How could I ever have left him? Or is it her? Actually I always think of Sainte Cecile as feminine, I suppose Cecile is. And as for selling up…..what a stupid, mad, cruel and short-termist notion.
I can’t tell you how nice it is to be home. There is something deeply satisfying about it. I feel grounded, happy, content, like donning an apron and making fresh pasta.
The children are like, well, kids in a sweet shop. They are exstatic. Around every corner is a toy they missed or a tree they climbed. Every few minutes they tell me how happy they are to be home. Irritated as they are by the mess left after all the summer rentals. Bea is most idignant over her trampoline. The cover has been broken. Olivia suggets we make the tenants pay for it and then we will be rich enough to stay here for ever.
It’s a nice thought, but actually I am not unhappy with our two homes. If we can keep things ticking along. In seven years there will be no mortgage to pay here and we can look forward to watching our grandchildren play on the swings just as our children have done.
As Rupert says; Sainte Cecile is part of us. Selling it would really be the maddest thing to do and I am sure we would regret it for ever. I have fallen head over heels in love again, and not just with all my shoes (although the reunion has been extremely emotional) but just with HOME. The slight bend in the road before you get to the house, the roaring fire, Max (who is looking great, fatter and younger than when we left), the Olive trees in the garden, the sound of the source. All that’s missing is my dog. He moved in with Madame Fontenon up the road. Maybe today he will pay us a visit and complete the perfect homecoming.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008