My grandparents retired to a cottage deep within the French countryside. The roof was missing tiles, and sunflowers hid the gaps in the fences. You often drove the last half an hour without seeing another car. I never understood why they bought this specific place, and chose to leave their leafy English townhouse for somewhere so ramshackle.
Whatever the reason, their decision was a jackpot win for my parents. Both worked as translators, and fancied weekend trips to Paris at least twice a year. Trips where I was not trailing behind them, moaning about long walks. This move provided them with free childcare under the guise of family bonding. So off I went to the middle of Normandy to the house with missing tiles.
This was no bother for me. Rules at the cottage had a pleasant vagueness. My grandparents allowed me to eat chocolate from the morning onwards, and play in the garden without supervision. Their only strict command was to head back inside when night fell.
I challenged this once, and both insisted the darkness was different in the countryside. They said it was easy to get lost once the sun went down. That without proper streetlights even the most sensible person was a few steps from going missing.
The best part was they let me stay up late. Or rather, they went to bed without checking I had done the same. This allowed me to burn through book after book in the spare bedroom I called a temporary home. The rug on the floor was so thick and cosy. A large image of a crescent moon decorated the fibres, detailed with one sleepy eye and a smile.
Often the birds had started singing before I slipped away.
These extra hours of consciousness mounted up after a few days. Sometimes I had to haul myself to bed from the floor without the energy to clean my teeth or put on pyjamas. One night I failed to make even this one foot climb to underneath the duvet, and curled like a dog upon on that gorgeous soft rug.
A circle within a circle. I reckon that was the problem. For when I woke up, the moon-faced men stood above me in their navy blue overalls. They spoke what I knew was French, even if the actual translation was beyond my grasp.
It was so sad when my grandparents died last month. My parents have tried to be positive, and said we could try and keep the cottage. Now I was older, I could even stay there by myself.
But they cannot confirm if the moon rug is still on the floor of the spare room. And they cannot explain why you should not leave the house at night.
Line: They said it was easy to get lost once the sun went down.
