Wearing Purple

By Anna Carey

Illustration: Wearing Purple

UPLIFTING SHORT STORY WRITTEN BY CILLA MOSS

Was Flora ready to travel and start living a far bolder life abroad?

Flora sat in the chilly October breeze, sipping her last French coffee as she waited for the ferry to take her home.

“You are happy to be going back to England?” Fabrice returned from his short walk.

She smiled.

“Yes, I’ve been away long enough. I’m looking forward to seeing Suzie, of course, and Luke, and having a good cup of English tea. And just settling into my own home again. Does that sound silly?”

“Not silly at all. What will they think of me?” Fabrice looked around as people started shifting more purposefully, picking up bags and small children.

“They’ll love you. Come on, it looks like we can board now.”

The previous Boxing Day, Flora had surveyed her pile of opened presents – lovely practical items, thoughtfully chosen and gratefully received – and asked herself, do I look like a padded coat hanger kind of a person?

And she realised, to her dismay, that the answer was yes, that was exactly what she looked like and how her family regarded her.

And in that moment, she’d decided to live life a little more boldly in future. Well, for a while, anyway.

Her nearest and dearest had thought it a joke at first.

“A gap year?” Suzie had exclaimed. “Aren’t you a bit . . .”

“Old?” Flora had completed her daughter’s question. “Not at all. There weren’t any gap years when I was young. Anyway, it’s popular these days, gap years for grown-ups. I will enjoy it.”

“And where will you go? Have you checked there’s a Marks and Sparks in Kathmandu?”

Suzie could mock all she liked, thought Flora. She knew her daughter’s bluntness stemmed from real, if misguided, concern.

“There probably is, and a McDonald’s and Starbucks. But I thought I’d stay closer to home, get one of those interrail thingy whatsits and travel round Europe: Venice, Rome, Paris, wherever the fancy takes me. If I run out of funds, I’ll teach English for a while.”

Suzie stared, dumbstruck, at her mother.

“Is this a midlife crisis?” she asked, when she got her voice back. “You don’t do this stuff, Mum. Remember, you get Luke to take your car to the garage for you. You’ve never been further than York on your own. How will you manage?”

Flora was stung, but rallied and defended herself somewhat stiffly.

“I’ve been to lots of places on my own, Suzie, and I’m quite capable of looking after myself.”

When Suzie opened her mouth again, she was ready for her.

“Don’t say anything else, Suzie, I’m going. Like in the poem, I shall wear purple and get myself a red hat, and then I’ll be on my way.”

She left while Suzie was still staring at her, wide-eyed. Flora had been inclined to just buy her ticket and set off, a rucksack on her back and a pair of stout boots on her feet, but Suzie and Luke seemed determined to cover all bases.

They bought extra mobile phones “just in case”, they borrowed books on solo travel from the library and they offered limitless advice on keeping safe abroad. When Suzie offered to travel with her “just as far as Rouen”, Flora felt enough was enough. They were making her nervous with their preparations and their emergency numbers.

If her resolve had been weakening, Flora wouldn’t have let it show. She was going on this trip if she had to run away in the middle of the night. And if she heard them saying one more time that this really wasn’t like her, she thought she might just do that.

What did they know about her, really? Even after Flora explained how the well-intentioned coat hangers had been pivotal in her decision, Suzie seemed unable to understand. It was as though they’d slotted her into a box she didn’t want to fit into.

Do they know me at all? she wondered.

She took no notice of M. Moreau the first couple of times he appeared.

He sat at the only other pavement table, drinking coffee. The next day there was just the one table spare and, after a polite exchange, they sat side by side, complimenting each other on their choices and praising the bakery skills of the patisserie owner.

Moreau – Fabrice – was not young and handsome, but his face had a pleasant aspect, and she appreciated his lovely manners and slow smile.

They shared the table each morning after that and took turns to treat each other to a portion of tarte aux pommes or an éclair. It took a little while for Flora to admit to herself that she looked forward to their meetings, not just for the sweetness of the patisserie’s range but also for Fabrice’s company.

What do you know about him?” Suzie asked in her next phone call, immediately after reminding Flora, as usual, that she’d made her point and could come home now.

“I know he stands up when I arrive. I know he has good taste in midmorning snacks. I know he makes me happy . . .”

“Mum, tell me you haven’t fallen for him – he could be anyone!”

“Of course I haven’t ‘fallen for him’, Suzie! Stop being so ridiculous – and he’s not ‘anyone’; he’s a nice man who’s making my trip even better than I’d expected. That’s all. Now tell me what you and Luke have been up to.”

Fabrice told her his story. He was a teacher, like Flora. He was also divorced and had been staying for a short while with his daughter, who worried about him now he lived alone in the family home.

Unlike Flora though, he was still working, so would return to Arras soon in time for the new term. He would miss their morning chats and wondered whether there was a chance Flora would visit Arras on her “gap year” – he picked out the two words specially, as though he found the idea intriguing.

“I would be very happy if you visit Arras. Try to do this. I have a big house, many rooms, much space.” His chocolatey eyes held her gaze for a minute or two. “Please?”

Flora glanced at the patisserie behind their red metal chairs and thought how blessed she was to have to make this choice; stay here in a lovely place or move on to another lovely place.

“I’d love to come,” she said.

Of course, she hadn’t intended to take on any paid employment. She’d mentioned the possibility of teaching to Suzie as a way of deflecting pre-trip objections, but once installed in Fabrice’s detached home she realised that rather than a house guest, what he needed was a housekeeper.

As she could make her own decisions, she put her plan to him and he agreed. Over the next few weeks, she fulfilled cooking and cleaning duties – laughing to herself that she’d gone to France to escape the mundanity of her life in Britain.

“This feels so different, though,” she told Suzie, in one of their now rare phone conversations.

“Mum,” Suzie said, “dusting’s dusting, whatever country you’re in.”

“But I’ve chosen to be here – that’s a big difference.”

“I know!” Suzie replied, “But I miss you, Mum. Will you be coming home soon?”

Flora was taken aback by the uncertainty in her daughter’s voice.

“I’m not sure, Suzie. I’ve been offered a little job locally at one of the schools. I think I’m going to be moving there for a few weeks.”

“Won’t that be just like how life used to be for you? Teaching?”

“Not exactly. It’s a school for circus skills and I’ll be assistant cook. Fabrice recommended me. He knew I wanted to keep trying different things during this year and with this job I get the chance to learn some circus skills myself.”

“You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“Nope, but don’t worry, I’m not going to try the trapeze or the high wire.”

Suzie’s voice was small.

“Don’t juggle with fire either, will you?”

“No, I won’t do that either.” She paused. “Is everything all right, darling? How’s Luke?”

“Oh, we’re both fine. Better go now. See you, Mum. Take care.”

What had happened to Venice, Rome and all the other places she’d planned to visit, wondered Flora one night as she flopped, exhausted, on to her small bed at the school.

France was still a novelty, the mildness of the climate even now it was later in the year, the smells and sights of food she still couldn’t always identify but which was delicious.

And that was without the many attractions of the circus school. Trying to identify the clowns beneath their garish make-up was always fun, trying on their costumes even more so.

And yet . . . there was something.

Was it Suzie’s increasingly unhappy voice on the phone?

Was it that the frisson that had thrived briefly between Fabrice and herself had morphed into a mutual fondness which, while strong, no longer held her to the region?

Was it that Christmas would be approaching soon and her family at home would be wrapping presents and planning get-togethers?

Flora’s last thought before she closed her eyes was that in the morning she’d call at la gare locale and enquire about a ticket home.

And so here she was now, boarding the ferry for home, a French man by her side. Suzie and Luke would be waiting at Portsmouth, for which she was very grateful.

Once they arrived, though, the English port was colder than they were used to and Flora and Fabrice pulled their jackets around them as they scanned the crowd.

“Mum!” Flora heard Suzie’s voice before she saw her.

She’d imagined this moment lots of times, despite the irritation she’d felt with Suzie, her protective, interfering, very loving daughter, but in none of her visions had she appeared to be six months or so pregnant.

It left Flora unable to speak for a good few moments. She felt her eyes fill with ridiculous tears and hugged Suzie to her until she felt more in control.

She whispered how good it was to see her and then stepped back.

“This is Fabrice, Suzie. He’ll be staying with me until after Christmas,” seemed the safest thing to say.

Suzie offered her hand to Fabrice.

“Gap year?” she asked, with a cheeky smile.

Flora’s gaze was on Suzie’s bump.

“We made a decision not to tell you,” Suzie explained, through happy tears. “I knew if we told you, you’d come home, and you really wanted this trip. It took me a while to get used to the idea, but you seemed to be having such a good time so . . . I’m so glad to see you, though, there’s so much I need to ask you about all this!”

She glanced down at her bump.

“And you can tell us all about France as well, of course!”

“Have you forgotten something, Suzie?” Luke cut in.

“Oh, yes! We’re planning early this year because of this little one’s arrival, so . . . you’ll be coming to us for Christmas, won’t you? Both of you?”

She took her mum’s hand.

“There won’t be a padded coat hanger in sight. I promise!”