A French Wedding Read Online Free Page A

words and counting letters to himself. He looks years older like that – body curved over the table, face pinched in concentration. Juliette cannot think of him ageing so fast, she turns back to her soup instead, adding the herbs, more butter and egg yolks mixed together with cream. Stirring, tasting, breathing it in as though it might clear out all her other thoughts. Thoughts of Delphine and Dusollier, her father’s face old and creased like a walnut shell over his paper, her mother slipping, slipping from life’s grip.
    By the time they are eating the sky is properly dark. Juliette is suddenly starving, realising just how little she has eaten all day. They eat in silence, spoons clinking the sides of the bowls. Juliette’s father pours her a glass of wine.
    â€˜ Merci .’
    â€˜Are you alright, sweetheart?’
    â€˜It’s been a big day.’
    â€˜You missed the interview because of us.’
    Juliette shrugs, feeling both guilty and bitter. What kind of daughter begrudges a mother her illness, her cancer? ‘I’m sure it can be rescheduled,’ she says, knowing it cannot be.
    â€˜You work too hard,’ her father says, sadly; making her think of the moment on the train with Leon.
    â€˜You always say that,’ she says wearily.
    â€˜You do.’
    Juliette tries not to be irritated.
    â€˜It’s my life, Dad.’
    â€˜Well …’
    She looks up from her bowl. ‘Well, what?’
    â€˜Nothing.’ Her father seems to shrink a little.
    â€˜What were you going to say?’
    â€˜You said “it’s my life”. I was just going to say that, you know, it’s not your life . It’s your job. It’s your work.’
    Juliette lays down her spoon. ‘It’s not just a job. Delphine is my passion. My dream. It’s what I want to do.’
    Juliette’s father nods. ‘I know, darling. It’s just you said “your life”. You know we worry about you. Your mother and me.’ He tips his head as though she were right beside him, agreeing.
    â€˜You don’t need to worry about me. I’m a big girl.’
    â€˜Yes, but you’re our girl.’
    â€˜Dad. Please.’
    â€˜We love you.’
    â€˜I know, Dad, I know.’ The exasperation is clear in Juliette’s voice. She regrets it but she resents them both for it, too. She wouldn’t have to be so cagey if they weren’t so loving, so smothering. She wishes they didn’t need her so much. She pulls at the neckline of her dress. Sometimes she feels as though she cannot breathe in Douarnenez; in this house. They sit and eat, pulling the tiny mussels from their black shells and scooping mouthfuls of the salty, creamy soup, flecked green with sorrel, into their mouths. Juliette’s father changes the subject.
    â€˜If you are staying a couple of days, I am sure Pere Michel would love to see you.’
    â€˜Pere Michel?’ Juliette frowns. She remembers the balding old man in his vestments that had placed the sacred host on her tongue, his liver-spotted hand wobbling and shaking.
    Juliette’s father gives a little laugh as though reading her mind. ‘Not the old Pere Michel. The young one. His nephew actually, we’ve spoken of him.’
    â€˜I can’t remember,’ Juliette mutters, still feeling hot and uncomfortable.
    â€˜He’s a lovely man. Quite young. In his late forties, I think. Maybe fifties.’
    â€˜I don’t think –’
    â€˜He’d love to meet you. Your mother and I talk about you all the time. He knows all about you.’
    â€˜I’m not sure I can stay that long, Dad,’ Juliette says, not meeting her father’s gaze.
    â€˜He has been a great support to us. Your mother has been going to church every day or two. It gives her great comfort .’
    â€˜Uh huh.’
    â€˜Pere Michel would be thrilled to meet you.’
    Juliette stands from her chair.