Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
All of my planning for this Christmas Eve had been in vain, though; I'd been usurped.
Natalie's grandparents had both died a few years earlier, 'Papy' from a long and inevitably
doomed battle with cancer and 'Mamie' a few months later, officially from an embolism but
also because maybe she just wanted to. It happens quite a lot I think, when one half dies after
a lifetime spent together - in this case fifty-eight years of marriage - the other finds the phys-
ical and mental demands of being alone just too much and it takes its toll.
Their house, a massive, almost Gothic monstrosity on the edge of town had been standing
empty ever since, partly due to a very depressed local housing market but also because who
in their right mind would want it? It's on a busy road, opposite a builders' merchants, next
door to a kebab shop, and its rooms are so cavernous that heating alone would cost a fortune.
In the meantime, one of Natalie's uncles had moved into the empty house and although it was
lovely to have family back on our doorstep, to celebrate his move back home and the fact that
his boyfriend had moved in with him, they would be doing Christmas Eve. I won't pretend
that I wasn't upset, but the decision was taken while I was away, possibly quite rightly, that I
was strung out enough as it was without hosting Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.
It was a decision taken as much with my interests at heart as anything, but that had never
stopped me from throwing my toys out of the pram before and it didn't this time either. To
me it just represented another chipping away at my life in France, something else I had to
give up. It's inevitable of course; one of the many problems of being away so much is that,
certainly on a domestic front, jobs that should be mine have to be done by someone else, and
so when I do return, I feel a little left out, a bit spare. Obviously there are jobs that could
only ever be mine; despite the harrowing journey back the previous week, the first thing I did
when I got in was to start re-arranging the fridge which was frankly, after so long away, an
organisational shambles but also the perfect 'come down' for an OCD-ridden fruitcake high
on caffeine supplements. But it's the little things. I no longer prepare Natalie's pre-dinner gin
and tonic for instance, that responsibility now lies with Maurice, who clearly has some talent
in that area.
The relief for Samuel when I'm home is palpable, though. He's a serious-minded little boy
and Natalie thinks that he feels the pressure to be 'man of the house' when I'm away, going so
far as to copy my moodiness, speed of temper and 'petty levels of hissy-fitty-ness' (her words,
not mine). When I'm back he behaves like a little boy again, plays with his toys more and is
clearly much happier. Thérence is like any toddler and wants his mummy to do everything
and no substitute will do except, I've noticed, when he's carrying a particularly rancid offering
in his nappy and then it's all, 'Daddy do it!', so clearly some coaching has gone on there.
The one small advantage of not 'doing' Christmas Eve was that I had more time for other
things. The trampoline that had blown away the previous week needed to be removed from a
neighbour's garden across the road, which was quite some task; I was tackling it truculently
and wondering how such a heavy, metal structure could possibly just 'blow away' when a
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