Live a Little: Retrospect

First printing Aug 2019

Originally published in 2018 as Brioche

‘Live a Little’ copyright c 2019 by Rosemary Blake.  All rights reserved

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechantical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author.  The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Cover design by Debbie or www.thecovercollection.com

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rosemary Blake

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Chapter 1

So you want this to be our last session,’ Nicole uncrossed her legs and leant forward with concerned professionalism.

The therapy room with its low coffee table, box of tissues and deep, wing chairs had become a refuge for Dulcie.  She pulled her gaze back to her therapist, ‘I’ve learned a lot about myself, but I can’t justify the expense of coming.’

‘Getting over a divorce is a gradual process, but you are on your way through it now.  There’s an end in sight.’

‘Yes, I feel that.  I really do.  The loneliness has been the worst.  I thought that moving to a commune would provide me with a ready-made family, but sometimes you are at your loneliest in a crowd.’ She glanced out of the window at the lavender hedges and pergola posts outside; her idea of a  classical French garden.  She recognised that she distracted herself when emotions got awkward, so she continued hurriedly, ‘Well I know that the solution is to extend my friendships to outside the commune and then I’ll feel at home in the town too. . . I’m determined to try.’

‘And you talked about your daughter?’ Nicole prompted.

‘I don’t think I will go back to visit.  I’m going to make myself settle here.  It won’t do to rely on Imogen.  She’s got her own life to lead.’

‘I sincerely wish you well, Dulcie,’ Nicole exuded warmth, ‘and it’s time now to draw our session to a close.’

AS SHE STEPPED ONTO the street, Dulcie felt lighter for having unloaded her feelings, but also anxious about the challenges to come.  Nicole’s broad suburban street reminded her of the wealthy suburban life she had left behind in England.  She was soon window shopping in the narrow streets of the town centre again.  Emerging at the town square she was tempted to wait a while, so that she could meet some of the children from the commune as they left school, but no it was too hot to hang about for long, and besides, the teachers would wonder who she was.

She dodged traffic to cross over the boulevard périphérique before climbing the hill that led home.  The walk gave her time to reflect on what had driven her to seek counselling.  Being married for so long had made her feel like a spare part in her husband’s life.  It wasn’t Ted’s fault any more than it was her’s; he’d been caught up in living his life too. 

What would he be doing now?  Probably in some meeting or finishing off at his desk in time to get home.  He would barely notice a difference now that she’d gone.  She would stay single now.  Who’d have her anyway, she gave a derisory laugh to herself.  She felt too old for all that and not ready to pick anyone else's socks off the floor ever again. 

The chateau was ahead; home to a mixture of retired people, hippies, and also professional people who idealised an alternative lifestyle.  But Nicole was right, there was more to the world than this insular commune.

Chapter 2

The advantage of living at the gatehouse on the boundary was that you could come and go without drawing any comment.  Through the grand chateau gateway, she had a gate in a privet hedge into her own garden.  Someone had dropped a note through her door, as she stepped over the doormat she bent to pick it up.  It could wait for her on the extending table against the wall.  The smell of paint still lingered, so she touched the wall tentatively.  It was dry.  She and her neighbour,Roger, had replastered all the walls and then, yesterday, she had rollered a coat of white paint. The windows were tiny and the resulting darkness provided welcome escape from the sun.  Dulcie sank into a fireside chair with a sigh.  She kicked off her shoes and closed her eyes.

A low rumble in her stomach reminded her to eat.  She idly glanced at the note on the kitchen table.  ‘Heavens,’ there was a jolt of shock.  It was a notice about an additional community meeting that evening, ‘Another! I don’t believe it.’ She grabbed her bag and ran.

PERSPIRING FROM HEAT and moving at a pace, she pushed open the doors to the communal meeting room.  People were already seated so she found the nearest wooden chair.  She dug into her bag for something to wipe her brow before looking around.  Chair legs grated on flagstones then there was a hush.

This expectant pause before announcements always made Dulcie’s stress level rise.  She concentrated on the ornately carved roof and the arched windows above.  It was like being in church.

‘Today, I want to talk about how the locals see us.’ This was Jane, with her bouncy page boy cut now appearing serious and pacing the floor.

‘The people in the town look at us, and they see us as the outsiders on the hill.  We can’t let them see us as enemies or worse – weirdos.  They have a lot of power.  In fact, the mayor is able to make decisions on what we are allowed to do.’

‘The French, they are all ignorant,’ a well-built man across the room seemed to explode with vehemence, ’why should we want to be a part of their town?  We should be self-sufficient.

This was uncomfortable.  Most of the residents in the chateau weren’t fluent French speakers, whereas Dulcie had perfected the language at a Swiss finishing school.  As she lived at the gatehouse, she interacted with the locals more than anyone else.  Do they know that I am always going to the town?  My way of life often clashes with theirs.

Maggie, the white-haired founder of their group, arose from her chair and raised her voice to say, ‘Sit down please, Jane’.  Maggie slowly surveyed the circles of residents of her chateau, named ‘Le Manoir de Calme’.

‘Thank you, Jane.  Let us take a moment to centre ourselves.  I want all of us to look inside and question our own part in this.’

Dulcie found it extremely hard to centre herself, she actually felt her heart thumping.

Jane went on to speak about a recent visit to the town.  As she entered the square from a passageway she had encountered a communal feast.  There were men, women and children at a long table under the trees.  Jane had felt like an intruder.

‘No one from the chateau community was invited.’  Despite lamenting the situation, Jane seemed intent on emphasising the cracks between the chateau and the town.

The meeting had moved on.  Roger, a skinny young man with a family who lived in a static caravan nearby, slowed down the pace of proceedings in his languid way, ‘Yeh man, there is a rift.’  he had stroked his wiry beard, ‘Our boy, Ziggy has been walking home from school by himself, and some of the French kids threw stones at him.’

Sheila beside him, nodded slowly, ‘Yes, Ziggy’s being bullied during the school day too.  Some of the French children call him names cus he’s English.  We’re cool if he wants to stay at home and run free in the woods, but it’s not about that.  There’s a wider issue guys.  It’s something we should look at.’

Poor Ziggy.  Dulcie was glad that he was playing with the other children outside, he would be mortified to hear the group talking about him.  He was a quiet child; Dulcie just wanted to hug him to make it better.  She identified with him; they both felt like outsiders.

The conversation on the French versus the English had continued.  At least Ziggy’s parents were sending him to school, a couple of other children who were new to the Community were not attending a school. 

She stood up and said, ‘I’d like to support Ziggy.  Perhaps I could liaise with the school so that he feels better about it.’  A few people seemed to nod in agreement.  Roger and Sheila smiled and shrugged.  They were so laid back that she saw that as enthusiasm on their part.  As she sat down again, she noticed Jane narrowing her eyes at her.  Oh dear she didn’t want to get on the wrong side of her. 

Jane gave a tight smile, ‘Well that dealt with for the present, I will share some ideas that I have for the future.  I’ll put them to the vote, of course,’ she scanned the room. ‘I’ve been thinking that we could use some of our land for tourist lodges.  The resulting income would create a sustainable community.’

Looking around, Dulcie noticed raised eyebrows and even a few sharp intakes of breath.  She hoped that the majority felt like that because, to her, Jane seemed to be trying to change the ethos of the commune.  If the idea went any further, she would have to speak out against it.

By taking a stand she might risk losing the support of some of the community, but she knew that she was well-liked.  Her nickname among the children, Ceci, was evidence of that.  Would she be able to gather public opinion behind her if she needed to?

Chapter 3

The next morning she mulled over Ziggy’s problem at school while spreading butter on day-old French bread.  It had lost its soft springiness. She ripped at the tough crust with her teeth; it was still palatable with plenty of butter and jam.  Chewing helped her to think.  Maybe she should have a chat with Ziggy.  Dulcie identified with children. 

When her own daughter, Imogen, had been small, Dulcie met up with other young mothers for coffee mornings while the children played.  When Imogen worried about fitting in,  Dulcie had invited some of the school children to tea.  But of course, their house and toys had been a treat for visiting children.  In contrast, Ziggy’s family had a mobile home which rested among the ivy and nettles in the woods around the chateau.  How would local schoolchildren see that?

Dulcie wrapped a crocheted shawl around her shoulders against the chill of the spring morning.  She was carrying homemade cakes as a gift for Ziggy’s family.  She followed a hard-packed earth path winding through a froth of wild, white garlic and spindly silver birch saplings.  As her maxi-skirt brushed the foliage, a strong garlic smell arose.  The path led in the opposite direction to the chateau.  Dulcie kicked at discarded cans and stubs from roll-ups.  Littering, eugh, how it spoilt the green of the countryside. The dilapidated green-painted mobile home was in sight.

Ziggy’s sister Anise, a rounded child with untamed hair, came running straight at her legs.  Dulcie stopped to ready herself for the force of a small girl wrapping herself around her knees.

‘Ceci, Ceci you’re here.  Come and see what I’m doing.’ Anise grasped her by the hand, almost dislodging the tin of cakes.  ‘A fairy house, over here.  Come and look,’ Anise rounded her eyes and gave an exaggerated look of wonder with all the skill of a street performer drawing in a crowd. 

Tall grasses and plantains stretched to fill the space below the mobile home and tendrils of ivy wound up its sides.  Anise had made a nest out of vegetation.  Dulcie squatted down to Anise’s eye level to admire a family of clothes peg dolls set in a circle of stones lined with moss, while the little girl jumped up and down beside her.

‘Ooh, you are a clever girl.  They’re going to be cosy in there.  Are you going to make them a play area too?’ 

Anise made to run off to do just that, as Dulcie said, ‘Wait, where’s your brother?’ 

‘Ziggy – don’t know.’  Anise said, at the same time peering out into the woods. 

Sheila stepped down from the caravan door, looking tousled.  She could be pretty if she combed her long hair, ‘Oh hi,’ she said. ‘She isn’t bothering you, is she?’ 

‘Of course you aren’t bothering me, are you Anise?’ Dulcie answered looking at Sheila.  ‘Is it OK if I have a chat with Ziggy?’ 

‘Yeh go ahead.  You’re our surrogate auntie Ceci.’  Sheila came forward to touch Dulcie on the shoulder as they looked around the clearing. 

‘There’s a group of children bombing round the woods.  I hear them every so often.’ 

Dulcie held her hand out to Anise, ‘Shall we go and have a look for him?’

Roger had followed Sheila out of the van and now sat on a large tree stump.  He rested his arms on bony denim-clad knees and, taking a clay pipe from his pocket, he poked strands of tobacco into the bowl. 

He squinted up at Dulcie, ‘You're fantastic with Ziggy, you have a chat with him.’ he pulled Anise towards him, ‘I’ll keep little ears out of the way.’  He ruffled Anise’s hair.

Dulcie nodded and was about to look around when she noticed Ziggy, a lanky boy of nine or ten with long dark hair, skulking around the side of the caravan. 

‘Hello, I didn’t see you there.’

He shrank back quickly.  ‘We were going to take him to school, but you know how it is, by the time we’d got up it was too late,’ said Sheila. ‘He isn’t in a sociable mood today.’ 

‘Well, I’ve brought cake.’  Dulcie