July 2010
I love the sea, walking along the beach, soft sand and water around my toes. I am twenty eight years old a mum and widow and living by the coast is my saviour.
My husband died a tragic death from a motor cycle accident and my son Simon and I have been alone for three years. Simon always reminds me of his father - blonde curly hair, fairly skinny but always bubbling with a need for adventure.
We enjoy life, playing games, cycling, visiting all sorts of events for fun and learning. He likes music and football, so I watch his matches at school and listen to his practice on the guitar for the big gig he eventually will present at a pop concert. As he is only nine he fortunately has time to practice.
I have always wanted to find a bottle with a message when I walk the beach looking. I look for shells, coloured glass or china, in fact anything I can polish to make pieces to sell. I work mornings for a surgery and, though I really need more money, I think it's more important to always be there for Simon when he comes home for school.
I also like to help out at fetes (worse than death sometimes!) that are put on at his school. This particular May day I had charge of running the balloon stall where for a small sum you could write a message on a label attached to a balloon before releasing it into the air.
At the end of the afternoon having just four left I wrote Simon's name on one and mine on another.
They all had the schools address and during the days ahead several calls were made by people finding them. The school wished to know how far they had travelled and there was a prize for the one found furthest away.
Five weeks later the school received a letter for Simon from France, Brittany in fact. A small boy had seen the balloon caught in a tree and made his father climb up to release it.
He comes from a family of two brothers and a sister and his mother had encouraged him to reply to the school as she thought it would help him with his English.
With my hesitant help, practically Franglais, he replied and quite a few letters went back and forth.
Florian, the French boy, also liked football and as the school summer holidays approached his parents asked if he, with my permission could visit for a week. I was a bit reluctant as I hadn't met his parents and had no knowledge of the home. They realised this and repeated their invitation to include myself.
Simon was extremely keen so we decided on the first week of August.
The trip by train and ferry was pleasing as the day was fine and the trip smooth. Florian and his father met us at the port and we drove through countryside very like our own in Cornwall. I can see that it is entirely possible that the two countries were joined in the past.
The boys although never meeting before seemed to gel straight away and I found myself welcomed and made to feel at home very quickly.
The family all spoke English for us, even the younger children, and though I had persevered in trying to learn the language, I felt much easier.
We had several outings to which Florian's uncle and daughter were invited and I found the week was going too quickly.
After we returned home Simon missed Florian and I admit I missed the friendliness of the family. I have a limited social life as I don't have parents living close for boy sitting and most of my outings are with Simon and his friends.
Almost reaching the last week of the holidays I thought Florian would like to visit us. I knew I could not sleep the whole family in my small house and I think the family, realising my predicament, suggested that Terie, the uncle bring Florian and his cousin, and he could sleep in a hotel.
I had, I admit, become quite fond of Terie while in France. He was a lovely chap of thirty odd but still very quiet and sad. His wife died two years before of cancer and I could tell he still loved her very much. I knew how he felt and was sympathetic as I had been in the same state when my husband died.
They all arrived however and I have to say we didn't see the boys. The weather was so fine they even slept in a tent in the garden. Marie fitted in well with them but I also invited my niece for a time as company for her.
I learned more about Terie and Florian's family who had always lived in Brittany, father, Gerard is a teacher but Eloise only works part time. She is a nurse but feels the children are needful of care and attention at least until they are teenagers and to be fair she wouldn't have time to work more with three children.
Again I could not believe how quickly the week went and Florian was persuaded, with my invitation, to stay on for the rest of the holidays.
Teri had to return with Marie and life went back to normal but seemed to lack a little something.
Life goes on and Simon settled into a new school a little further away which meant I had more time to give to my hobby, cover extra living expenses. I took up making pottery and worked in a little craft shop finding new designs for my shells and stones and now having them polished smooth I could make better jewellery too.
We had kept up a good rapport with the Luc family, now with e-mails and cards, they feeling like an extended family. I still beach combed every day and in spring one day I couldn't believe my luck, yes, it was a bottle lying at the edge of the beach. I quickly unscrewed the top and read the note. It said 'You will have a surprise and a visitor who finds he wants to know more about you'.
Yes it was Terie. He had realised that an attraction existed between us and now felt it time to lay his previous life with his wife to rest.
Well you can guess the end of the story, over time he came here to live with Marie and if it wasn't for the balloon with a label I wouldn't be waiting for the car now to take me to my wedding, in both Anglais est Francais.