Читать книгу It Started With A Note: A brand-new uplifting read of love and new adventures for 2018! - Victoria Cooke - Страница 26

The following morning, at Martha’s insistence, I tag along on a short trip to the beautifully kept British cemetery in Arras, which is followed by free time in the town centre of Arras in the afternoon. It’s slightly off-piste but I have plenty of time in France and part of the reason why I’m here is to do the journey my grandmother should have done and experience France. After the heaviness of yesterday, something light and breezy ticks all the right boxes so when the ladies decide to go shopping while the men catch a game of football I’m quite excited.

We deposit the men, along with their mumblings of soccer being a ‘girls’ game’, in the pub and hit the high street. Martha and Cynthia are like magpies, drawn to the jewellery shops, whereas the great weather is giving me a penchant for some pretty cork-wedged shoes. If I play my cards right I’d need never wear my torturous pleather sandals again. By late afternoon, I still haven’t bought any but I have enjoyed ogling all the different ones in their pastels and metallic hues. The others, meanwhile, have all managed to secure some yellow gold items. A ring for Martha’s granddaughter and a necklace for Cynthia’s daughter, plus a few items for themselves, I notice.

‘Well, it’s a beautiful day and there’s outdoor seating at the cafés in the square. How about some alfresco lunch?’ Martha asks.

‘That sounds good to me,’ Cynthia replies.

‘Thank goodness.’ I sigh. ‘I was beginning to get embarrassed by my lack of shopping stamina in comparison to yours.’

‘We’ve just had more practice.’ Martha winks.

We find a table in the shade on the edge of the square and order three ham and cheese toasties and a bottle of white wine, and before long, we’re tucking in.

‘France is such a happy place,’ Cynthia says with a wistful sigh, before draining the last of her small tipple of wine.

‘Happiness comes from within and from the people you’re connected to, not from a place,’ Martha says between mouthfuls.

‘I know that, but the people here seem so relaxed.’ Cynthia gestures to couples ambling through the square and people sipping wine in the bars, chatting leisurely. ‘It’s the weather – it’s warm and sunny but not stifling like the summers back home in Georgia,’ she concludes, and I think back to my dreary bus commute home and mentally agree.

‘Well, I think it’s the company too,’ I say, raising my glass to a chorus of ‘I’ll second that’s.

Cynthia rests her head on her fists dreamily. ‘We do love our men, but having a “girls only” day is just what the doc ordered.’

‘So, these men you’re both sporting, are they your first husbands?’ I ask, spurred by my wine-induced confidence.

Martha smiles fondly and nods. ‘Yes, Harry is the only man I’ve ever been with. Sixty-two years we’ve been married. Don’t get me wrong, I could throttle him sometimes, especially now he’s older as he can be such a cantankerous so-and-so.’ She pauses and then smiles again. ‘But I wouldn’t be without him really.’

‘Same for Roland and me,’ says Cynthia. ‘Fifty-nine years.’

‘How about you, Cath? Have you ever been married?’ Martha asks.

Still chewing my toastie, I shake my head. ‘No. My son came along as a result of a few alcopops and a bag of Walkers prawn cocktail crisps.’ This draws a few blank expressions. ‘His father was an older boy who I’d idolised since year eleven. When I told him I was pregnant, he didn’t want to know. I heard he’d moved away not long after that and then, well …’ I realise I’m droning on, telling a story that’s probably the same one that thousands of women could tell.

Cynthia looks puzzled. ‘So, what happened?’

‘Nothing and there wasn’t anyone after him. With a young son to care for I can’t say I ever looked my best.’ I giggle at the memory of being complimented on the unusual pattern on my top that was actually dried formula that I hadn’t noticed had slopped down my side. ‘There isn’t much time for man-hunting with a little one. I don’t have any regrets though; I wouldn’t swap Kieran for a different life. How could I? He’s such a smart boy, off at university now.’