You Had Me At Bonjour. Jennifer Bohnet

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      Antibes Juan-les-Pins.

      I’m forty-two years old and I’ve run away from home. There. I’ve written it down so there’s no denying it. It’s the honest truth behind the falsely cheerful announcement I made to friends and family before Christmas. “I’m having a belated gap year. Such fun.” Running away though, is actually my default position for coping with the hell of the past months.

      At least I hope I’m going to cope, and that’s what this blog is really all about. Keeping this diary is my way of getting all the angst out of my system - apparently this method is highly respected and much recommended by psychologists everywhere. Write down the angst and let it all hang out.

      Does writing a private blog count as a diary? Because that’s what I’m planning to do. Not expecting anyone to read it. Just want to write it all out of my system. Not committed to paper obviously as I’m writing on my laptop. I hope it works because right now I’m still very angsty.

      (Please note all names have been changed to protect the innocent in the unlikely event of somebody actually reading my ramblings.)

      So, today is officially the start of the rest of my life. I know that’s a cliché but hey, it’s my blog so if I want to use a cliché I will. It’s not as if Mrs Singer (my old English teacher) is standing over me, muttering “find some original words”. I expect there will be some rude words too, creeping in alongside the clichés.

      Of course I’ve not run away permanently. I’m just having the gap year I never had when I was younger. In my family you left school and either went to college or got a job. I did a Business Diploma at our local polytech and then went to work on our regional newspaper.

      Twenty-three years later I was the women’s page editor, mother of Katie and wife to Ben. Ah, Ben. The love of my life.

      I turned out not to be his. Six months ago we had, I thought, a great holiday in Cape Town. Got home on the Sunday night, unpacked my case and started to throw things into the washing machine. Suggested Ben did the same… only for him to shake his head at me.

      “Sorry Jessica, but I don’t want to be married any more,” and he picked up his still packed suitcase and left. Just like that. Didn’t even give me the chance to scream abuse at him.

      Of course I went to pieces at first. Cried for days, weeks, kept telling people he’d be back. It was just the male menopause. It wasn’t until the divorce papers arrived that I finally began to accept my marriage was over.

      I didn’t know until then either, that he’d shacked up with Samantha from Sales. His not wanting to be married any more apparently only applied to being married to me. He was keen to marry Samantha as quickly as possible – the fact she was now pregnant and was applying pressure might have had something to do with it of course.

      Anyway, the day the divorce papers arrived was also the day that – after one glass of wine too many (actually it was bottles not glasses) with my best mate Bella – I said “Stuff him. I’ll get a new life too.” Which was when the plan to do a ‘Shirley Valentine’ and have my long delayed gap year in the south of France was conceived.

      Bella was all for coming with me a la Thelma and Louise – not that we planned that kind of adventure – but then she was headhunted for her dream job in TV and no way could I let her turn it down just to keep me company. So, she’s got her new job, earning bucket loads of money and a great social life, while I’m here in Antibes Juan-les-Pins having to kick-start the rest of my life, on my own, without a fabulous job, and a social life that isn’t.

      I’ve never actually lived alone before. I lived at home with my parents until I got married. Ben and I bought our first house together.

      Can’t help wondering if I’ve actually made the right decision coming out here. Oh, I’m looking forward to having the total freedom to do what I want, when I want – it’s just the thought of doing it all alone. In a foreign country.

      Bella did fly down with me to help find an apartment, and we saw the New Year in together – sitting at a crowded pavement cafe down on the bord de mer with the obligatory bottle of champagne. And would you believe it – Bella pulled!

      Too early for me to be even thinking about dating, but I couldn’t help feeling a tad jealous. Not about her pulling a good-looking sexy Frenchman, but about me not having anyone in my life at the moment who is remotely interested in me.

      Will there be anyone ever again? Or am I going to languish on the scrapheap where Ben has tossed me, slowly disappearing, unloved and unnoticed into old age?

      Must, must, stop thinking like that. I’m at the beginning of an adventure – even if right now it feels more like the biggest mistake of my life.

      Jacques, owner of the cafe, couldn’t do enough for us on New Year’s Eve. Insisting on giving us the bottle of bubbly when Bella went to pay, telling her she had beautiful eyes. At least that’s what we think he told her – Bella’s French is worse than mine and Jacques’ English appears to be limited. He “‘opes to see her again when she visits with her friend.”

      3rd January.

      Took Bella to the airport this morning and returned the hire car. For the first time in years I’m going to be without a car of my own – something I’m quite relieved about, seeing the way they drive down here. They. Are. Mad. Honestly, for a nation that virtually reinvented the roundabout, the French appear to be remarkably clueless about how to negotiate them. French men in particular seem to regard indicators as an optional extra as they rarely bother to use them.

      Sitting having a croissant and coffee before her flight was called, Bella said, ‘You going to be OK on your own?’

      ‘Of course. Next time you’re down it’ll be a non-stop social whirl introducing you to all my new friends.’ Under the table I crossed my fingers, praying it would be true.

      ‘Well, if you decide it’s not going to work and you want to come home, you know there’s always room at mine,’ Bella said. ‘Mind you, I’d probably call you all kinds of names for not making a go of it down here. I quite like the idea of jumping on a plane every few weeks and coming down to see you.’

      ‘So I’m your holiday destination of choice for the next year am I? Thanks,’ I said. ‘One more reason to make a go of things and stay then.’

      A quarter of an hour later, hugging each other goodbye outside the departure lounge, Bella said, ‘Look after yourself and have a great gap year, Jessie. Remember – you’ve run away, nobody knows you down here, so you can reinvent yourself as the person you’ve always wanted to be. I’ll see you soon.’ With that she was gone.

      Walking out through the busy airport concourse to wait for the bus, I thought about what Bella had said. The person I’ve always wanted to be? Surely I’ve been that person for twenty-three years: a woman happily married to the man she loved, with a beautiful daughter and a good job. All gone – thanks to Samantha from Sales.

      Now I’m alone in a foreign country without a husband or a job. I do still have the beautiful daughter who – well let’s just say she doesn’t approve of my being here. Thinks it’s me having the mid-life crisis, not Ben. She’s always been close to her dad. Don’t think she knows about the new half sibling that’s on its way yet. Ben said he was picking the right moment to tell her. Right moment? Pfff.

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