POSING FOR PHOTOS IN PINS JUSTERAY

POSING FOR PHOTOS IN PINS JUSTERAY

In Pins Justeray we would always finish the day’s adventure by sitting in a bus shelter sited between the train station and home; drinking the last of our water and coke. The children often said they would not be able to walk another step home and would need to sleep on the bench that night, which I almost agreed with. The bus shelter had frosted glass as its backing and behind it a field of rapeseed, usually outlined above by blue sky. I liked taking photos of the family there. It was almost as though the field and the bus stop were a specially designed frame, placed just there for the small click of my mobile. For some strange reason I hoped my yellow and blue photos could stand as a sign of support for Ukraine, I do, nowadays, like that combination. At the Air B&B the children would rush upstairs; especially if our hosts were around and, lying on the bed, they would plug in their phones to recharge and beg for me to go downstairs for cold drinks so they didn’t have to see the people who were giving us our room.

I would take up their orangina or coke and pour a beer and a whisky for myself. While Wendy would snuggle up with them on the bed they all shared, I would have a shower. I found it hard to believe that the others were too tired to shower when the water washed away all the aches from my feet and legs and left me feeling cleansed. I would then dress in my dressing gown and lie on my bed to read. I was always worried at this point because I never knew when the teenage son and daughter would be coming home and my bed was in the hallway next to their rooms. I was pretty sure they would not like glimpses of a fat sixty year old’s stomach or bare legs as they came upstairs to bed.

While we went on trips to towns and caught trains to Toulouse and sat in the boulangerie every morning eating our pastries and croissants, the couple who owned the house, carried on with their day. They were kind to us, always asking how we were, where we had been; hoping we hadn’t been caught in the protests over President Macrons pension reforms where every evening, the police cars and vans would start streaming into the centre of the city for whatever was likely to happen that evening.

Soon I became the only person who went downstairs in the evening; getting bread and cheese for us and hot dogs for James; more cold drinks, more beer. The lady of the house was quite young and had a baby who had just started walking. She usually ate with the baby and slept when the baby slept. She looked very, very, tired. The man; he seemed tired too and somehow angry. He would often be outlined by the blue glare of the computer screen from their home office. One evening when it was getting dark, I found him lying on the sitting room floor with the lights off, staring at his closed down phone. He didn’t say anything to me.

The day we got back from the medieval town of Foix, all exhilarated by what we had seen and done and eaten, everyone escaped upstairs as usual and while I collected the drinks I asked the lady if she had had a good day. She looked at her husband anxiously and said it had been fine. He then hurled a fast spatter of words in her direction and she replied back equally fast. By the time I got upstairs their voices were rising in volume.

In Wendy and the children’s room you couldn’t hear them but from my place in the hall, I could. The man was shouting loudly but what he said was muffled by the doors. At one stage I thought I heard something get thrown. The children wanted more food but I told them that I was not going downstairs while the argument was going on.

It wasn’t till after dark that the house went silent and I retrieved our bread, cheese and chocolate from an empty kitchen and sitting room.

In the night I thought of the woman; wondered if she would like us to say something; wondered why I instinctively blamed the man. It was him that seemed the angry one, so maybe that was why. I thought of looking up the French equivalent of Woman’s Aid, then thought if I were them, I wouldn’t want strangers like us blundering into their pain. The people, they were so careful, most of the time, to be kind and helpful to; the ones they wanted a good five star review from. I said nothing. Wendy gave them a good review. They give us an equally good one.

(Photos: France, Pins Justeray and Foix, April 2023)