I told you back in March that I wanted to spend more time writing, with the aim to get a whole book out of my head and onto the keyboard. To get my create juices flowing (eww I hate that expression) I have been entering a few writing competitions.
You may have seen the article I wrote for Company Magazine for their travel blogger feature. As well as the uber exciting news that Rosie Blake has become my writing mentor as part of the WoMentoring Project. I don’t want to jinx anything but it feels like my writing dream may be getting closer than ever before. Obviously there is a lot of hard work ahead of me but I am feeling really positive and excited to see where this journey takes me.
I was a finalist in a short story competition for a French website: The Good Life France. Even though I didn’t win, it still meant so much that someone read and rated my work especially as I am trying to improve my confidence levels with fictional writing. I can now share my entry below and I would love to hear from you what you think. It is a little longer than my normal posts (1000 words) so you may want to get a brew and even better a piece of cake!
France: Love at first bite
As Sarah made her way down the bustling high street she was stopped in her tracks by the smells wafting from the bakery on the corner. That sweet buttery scent carried through the warm spring breeze and as soon as it hit her nostrils she was taken back to 10 years earlier sitting in Madame Debray’s kitchen.
Sarah’s mouth watered at the memory this smell was bringing back. She could taste flaky plump croissants served warm to allow the lump of butter to melt effortlessly marking its territory. Honey-coloured baguettes that gave a certain crunch when you squeezed them, soft dainty chouquettes drenched in drops of sugar, not to mention the rainbow of macaroons that would have given Willy Wonka a run for his money.
“Why are you butchering that poor thing?” She remembered her shrill voice ringing in her ears as she spread apricot jam on her brioche one morning using a butter knife. Little did she realise the faux pas just committed as the sweet golden bread was snatched away and a demonstration of how to spread using the back of a teaspoon was given.
Freshly brewed coffee steamed out of deep bowls. That feeling of uncertainty as she laced her fingers around the thick ceramic vessel that was better acquainted with sugary cereal back home, as she cautiously took a sip so as not to spill it down herself. She had made enough errors already.
Once she had set the table for breakfast she waited expectantly for Madame Debray’s arrival and approval. It was only once everything was laid out that she fully understood why the first meal of the day was called a ‘petite déjeuner’ or ‘small lunch’. It was incredulous really how the French women stayed so thin she thought as she tried not to think about how much tighter her waistband had got since arriving here.
“Well this looks adequate,” Madame Debray glided in and gave the table a once over. Not a lady who was forthcoming with praise, she was from the generation who preferred to pass her wisdom down through actions than words.
“Why use words when you can let your hands do the talking”, Sarah remembered her saying, as she floured up her thin hands wiping the excess on a soft cloth hanging from her apron as they prepared to get started on a tarte tatin.
It wasn’t meant to be an education in French cuisine or passing down centuries of family recipes to this awkward English girl but over the course of the summer this is what had happened. Sarah knew she was extremely lucky to be witnessing the skill and effort involved in preparing patisseries from Madame Debray even if she resisted at first because of Alexandre.
Sarah had met Alexandre during her last year at University. All the girls from her course fell for him and his adorable English-French accent, she felt so special he had chosen her. When he invited her to spend their final summer, before finding jobs in the real world, visiting his French relatives as well as touring the country she couldn’t say no.
She hadn’t realised that ‘the tour’ in his mind was just the local villages near to where his aunt Mathilde Debray lived in Normandy. She didn’t know that he had spent his childhood here every summer and knew a lot of people ‘that he had to go and catch up with’ making it quite clear that with her poor command of the language she wasn’t welcome. So as he rode off on his worn out loud motorbike every morning she was left inside with his aunt; a stone faced, brittle old woman that had no interest in trying to entertain her nephew’s lovesick English girlfriend.
Sarah hadn’t wanted to call home as stupidly she had bragged to anyone that would listen just how much French wine they would be sipping, historic museums they would be seeing and romantic evening strolls by the Seine they would be taking. Stupid girl.
After going for yet another solo walk round the noisy fishing harbour she dawdled back to the large house when this smell hit her. It was like her senses had come alive as she picked out notes of sweet berries, fragrant melted chocolate and just baked bread. The kitchen windows were ajar and she could hear Madame Debray humming to herself. Sarah was taken aback not just by the heaven her nose was in but by how relaxed and carefree Alexandre’s aunt appeared.
“If you are going to stand there staring you may as well come in and help me”, her churlish tone had woken Sarah from her trance. She skipped up the steps wanting to be part of this magical kitchen world. And that was it. Every day they wouldn’t even notice Alexandre and his dirty bike had gone before they were enveloped in a world of sugar, spice and all things nice.
Madame Debray was right you didn’t need to speak when you had a world at your fingertips. Beating fresh farm eggs to make smooth meringues, patiently creating delicate layers for mille-feuilles and piping luscious cream into éclairs. Sarah realised there was such joy in preparing dishes as there was in indulging in them.
A growling teenager jolted Sarah back to reality.
“Oi watch it will yer” he snarled at her as she realised she was planted in the centre of the pavement outside the small bakery. Alexandre was now a distant memory after they had gone their separate ways once back in England. Life moves on. Until today when that smell took her right back. Sarah smiled to herself as she opened the heavy door setting off the bell announcing her arrival.
“Got a busy day today”, she said to the nervous looking young girl behind the counter. She pulled her trusty apron around her and washed her hands. “First for today’s lesson: Croissants” she grinned knowing Madame Debray would be proud.
