Les Trois Cheminées, so called after its three prominent chimney stacks, is Claire and Peter’s farmhouse in the Auvergne. A tranquil spot, not far from the fast-flowing Allier river. Heavy clouds are beginning to roll up the valley and a warm wind tugs at the awning over their seat. The forecast thunderstorm may well be on its way. Marianne notices that Callum has stopped drawing and is now hunched over his mobile phone.
‘I’m afraid there is no signal here,’ says Claire.
‘He doesn’t need a signal,’ Marianne says. ‘He’ll only be playing a game.’
‘I’m worried Callum’s a bit on his own here. Bernard seems to think Callum is too young to bother with, but I’ll speak to Juliette when she’s back from her nature walk. She needs to look after him – he’s a guest here after all.’
It’s the Saturday at the end of their first week at the house. Juliette, a botany student, has decided to go for a walk and Callum has volunteered to go with her. Marianne is both amused and delighted that Callum has taken to following Juliette around like an obedient spaniel. Having had to cope with her daughter’s boyfriends from the age of thirteen, she has watched closely for signs of Callum’s interest in the opposite sex – but has detected none. She has, on the other hand, observed some traits – a dismissive, almost contemptuous attitude towards girls, which causes her some concern. Perhaps I am worrying unnecessarily, she thinks, as she sees Juliette and Callum head off together. Is it wrong of me to hope that she might seduce him this holiday? Do all mothers think like this about their sons? She doubts, however, that it is likely to happen. Juliette, a gentle and well-mannered girl of twenty, tolerates Callum. She does not look like a sexual predator.
The plan for the day involves an expedition to the historic town of Le Puy en Velay. Peter and Bernard have gone off early while Marianne and Claire have agreed to stay behind until Juliette and Callum get back from their walk; they will all then meet in Le Puy for lunch. Juliette has promised to be back by noon.
By the time it gets to 12.45 Claire has lost patience. ‘I have tried to call her but it’s highly unlikely they will have signal wherever they are.’ She scribbles a note saying there is cheese and pâté in the fridge, leaves the key in the usual place, and together with Marianne they set off for Le Puy. ‘I know what Juliette’s like once she gets into plant mode; she forgets about everything else,’ says Claire.
‘Well, Callum certainly won’t do anything to hurry her.’
‘No, I don’t suppose that he will.’
It is not the first time that Marianne has visited Le Puy en Velay and as they approach the town she sees again the colossal statue of the Virgin and Child high on the Rocher Corneille, incongruously pink in the midday sun. With his hand raised in blessing, the Christ Child seems to turn away from the other startling pinnacle of rock, where the tenth century chapel of Saint Michel d’Aiguilhe perches precariously above the town. Visiting Puy, a place steeped in religious tradition and famous as a starting point for pilgrimages to Santiago de Compostela, elicits in Marianne a surprising sense of wistfulness, almost of regret. Despite her intellectual atheism, somewhere inside her there lurks a yearning for the certainties of her Catholic upbringing – when a Hail Mary, repeated enough times, could expunge wrongdoing and confession could wash away all sins. How satisfying it must be, she thinks, to be able to walk the St James’s Way and know that you could reduce your own or someone else’s time in purgatory. What greater sense of purpose could there be in life?
‘When we stop I’ll call the house to see if those two are back yet,’ says Claire. ‘I don’t suppose they’ll mind being on their own.’
Marianne smiles to herself at the thought of Callum and Juliette spending the day together – though within minutes, as if delivering a sharp slap across her face as reward for her presumption, the day proves to be anything but the romantic tryst for which she has secretly been hoping.
As they drive into Puy, looking for somewhere to park, Claire’s phone rings. ‘Hello? Hello… Peter…? What? A snake? Are you serious? Oh Christ… yes… Langeac. OK… we’ll turn around… OK… at the hospital – we’ll meet you there.’
‘What’s happened?’ asks Marianne, seized by a sudden panic for her son.
‘Juliette’s been bitten by a snake – poor child. She’s quite allergic to stings and bites so this won’t be doing her any good.’
Marianne immediately tries to suppress the shameful sense of relief that it is Juliette, not Callum, who has been bitten.
‘Are they dangerous – snakes around here?’ she asks.
‘Can be.’
‘How did they get to the hospital?’
‘Apparently, Callum carried Juliette to the road and flagged down a car; thank God he was with her.’
Marianne observes Claire; she is driving fast but she does not seem unduly worried. ‘Do you need me to look at the map?’ she asks.
‘No, I think I’m OK.’
Twenty minutes later, when they are still some way from Langeac, Claire’s phone rings again. Marianne holds out her hand ready to take the phone – rather preferring Claire to keep both hands on the steering wheel – but Claire grabs the phone and presses it to her ear. ‘Peter… Christ… where are you…? What? Bad? How bad…? Brioude? Alright, we’ll head up there. She’s going to be alright, isn’t she? Asp…? Callum did… God… Oh God… We’re on our way.’ Putting the phone down, she turns to Marianne: ‘Christ, they’re taking her by ambulance to Brioude. It seems they haven’t got the right anti-venom in Langeac.’ This time there was real fear in Claire’s voice. ‘It was an asp viper – the most dangerous type of viper – and she’s having a bad reaction.’
Silently, Marianne presses her hands together and says a prayer – a fervent prayer to expunge the guilt of her own relief that Callum is not in danger, and to beg that non-existent deity to save Juliette.
‘How do they know what kind of snake it was?’ she asks.
‘Your son photographed it with his mobile. Can you believe it? Fucking genius, that boy – you underrate him.’
As the car hurtles north, Marianne shoots discreet glances at her sister. Her usually relaxed features are transposed into a rigid mask; the tendons of her neck tight as the strings of a violin, a damp patch glistening on her cheek below the sunglasses. Marianne searches for something reassuring to say.
‘At least she’s in an ambulance now.’
Claire nods. After a long silence she mutters again, as if to herself, ‘Thank God he was with her.’
Forty-eight hours later, when Juliette is no longer in danger and the events of that day have been pieced together, there is no shortage of praise for Callum’s role in the saga. ‘I was trying to reach a type of rock-rose I hadn’t seen before,’ says Juliette to her mother, ‘and I stepped backwards onto the snake. While I was like, screaming in shock, Callum took a photo of the snake.
‘And Mum… Mum, he carried me – piggybacked me – for nearly two miles to the road. And he only put me down once in all that time. They said at the hospital that if I had had to walk – which I don’t think I could have done anyway – the poison would have spread around my body and I would probably be dead now. And he was so sweet, Mum. I mean, I was in total fucking agony and screaming and crying with my whole leg swelling up in a really gross way and I was beginning to feel I couldn’t breathe and he just kept on telling me to stay calm. The only thing he was worried about was not speaking French. “Just in case you lose consciousness,” he said, “give me the words for snakebite and hospital.”’