonjour” with their hands held open and a look of hope. She tried not to let her eyes meet theirs and concentrated on opening the door to a building that although as vast as the outside had predicted, was not as unkempt as many she had visited in France. It was warm and obviously well loved. She walked down the central aisle of the nave and stopped short still a good way from the altar steps. There was obviously going to be a baptism.

She suddenly felt cold. Perhaps she was still damp from the rain?

Perhaps.

The stained glass windows were nothing special but the stations of the cross were very modern and surprisingly emotive. Surprisingly so because it was not usually something that did anything for her. It was the same when it came to the statues of Mary and the Saints in each of the little side chapels with their candles burning brightly for only 2 Euros....

Despite Mary's gently welcoming smile, faith was not something she needed right now or at any time.

It was not something she wanted.

Or saw much use for.

Life was about living the way she chose to live.

Which was why she was here. To make a choice.

Outside again the sun had stayed out and the square was busy with even more chefs and audiences as every inch of space was taken up with white tents and tables and cooking pots and fires. A mixture of smells assaulted her nostrils and made her stomach rumble. She realised she had not eaten since breakfast. It was now well into the evening.

With spices and herbs and sauces she could almost taste and with the voices of enthusiastic chefs even over the sound of the clock, tempting the crowds to sample their dishes, she decided to head back to the hotel to see if there was a table for dinner. A birthday party was in full swing in the small dining room but before she had even noticed her, the smiling Maitre'D was guiding her through to the main dining room full of tables set with multiple glasses and crockery that seemed to be from a different era. Large and beautiful and like nothing she would every buy she found her self sitting down and smiling at the gregariousness of it all. It wasn't out of this world but it was certainly out of hers.

There were several couples already seated. One couple were English. She could tell straightaway. The others she took her time to work out their country of origin. Mostly French she was glad to see. The food must be good.

There was a large group with several generations sitting down together. She marvelled at the way the waiters simultaneously lifted the silver domes from off the plates of the 'plat du jour' so that everyone seated around the table caught an eyeful of their choice at the same time.

And then began to eye each others' plates!

Madame was keen she should have an apperitif. In the champagne region it had to be a kir royale she was told. She managed to persuade her eager host that she was fine with Perrier. She had to drive in the morning, she said. Madame acquiesced although she clearly found her guest bemusing. The meal was leisurely and tasty. The 'Menu du Terroir' which she had opted for was worth every penny she decided as she finally put down her cutlery. She had even had pudding which she didn't normally bother about. But the piece de resistance was the cheeseboard. It wasn't a case of two or three delicately cut pieces of cheese with some biscuits, here great whole cheeses were placed in front of her and left there with over a dozen different types for her to choose from in her own time. As many as she wanted.

When she had eaten all she could, Madame was waiting to wish her 'Bon Soir' and when she climbed the stairs this time, she was genuinely tired and perfectly happy to share her own company.

She left the shutters open as she pulled the curtains so that she could continue to hear the noises of the street below which she found comforting. She ran a bath and soaked contentedly in it and when eventually she crept into bed, it was late and she drifted off to sleep almost immediately.

She became conscious again of the street noises when it was still dark. She had no watch and had no way of knowing exactly what time it was unless she got out of bed to find her mobile phone.

She had a mild panic as she realised she had actually left her phone in the car. Usually she was never parted from it. There were always texts to answer, calls to take and make and emails to reply to.

The panic however, very quickly subsided into relief. Here, she didn't have to speak to anyone. She didn't have to do anything. She smiled as she thought that not only had she left her phone in the car, her diary was there too and she had no desire to go and fetch either of them. At least not any time soon.

She drifted in and out of sleep and the noises of the street below, in and out of her consciousness. Then all went quiet. Everything.

No cars passed. No angry gnat-sounding scooters. There were no footsteps or voices to be heard. Nothing.

It was cooler than it had been in weeks, but she started to sweat. It appeared that when she'd carried her bags in, she had also carried in her baggage. What she had hoped to avoid was right in the room with her. In fact it was inside her.

Even the bells in the clock tower seemed to be holding their breath and had given up chiming. Of course the bells always stopped in the middle of the night. She knew that.

She had a picture of the candles in the church in her head and of the ornate gold baptistry. The cold stone statues looking in from the chapels only added to the warmth of the bowl waiting to bless the child to be brought, it's couple of inches of Holy Water glistening like a star studded lake in the setting sun.

She kicked the sheet from off her feet. She strained to hear something. Anything. All there was, was the very faint sound of a baby crying. An infant looking for its feed – but she welcomed the noise and it was enough to lull her off to sleep again. For a while.

The bells rang again at 7am but by then she knew what she had to do.

What she wanted to do.

Madame had set a table for her by the window for breakfast so that she could watch the passers by as she supped her coffee and ate her croissant and cheese. She did so slowly but contentedly. She knew this would be the last such holiday for a while. She knew her life was about to change forever, but she also knew this was what she wanted. More than anything. This was her choice.

She settled her bill and walked through the now empty square to where, in the rain just a few hours before she had parked her car. She lifted her bag into the boot, closed it and then sat in the drivers' seat. She paused before starting the engine. She stretched over and took her phone from the glove compartment and her diary from the footwell where she had thrown it several days ago.

She opened it and counted back.

She counted again.

She was sure.

She counted forward. This was August. By then it would be March. It wouldn't be easy. Things would be tight. There would be tears and questions.

But children are a blessing, aren't they?

The statue of the virgin Mary inside the church on the square in this small French town, smiled.

Somehow she knew Mary smiled. For a moment, in her minds' eye, she could see the statue's reflection in the font.

Her choice?

She started the engine and put the car into gear, her new journey only just about to begin.