34
“AuntieBridgeAuntieBridgeAuntieBridge!”
Just in case shouting at full volume down her ear didn’t work, Stéphanie also jumped on top of Bridge, squeezing the breath out of her and making her wince. But the girl got her wish, and Bridge was now awake. She mumbled an approximation of “Good morning,” wondering why Izzy had allowed Steph into her bedroom, then recognised the coffee table, wine glasses, and fireplace. She was still on the sofa, fully clothed, under a blanket presumably laid over her by her sister.
Bridge checked the time. Not yet 0800, but Steph was wide awake. Izzy shouted from the kitchen, “Leave your Auntie Bridge alone, Steph. She’s an ogre in the morning.”
Stéphanie fixed Bridge with a sceptical look. “You don’t look like an ogre.”
Bridge jerked upward and roared, looming over the girl with her hands. Steph shrieked, a mixture of shock and laughter, then leapt off the couch and skipped into the kitchen. “Maman’s making cakes,” she called back to Bridge. “I’m going to help.”
“You do that,” Bridge whispered, and swung her legs off the sofa. To her surprise, she felt better than she’d expected. The wine bottle on the table was empty, but she was pretty sure it had still been half-full last time she looked at it. Izzy must have finished the rest herself, which only made her early rising more annoying.
After a quick shower, Bridge followed the warm, sugary scent emanating from the kitchen to find Izzy and Steph taking cake-filled trays out of the oven. Hugo slept in a carry-cot on the counter.
“Cups, coffee, all in those cupboards,” said Izzy, directing Bridge with a nod of her head as she manoeuvred a hot tray onto a cooling rack.
“What’s all this for?” Bridge asked. It wasn’t either Steph or Hugo’s birthday, but she couldn’t swear to Fred’s date of birth. “Are you having a party?”
“No,” said Steph, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Maman sells cakes at the patisseries in town. They put them in their window, and everyone says they’re quite delicious.”
Bridge busied herself taking milk out of the fridge, so Steph couldn’t see her trying not to laugh at the girl’s pomposity. It was quite sweet, really. When Bridge turned back, Steph was holding up a paper bag with the words Délices de la Ferme Baudin, Côte-d’Or printed in a faux-handwritten typeface.
“See? Now everyone knows Baudin Farm makes the best cakes.” She noticed the carton in Bridge’s hand, and grimaced. “Ugh, are you putting milk in your coffee? That’s so English.”
This time Bridge didn’t bother suppressing her laughter as she poured the milk. Even as a child in Lyon she’d always hated black coffee, but she didn’t have the energy to contradict Steph and get into the inevitable conversation that would follow.
“Don’t be rude, Stéphanie,” said Izzy, and held out a filled bag to her daughter. “Now give these to Auntie Bridge.” Steph took the bag and formally presented it, complete with a curtsey. “Knowing you, you’ve eaten nothing but salad leaves and walnuts since you got here,” Izzy continued. “Get something filling down your neck for once.”
“Vegetarian, not vegan,” Bridge sighed. “I’ve been eating just fine.”
Fred walked into the kitchen and nodded at the bag of cakes, now in Bridge’s hand. “Is she paying for those?”
“Don’t be silly, Fred, she’s our guest.”
“I didn’t invite her.”
Bridge placed the bag back on the table. “No, he’s right. If this is your business, I’ll pay. Let me get my purse.”
“Brigitte Joséphine Sharp, you pick up that bag right now and you bloody well keep it.” Izzy turned to glower at Fred. “We do not make family pay for food. Make yourself useful; go and chop some wood.” Fred returned the glare, but backed out of the room. A moment later, the door to the yard slammed shut.
“Why didn’t Papa invite you?” Steph asked.
Bridge couldn’t think of an answer that wouldn’t cause another argument. “I should head back,” she said. “Thanks for putting me up. I’m only in Agenbeux for another week, so I won’t see you again till you’re back in London.”
“Well, that won’t be till school starts, so have fun till then. And for God’s sake remember what I said, OK?” Izzy gestured at Bridge’s hair and face. “Just do…something.”
Bridge kissed Izzy on the cheeks, and Stéphanie on the head, then retrieved her bag. Outside in the yard, Fred was chopping wood with a heavy axe, swinging it over and down on logs balanced atop a squat block. He paused when he saw Bridge emerge and said, “You should call, next time.”
“So you don’t mind if there is a next time?” Bridge replied, surprised.
Fred planted the axe in the block and walked over, lowering his voice. “As long as you two are related, I don’t seem to have much choice. But remember: Hugo, Stéphanie, and I are Isabelle’s family now. It’s my job to take care of them, and put their welfare first.”
“Are you saying I’m bad for my sister’s welfare? Are you worried she might remember how to have fun?”
“You’re a child,” Fred shouted, and wagged a gloved finger at Bridge. “Building a family is not about fun. It’s about loyalty, and commitment. I’d die for my wife and children, you understand? But you, you have no commitments, no responsibilities; nothing. I don’t want Stéphanie to think she can live her life like you.”
Bridge turned away and climbed into the Fiat hire car. “On the bright side, Fréderic, at least I’m not bitter. You should try it some time.” She fired up the engine and drove away before he could respond.
35
GROUP: france.misc.binaries-random
FROM: zero@null
SUBJECT: new art
36
“It was posted yesterday, how the bloody hell could you miss it?”
If Bridge hadn’t been
