Page 19 of The Village Cafe in the Loire

‘Poor Maud.’

‘Poor Maud indeed. She could have ruined your life, Becky. You’d always been such a motivated girl. Daddy was a bit more forgiving, wanted to make more of an effort with her. Always such a softie, that man. And perhaps if he hadn’t… if he were still around, things might have been different.’ Her mum’s voice faltered a little. ‘Your poor father,’ she added, her tone more subdued.

‘Oh.’ The mention of her father brought to mind, as it always did, a vision of the last time she’d seen him. His gentle eyes, the smile. The way he’d wrapped his arms around her when she got home from school; had always had time to hear her prattle on about this and that. Poor Dad.

‘Anyway, after Daddy died, things were very difficult for us financially. Precarious even. I never mentioned it, of course, you were so young. The life insurance didn’t pay out on a technicality and… we almost lost the house. But it worked out for the best in the end.’ Cynthia’s voice returned to her normal, direct tone. ‘I was driven to push harder, work more. And look where I am today.’

‘You did great, Mum.’

‘Yes. I did. And it taught me something too. How important it is to be secure – financially. And secure in oneself. The ability to be independent, make money, stand on your own two feet. Especially as a woman. It’s the best protection we have.’

Becky leaned against the wall, feeling the uneven texture of the paper against her head. ‘Protection against…?’

‘Life. Men. Whatever either of those throws at us.’

Becky laughed. ‘Oh Mum. But you’re OK, aren’t you? We both are.’

‘Of course. And I couldn’t be more proud of you, darling.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Except for this silly burnout nonsense, but I’m sure that will all be resolved soon.’

‘Yes.’

There was a pause.

‘Do try to get back soon, Rebecca, won’t you?’

‘I will.’

‘And… stay in touch. I know I can be a bit… pushy. But I only want what’s best.’

‘I know you do, Mum.’

Ending the call, Becky lay back on her bed and sighed. She often felt exhausted after conversing with her mother – always adapting what she was saying to keep things on an even keel, trying to balance truth-telling with the likely impact of her words. She’d somehow managed to give her mum the impression she was going to sort things out from a legal perspective and that she’d be home soon, when in reality that seemed further than ever from the truth.

As she often did in these situations, she dialled Amber. The first call went to voicemail but on the second, Amber answered almost immediately. ‘Sorry,’ she said, her voice hushed. ‘Had to pop to the loo to take the call.’

‘Seriously? You’re sitting on the lav?’

‘Yes. I’m notpeeingor anything, if that’s what you’re worried about! Just, new rule. No personal calls at work. Apparently, productivity is down.’

‘Blimey.’

‘Yeah. I told you about Rufus. The new manager guy? Ruthless more like.’

Becky laughed. ‘Sounds like a right jobsworth.’

‘You have no idea. Anyway, can I help? I’ll need to be quick.’ Amber’s voice sounded unusually on edge.

‘Just mother issues. And French café issues. The usual.’ She quickly offered her friend a condensed version of the last twenty-four hours. The trip to themaire’s office, the call with her mother. ‘Now I’m back to square one!’ she said. ‘I’ve no idea what I’m going to do!’

‘No offense, but we talked about this last night. You know what I think. And I’m at work. It’s difficult?—’

‘Sorry. I know. I just thought?—’

Amber sighed, her tone softening. ‘Look, I know you’re dithering. But like I said last night, the way I see it, you only have two options. You can cut and run, come home and just be a little patient about things. Cancel the flat reservation. There will be other flats.’

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