Changes after changes

With Leila at Number 25 I took a few days off.

Unused to driving outside my diminished comfort zone and tired to the bones, I drove shakily through the Quercorb, even more so down the hair pins towards Quillan and the Défilé du Pierre Lys always leaves my nerves shredded.  

I was happy to be on the long straight road through Les fenouillèdes, slowed down only by the string of villages and the outskirts of Perpignan and by lunchtime I was in Port Vendres, ordering moules frites and a pichet of white

This place is so full of Bobby. I toasted him and poured the first sip of my glass onto the floor beside me.

Bernie's first time here and everything frightened him; the seagulls, the floating jetties, the thunk of water on the bows of moored boats.

We went home via the cliff; garrigue, wild thyme and fennel and down to the crique through the prickly pears.  Nothing had changed.

Our home in la Citre hadn't changed either.  Except for Bobby not being there.