Page 34 of The Village Cafe in the Loire

Trying to take her mind off things, she got up, tucked her phone into her pocket – resolving not to look at it until at least lunchtime – and took her cup to the sink. Then she went and unlocked the front door of the café and prepared for the morning’s trade.

Pascal had already shown her how to work the espresso machine – which had been pretty straightforward all in all – and she had enough French to take basic orders. To her surprise, sheeven quite enjoyed the process of getting out cups, filling them, taking them to tables, collecting empties.

The café’s offering was basic – black coffee, herbal tea or water; sometimes a pastry or a biscuit. Once in a while a customer would request hot chocolate which would mean whisking spoonfuls of cocoa into warm milk. But most people just requested ‘un café’ and seemed quite content with the inch and a half they were served. Prices were low, but the café usually had at least ten people – some of whom stayed and became a kind of backdrop to the day, conversing with new people as they came and went, some of whom were in and out in an instant.

Mum had nothing to worry about – working in the café wasn’t Becky’s dream – but for a few hours on a few days, it could be quite dreamlike in its own way. Methodical, and busy in a way that didn’t tax her too much. It was kind of relaxing: not the ‘overrated’ kind, but the kind that enabled her to simultaneously make people’s day a little brighter and give Pascal the time he needed to work on his manuscript.

He took over at midday, looking thoroughly refreshed, and thanked her profusely. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she found herself saying. ‘It was my pleasure.’ And, she realised, it really had been.

Her mood shifted downward as she checked her phone and saw a brief message from Amber.

Amber

Try not to stress

But nothing more. At least it was a response of sorts, Becky thought.

She’d just slipped her phone back into her pocket when it began to ring, and she was so certain it was Amber she barely glanced at the screen before answering. ‘Hello, you!’ she said, smiling, as she put the phone to her ear.

‘Is this Rebecca Thorne?’ an efficient-sounding voice asked.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Yes. Sorry.’

‘Oh good. It’s Michelle, from the London office. I’ve been covering some of your work on the Tudors account and wonder whether you’d got the latest magazine copy signed off, or whether I need to finish it up for you.’

Her head started to spin. ‘Oh. God. Yes.’ She racked her brain. In reality it had only been a week or so ago that she’d been all over this thing and now it was as if she’d wiped it from her mind. ‘Um… I can’t remember… let me think.’ She scrunched her face with effort. ‘Yes. I think it was all sorted before I left… but perhaps run it past Geoff to make sure.’

‘So it’s not complete, then?’ Michelle sounded impatient.

‘I don’t have the files in front of me so…’

‘Fine. Thank you.’

The line went dead without a goodbye. Although what was she expecting? Everyone was so rushed off their feet in the firm, there was no real time for niceties, especially for employees who’d chucked laptops and been given sick leave and left everyone else in the shit. Luckily, they didn’t know she was in France. Not that she wasn’t entitled to be here – of course she was, she was meant to be relaxing after all – but there was something too flagrant about it. She should be sitting in a white room with only calming music, water and the odd grape, not living it up in the sunshine.

Unless they could tell. What if they’d realised they were calling internationally? How would it look?

Suddenly she felt odd. Her breathing seemed to become more erratic; her head started to spin. She sat down, head in hands, and tried to slow her gasps down, but it seemed her body had taken control of things and she was at its mercy.

Thoughts spun around her head – Maud, whom she’d let down without knowing; Mum, whom she seemed to disappointon a daily basis. Amber who was being cold and she wasn’t sure why. She was here, alone, without anyone who had her back. What was she actually doing here? What would happen when she went back? Would there even be room for her?

Somewhere beyond her hot, hyperventilating state, someone appeared. The person crouched in front of her, encouraging her to match his breathing. In and out, in and out. And gradually the mists cleared, her heart rate dropped to its normal rhythm and she was able to open her eyes again.

14

‘What happened?’ Pascal said once her breathing had steadied and she was feeling a little better.

‘Nothing, really. I was just here, and there was a phone call. And then…’

‘From your mother? She upset you?’

This assumption at least, made her smile, although it was a genuine enquiry. ‘Well yes, she was first,’ she said, ‘but I was fine after that. It was actually a call from work asking me a question. Which is weird because I’ve been hoping they’d call, really; it’s nice to be in the loop, you know?’

He looked at her confusedly and straightened up, moving to the fridge to get a bottle of water and handing it to her.

‘Your work called you? When you are on holidays?’

She found herself flushing. ‘Well, not strictly a holiday. It’s… more of an enforced absence,’ she said. Then realised that this sounded even worse than the truth. ‘Look, I’m actually signed off work sick,’ she admitted.

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