Page 38 of The Village Cafe in the Loire

‘Brilliant,’ Becky grinned. ‘I’ve really missed you, you know.’

‘Me too.’ And this time, although it was just an audio call, Becky was convinced that Amber was smiling.

15

It felt odd to be in the airport: bright lights and screens and stark white walls after spending so many days in an environment where the newest building must be at least eighty years old. Standing in her slightly paint-scuffed jeans and hoody, Becky felt slightly out of place. She’d meant to smarten up a bit more for Amber’s arrival, but had run late painting a bit of skirting board and had had to rush.

Pascal had offered her a lift, but she’d turned him down – he’d have had to close the café and she knew he’d hate to do that. He’d then offered her his car, and she’d almost accepted until he’d pointed out the ancient Citroën parked up on the opposite side of the street. Its tyres were slightly deflated and the whole car was leaning slightly to the side. ‘I haven’t serviced it for a little while,’ he’d said, grimacing.

Instead, she’d paid 150 euros for a round trip in a taxi, and prayed that Amber’s flight would come in on time to avoid having to cough up anything more. As promised, she’d also paid for Amber’s tickets and had vowed that she’d pay for everything this weekend too. After all, having her best friend there would mean the world.

People started to emerge through the double doors by passport control, their eyes scanning the faces outside for their family or friends, or the taxi that would meet them to take them to their next destination. Each time the doors slid back to reveal more people, Becky’s heart leapt. Then, as they closed, she practically bounced with impatience.

As if prompted by the stress of everything, her eyelid started to twitch; she realised that it hadn’t done so for a little while. Perhaps France was agreeing with her after all. She had to admit she’d quite enjoyed the last couple of days, since her panic attack and Pascal’s insistence on helping her. They’d split shifts in the café, him returning to his writing between serving, her taking the time to walk or explore, or look up soft furnishings online; then come together for a couple of hours each evening to paint or rearrange furniture or plan things.

The yellow chairs looked a little out of place, but had been well received by customers; once they were assured that it was OK if a little mud got onto them, they’d relaxed. One old lady had even fallen asleep and had to be gently woken after an hour had passed.

Despite the fact she’d been busy – and definitely out of her usual comfort zone – Becky had found the time relaxing and had even managed to push thoughts of work to the edge of her consciousness, so she wasn’t always accompanied by the perpetual feeling of unease she’d thought she’d never shift. It was nice coming to, sometimes, and realising she’d drifted away in a pleasant daydream rather than finding her mind chewing over the latest ad boards for Tudors.

When Amber finally stepped through the doors, Becky’s heart leaped as much as it might have had she been a long-lost love. She found herself grinning and walking towards her friend, arms outstretched, and gathering her up in a hug. It wasridiculous in some ways; it had only been ten days but she hadn’t been away from her friend for that long for years.

‘Wow!’ Amber said, breaking away. ‘That’s quite a welcome!’

‘Well, I’ve missed you,’ Becky grinned. She studied her friend’s face for a moment. Amber looked different. Drawn, somehow. Slightly thinner. ‘Are you OK? You look a bit… tired.’

‘Yes, I’m fine. Just had an early one,’ Amber said, stretching her lips into a reassuring smile. Perhaps that was it, thought Becky. Perhaps that, and the fact that everyone around here seemed to have more of a tan than their washed-out British counterparts. Amber’s skin was pale from too long each day in the office, and it stood out more among the healthier-looking complexions on the continent.

‘Good, glad to hear it,’ Becky said. ‘I’ve got a taxi waiting, so we’d better…’ They walked quickly to the double doors that led out to the rank and beyond, to where the rather banged-up looking car that passed as a taxi in Vaudrelle was waiting.

An hour and a half later, they finally drew into Vaudrelle. Becky nudged Amber, who’d fallen asleep ten minutes into the journey, and whispered, ‘We’re here!’

Amber sat up straighter, bleary-eyed, and looked out of the window at the quaint streets, the mismatched buildings, the few inhabitants who were coming back from evenings out, or walking dogs or simply promenading. ‘It’s very sweet,’ she observed, and Becky felt a rush of pride as if she’d invented Vaudrelle all by herself and was showing it to Amber for approval.

She’d hoped they might stay up for a drink when they arrived, but Amber looked fit to drop. It was only 9 o’clock, and just 8 o’clock back home, but Amber had had quite a week at work by all accounts. Becky hid her disappointment and instead showed Amber to her room where she’d made up her bed with fresh sheets and created a makeshift bed on the floor for herself.Initially she’d wondered about using Maud’s room, but hadn’t felt able to touch it, or even go in properly. But they’d shared before on many a sleepover – this would be just like old times.

‘Sorry to be such a lightweight,’ Amber said. ‘I’m so perpetually exhausted at the moment.’

‘Well, hopefully you can get a bit of a rest this weekend.’

‘A rest? Never thought you’d be one for advocating that!’

The next morning, after breakfast and a quick meeting with Pascal before he went to open the doors to the Saturday morning rush (six people who’d already been to the market and needed a caffeine fix), Becky gave Amber the ‘grand tour’ of the building: the large kitchen tucked behind the café itself; the small, annexed living space with a couple of sofas – neither she nor Pascal tended to spend time in there and it felt a little chilly and unloved. En route downstairs this morning she’d shown her the door of Pascal’s room but hadn’t offered to show her inside, and then nodded towards Maud’s; and Amber was already familiar with the bathroom they’d share with its special, tiny bath.

‘It’s cute,’ Amber had said. ‘And I love the pictures in the hallway and sitting room.’

‘Yes.’ Becky had realised she hadn’t really acknowledged the photos properly. She enjoyed seeing the artistic prints on the walls but hadn’t given them any more thought. Amber, however, had gone up to them. ‘Who’s the photographer?’

She’d squinted at the little strip of writing on the border. ‘Oh. Is that your aunt, your great-aunt? Maud something?’

Becky looked. ‘Oh! Yes, it is.’

‘There’s another! Wow, are they all hers?’

‘I think they might be.’ Becky had felt a little flush on her cheeks – fancy not noticing that! Although she’d had so much on, perhaps it was forgivable.

‘She was good, wasn’t she?’

‘Yes. Really good.’ Becky had examined one of the pictures – a favourite – and admired the composition, the way the landscape fell away, the fact that your eye was drawn to the little shape of a dog in a distant field. She’d felt a sudden, unexpected, wave of emotion.

---