‘Here’s your key Leanne. Welcome to your new home.’ Teresa said with a smile as we stood inside the gite. It was evening and the living room was set, the lights offering a warm glow. The heating made the place cosy, a welcome contrast to the coolness outside. Sitting on the kitchen worktop was a beautiful wicker basket and in it, all my orders.
A loaf of bread, a pack of croissants, a cute little pot of French strawberry jam and some butter too.
The basket burst at the seams with goodies: teabags, coffee pods, sugar, milk. They’d thought of everything.
Beside it sat a bottle of delicious French red. I paused when I saw it. I had mentioned once, in passing, that I preferred red to white wine. They had remembered.
A copper penny peeked out from under the plush grey sofa. I was still shouldering the backpack from my travels and the new green tartan cap I bought in Fresh Garbage warmed my head. Across my face sat a wide grin.
‘Thank you so much Teresa, this is wonderful,’ I said as my eyes darted round the room taking everything in.
Through the kitchen window I could see the back garden. Gorgeous fruit trees dotted about. Yellow daffodils beginning to bloom on the terrace. The blue covering of the outdoor swimming pool.
I had been preparing for this moment for several months. I had looked online for places to rent in the Dordogne and this one caught my eye. The magnificent gardens, the fruit trees, the surrounding forest and the river Isle within walking distance. It ticked all my boxes.
When I messaged Teresa, she replied within a couple of hours and I felt her warmth in her words straight away. When we agreed to the tenancy she sent me a picture of her and Alan so that I would know what they looked like. Alan’s smile radiated from the photo and I sensed it would be fun having them as neighbours.
From that moment on they were at hand to help me with everything. The best airport to fly into, what train to get, where I could hire a car. They even picked me up from the train station when I arrived.
Teresa said it would be too late for me to be worrying about sorting groceries that night, so they made me dinner at theirs instead.
Over dinner they told me about their life here in France and the local area. It was lovely to learn more about them.
Alan brought me a glass of red wine.
And I managed to spill it on their living room rug.
Jeez, I thought… I’ll be kicked out before I’ve even spent a night here.
I glanced down at the spreading red stain and imagined Teresa quietly reconsidering the tenancy agreement.
Thankfully it was easily cleaned and we had a laugh about it.
When they left me in the gite on my own I took a walk around and the realisation settled in that this was the first time in over two years I had somewhere to call my own.
The backpack was still on my shoulders as I stood in the middle of the living room, looking around again. The quiet of the place seemed to wrap itself around me.
I opened the bottle of red they had left me – it would have been rude not to – sat down on the sofa and raised a toast to that.
Later, when I headed to bed, I hung my hat pride of place on the coat rack at my front door… right beside the little sign that says:
Blue Skies and Happy Days.
Happy days indeed.
I slept sound that first night.
The next morning I woke to the beautiful sound of birdsong all around me.
And as I stepped out onto the porch to the view of my wonderful garden, the surrounding trees and the melody playing above me, I stood there for a moment, listening.
The birds were already busy with the day.
The garden was still.
And for the first time in a long time, so was I.
In the days that followed the Dordogne began introducing itself to me.
