Читать книгу Our House is Certainly Not in Paris - Susan Cutsforth - Страница 9

In what also seems to be developing as a recurring theme and the mirroring of our two lives on either side of the world, our weeks before departure are consumed by renovating chaos. Not only are we in the process of now getting prices from Jean-Claude for the salle de bain window in Cuzance, oh what a surprise, our bathroom at home is now on a fine timeline. Now why does that not surprise me too? Despite the fact that Stuart has been working on our bathroom for literally months, it is suddenly imperative to get it fin before we leave. I am adamant that I absolutely do not want to return to a renovating site. Are we not, after all, about to embark on renovating in our other life? And so, we have found a tiler, a huge concession for Stuart to outsource any renovating task at all.

However, the tiler seems to be having an inordinate number of days away from the site. Meanwhile, now here’s yet another surprise, just like last year, with only weeks remaining, it’s time to try to sell our car. Weeks pass without a single call. My stress level builds. Stuart, as always, remains implacably calm. As if this is not quite enough, with a matter of just a few weekends left, we organise to have a skip one weekend to get rid of all the bathroom debris. To add to all this, Stuart has two, all-day bridge competitions and we are still sourcing and pricing carpet for two bedrooms. The aim is to have all restored for our return from France. Quite frankly, it all seems absurdly ambitious. This would however, seem to be the opinion of only one of us...

Some weeks before our return, Stuart also announces that he will have to contact Piscine Ambiance to clean the pool to have it ready for our arrival. I let him know that I will email Albert to mow the grass as near as possible to our return date. Its freshly mown appearance will hopefully be a stunning juxtaposition to our other experiences on previous arrivals, of an overgrown, rambling, utterly neglected jardin. A part of us never ceases to marvel at the fact that we are making arrangements for the piscine and jardin. Ordinary people, an extraordinary life, is never far from my mind.

A month before we leave, winter hits us with all the mighty force of the season we are soon to escape. Cyclonic winds, powerful surging seas and deluge after deluge of driving rain beats upon the house. When the electricity is finally restored, I log on to my email and am transported to our small corner of France. Albert has sent photos of all his latest work in our jardin, including mowing swathes through the waist-high grass.

He tells me that rabbits have eaten two of the lavenders that he planted in spring. There is also sad news as one of our graceful silver birches has to be cut down or it will fall on our new barn roof. As the rain lashes the house and the wind roars ferociously, it’s hard to conjure up summer days in France.

This year’s plan is to get the paving well underway so we are no longer sitting in weeds, rocks and rubble. There is always a plan, whether it is our renovation at home or the long list of work in Cuzance. I discuss with Stuart whether I should get a quote from Albert to pave around the piscine or at least a quote to help him with the labour . Doing this will free up a considerable amount of Stuart’s precious time. We already know from our vast renovating experiences, that a projected two-week plan to pave will in fact consume a month – no doubt in blistering heat.

Perhaps if Albert does the paving, we can instead work together on our petite maison. I don’t need to even be there, to have the list ready in my mind, of what still needs to be done in the transformation of Pied de la Croix to completely become a welcoming home, full of charm and ambience. I must remind myself again though, not to be consumed by the thought of lists. However, I do know that the conduit needs fixing in the spare chambre as well as requiring new skirting boards. There is still painting to be done and this year – next? – the wall needs to be knocked out from the dark, box-like toilet to open it up into the bathroom and introduce a false element of light. While there is still no window in the bathroom, nevertheless the illusion should work. I have learnt many renovating skills over the years and have surprised myself endlessly by how much I in fact know and how much I can tackle alone. Conduits and putting in skirting boards are not in that category. As my mind ticks over long before our return, I realise that if Stuart’s days are consumed by paving, I too will feel compelled to work. What though can I manage this year by myself? Not much it would seem. Ah, the jardin. How could I have possibly overlooked my return to that formidable task?

As with our previous discussions the year before related to the car, the piscine and the new roof on the barn, the element of utter surrealism adds a strong layer of incredulity that this has become our wonderful other life. I know that I will never, in all the future years to come when we make plans to return to Cuzance, stop being full of a sense of wonder that this now has become our French life. I reflect on the decades and the journey that have brought us to this remarkable point. The early days of marriage when we packed our sandwiches for a rare day out as we couldn’t afford to buy lunch.

Our first year together in Canberra, when Stuart’s only income was our weekly market stall at Gorman House. We sold kilim cushion covers that we had shipped back from Turkey when we lived there, met and got married. I still remember the penetrating cold of those early winter mornings; your breath itself fog in the air as we scraped the ice from the windscreen to set off in the enveloping darkness to the markets. How we stamped our numb feet and rubbed our hands to try to warm up as we waited for a sale, that sometimes, never came all day.

Meanwhile, like the last few summers, we start emailing Stuart’s brother John and our friend Liz in Wales, to take our ‘bookings’ for their arrival in Cuzance. I email Liz and say:

My thoughts when I am dreaming, often turn to you and hopefully, time together under the walnut tree when the days are warm and balmy. Books in hand, the piscine will tempt us to cast them aside for a while, then a rosé or two, followed by one of your beautiful meals when you do spoil us so. I do look forward very much to your pears in red wine and this year, I will not work or renovate your room when you are there!

We will have outings, we will buy perfume in the chemist in Martel, we will linger over our choices in the patisserie, we will explore Isabella’s petite shop, and – we have an enchanting restaurant already lined up to take you to!

So, are you dreaming too during your wild, wet days in Wales?

In reply, Liz says:

My dear Susan,

How lovely. I now have all those images in my head and time won’t go quickly enough!

I don’t know if we will manage the pears because I’m coming earlier in the season and they may not be ripe on your orchard trees. However, I’m sure I’ll manage some other delights.

I love cooking in your kitchen in France, it’s such a social place to be. Shopping, cooking, relaxing, swimming, the possibility of the odd brocante... and I’ll only have a few days to squash these heady pursuits into. I’m so looking forward to it.

After just a few years, life in Cuzance is taking on a steady and comforting rhythm.