Free And Then Came Paulette by Barbara Constantine, Justin Phipps Page A

knew her man’s father: an old guy, a bit cold, rather stiff, not that nice, and yet now . . .
    “So is that all you came to tell me, Mireille?”
    “No, I wanted to . . . But hang on a sec. First, I want to know why you haven’t told anyone all this.”
    “So people won’t get the wrong end of the stick. You know how sometimes they get crazy ideas.”
    “That’s true.”
    She helped herself to another glass.
    So, two sherries, an antidepressant tablet, and a couple of glasses of plum wine later, she started to explain the reason for her visit.
    Her Uncle Guy wasn’t well. Ferdinand must have noticed he was letting himself go. In just a few days he’d lost so much weight, it was awful. And those dark lines around the eyes, his expression. The children no longer wanted to see him: they were scared. He was like a ghost.
    She started to cry, but carried on talking.
    So perhaps if he wasn’t on his own, he might get his appetite back? He could do stuff; look after the children, and her too. She needed that, particularly at the moment. Maybe it would work better if he no longer lived alone.
    Ferdinand patted her hand. She snuggled up to him. It was the first time they had been so close. He wasn’t used to it. He searched in his pocket and offered her a tissue. She blew noisily into it and waited for his response.
    “He’s as stubborn as a mule, your uncle. If he doesn’t want to do something, you’ll have a job making him change his mind.”
    “But it might work if you suggested it.”
    She waited for him to agree.
    “I’ll go and see him tomorrow.”
    The combined effects of the alcohol and medication finally kicked in. She was in no fit state to drive. Ferdinand took the keys off her, put Marceline’s bike in the trunk (his own tires were flat) and took her home.
    Fortunately, it didn’t rain on the way back. But it was a long time since he’d been on a bike, so he had to stop several times for a rest.
    He knew he’d pay for it the following day.

27
An Ointment
    And sure enough he did. When Ferdinand woke his legs were stiff and painful and his backside had been mangled to a pulp. It was bad so that he couldn’t stand up or sit down. At seven-thirty he finally called Marceline to help. She brought him a bottle of homemade ointment. It worked for her; he should try it. He was skeptical, but had little choice. He rubbed some on in the way she indicated and felt a little better. He managed to get down to the kitchen without too much difficulty and he congratulated her on the miracle cure. He was careful not to refer to a “home cure.” The poor thing had just lost her home and he didn’t want to upset her.
    While drinking their tea and coffee, they talked about the previous day. She found it touching that Mireille had dropped in unannounced to see him. Especially as it was the first time she had done that, if she’d understood correctly. She had looked like a little girl—so distressed and so vulnerable. Ferdinand made a face. He had known Mireille for some time. And even though she gave the impression of being sweet and all that, you couldn’t trust her too much, not our Mireille. Shewasn’t like that all the time. She could be very strict, for example with her own children. And with him she had done everything possible to stop him from seeing them, on the grounds he used too many swear words. Whereas, in fact he was very careful about that. But yes, granted, it was true she had seemed vulnerable the previous evening. And he was very touched that she had come around for a chat.
    They tried to imagine how they would arrange things if the three of them were to live together. They did a tour of the house.
    There was really no reason not to.
    They said goodbye and each of them left.
    Marceline was behind with her vegetable garden. She needed to make the most of the dry weather to plant the garlic and winter shallots; sow some broad beans and peas. Before the ground became too hard with the