Page 27 of The Village Cafe in the Loire

Becky’s eyelid went into overdrive and she felt tension tighten the muscles in her neck, her shoulders, even her legs. Unconsciously, she balled her hands into fists. ‘I’m just trying to make this place nice for people. I’m trying to do the right thing!’

Pascal was shaking his head. ‘Perhaps you believe this,’ he said. ‘But it is not true. You have looked at the people here and decided who they are.’ His voice quietened a little. ‘And you have looked at me, too, and decided who I am. But you do not know me. You think I am a nuisance.’

‘Hang on, how do you know what I think?’

‘It seems to me that you are not interested in working here, fulfilling Maud’s wish. Instead, you want to change everything; impose yourself on us when you have no intention to stay. All your aunt wants is for you to spend a little time here. Maud is very special to me. And it matters.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, grow up!’ she said. ‘This is a business, and I’m being… businesslike! And why are you so obsessed with Maud anyway?’ Somewhere, deep inside Becky, a smaller version of herself urged her to stop. But she was too far gone.

Besides, Pascal, who’d seemed so kind, so gentle, was being downright mean. What had got into him? They were chairs! How had it come to this? Amber briefly flitted into her mind – her comment about burnout, about anger, but she batted her away.

Pascal’s cheeks coloured. ‘Maud saw me when I was alone. She took me in, gave me a chance in life, a chance to live somewhere and follow my passion, my writing. And I will always be grateful for that.’

Becky felt suddenly exhausted. ‘Well, good for you,’ she said. ‘Good for you and your… kindness. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for saying that about Maud. But I don’t see why you have to be so mean.’

Pascal stepped towards her, his voice softening. ‘I am sorry if you think I have been mean. But you asked me what I think. And I told you.’

‘I only wanted to know about the chairs! I didn’t want a character assassination. Certainly not from YOU. I mean, what do you know about life? You’re, what? Thirty? And you haveachieved what, exactly? You run a coffee shop. You write, but you’ve never been published. You don’t even have anywhere to live, not really. Just a room given to you by a pitying old lady. Who are you to judge me?’

Pascal’s face was ashen, closed. ‘And what have you achieved?’ he said, his tone quiet but firm.

‘I’m actually very successful.’

‘Yes. You have a good job. But what else do you have? As far as I can see you have nothing. You are just someone with a good job. And perhaps not even that. If you are so very important, why is it so easy for you to spend a month here? Why does nobody care? What is happening to your job right now?’

It was like a gut punch. She turned and stormed past Pascal, rushing up the stairs to her room before flinging herself on the bed like an eleven-year-old in a tantrum. Her heart hammered in her chest, and it took a while for her breathing to slow. She propped herself up against a pillow and pulled her phone from her pocket, wiping away yet more tears. Amber. She needed to call Amber.

It took three tries to get hold of her. Each time the answerphone clicked in she’d hang up and call again. Clearly this wasn’t a good time for Amber, but this was an emergency – her friend would understand.

Eventually the call was picked up and Amber whispered ‘Hello’ so quietly that Becky could barely hear her. ‘I can’t really talk,’ she said. ‘I’ve had to come to the loos again and apparently?—’

‘I’m sorry it’s just… oh God, it’s so awful,’ Becky cut in, her voice still thick with tears.

‘Oh no, what’s happened?’

Becky took a breath and told her friend about the chairs, about how she’d got up early to put them out. Pascal’s reaction. The argument.

Afterwards, Amber was silent.

‘What do I do?’ Becky said. ‘I mean, he’s not right, is he? I don’t understand why I have to stay here, why I have to put up with this.’

Amber cleared her throat. ‘Well,’ she said, carefully, calmly. ‘First of all, you don’t have to stay, don’t have to put up with it. You’ve chosen to be there and you can choose to leave. You’re not trapped.’

‘I know, but then…’

‘Yes. I know. I know all the reasons why you’re there. But have you considered what it’s like from Pascal’s point of view? This has been his home, his lifeline, for years. And he seems very dedicated to Maud. I know that doesn’t suit your plans, but it doesn’t make him a bad guy.’

‘Well no, but?—’

‘Nor does him not liking your chairs, Becky. They’re chairs, for God’s sake!’ Amber’s voice hardened.

‘All right! There’s no need to be like that about it.’

Silence again. Then, ‘Maybe there is.’

‘What?’

‘Well, maybe you do need to be told sometimes,’ Amber said, her voice still quiet, but firmer, more forceful at the same time. ‘Perhaps Pascal does know more about the village, about the clients, what they’ll like. He ought to.’

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