Page 6 of The Village Cafe in the Loire

‘Well, OK. Take a breath, darling. It’s a disaster, but we can get you back on track. Don’t panic. We’ll get through this like we get through everything. By hard work and determination. Pushing through. Give your boss a call, remonstrate. I’m sure she?—’

‘They’re the ones who employed the doctor. They’re hardly going to get her to rescind a medical note, Mum.’ Beckymassaged her forehead, reminding herself that she’d actually considered most of these strategies herself and that her mum only had her best interests at heart.

A silence.

‘Well, how long do they think you need? A week?’

‘Two weeks,’ Becky lied. She would build up to the month in later conversations, once her mum had digested the idea. Anything else would be far too exhausting.

‘Two weeks! Balderdash!’ Becky had already moved the receiver away from her ear in readiness, so luckily didn’t suffer a burst eardrum. But it was pretty clear that Mum wasn’t happy.

‘Yes. Look, Mum, I know how extreme this must seem to you. It does to me really, but it is what it is. I can maybe do some training, meet up with some contacts for a friendly coffee. It doesn’t have to be a wasted fortnight.’

‘No. Well, I just hope that company appreciates the hard work you’ve put in so far, enough to overlook this… unfortunate situation. It’s hard work climbing the career ladder as a woman, Rebecca, I’ve drummed it into you enough. Let alone allowing emotions to rule the day. We’ve got to be harder, stronger, better than every man in the building, just to get our dues.’

Mum launched into one of her habitual speeches on the patriarchy – more familiar to Becky’s childhood than fairytales or kids’ TV. The best thing to do was to let it run its course.

‘OK,’ Becky said at the end. ‘Anyway, that’s where we are. And you know I haven’t been feeling great. Perhaps I have let my mental health?—’

‘Mental health? You don’t have mental health!’

‘Mum. I just mean I need to look after?—’

‘Enough. You’re beginning to sound like mad Maud.’

‘Mum. That’s not very nice…’ But it was no use. Now she was getting the story of Mum’s aunt who embraced all things ‘new age’, had dropped her job as a top lawyer and disappeared to livea life of reckless freedom. A story Becky had heard many, many times.

Ten minutes later, Becky ended the call with a promise that she’d look into whether it would be possible to get a second opinion.

Lying back on the bed, she wondered whether everyone felt so depleted after speaking to their mothers. But then again, not everyone’s mother was Cynthia Thorne, CEO of Thorne Asset Management – the original hard-hitting career woman who stood for no nonsense and took no prisoners. Mum had worked her way up from rather lowly beginnings to CEO of a FTSE 100 company, bearing her share of knock-backs and setbacks over the years, and had always assumed Becky would follow in her footsteps.

The minute Becky had left university, she’d helped her write a five-year plan, finessing it each year so that Becky knew at any one moment what she was meant to be doing and the impact it was likely to have on her life.

Burnout was not on the plan.

Becky and Amber would laugh a little at Cynthia’s pushiness sometimes; but Becky knew deep down that without her mother’s support and borderline pressure, she’d probably still be working as a junior, rather than a director.

‘She’s forceful. It’s what makes her who she is,’ her dad had told Becky once, and she hadn’t been sure whether he’d meant for better or worse. Mum was brilliant, but she also expected brilliance of those around her, meaning Becky got the best education shoehorned into her, whether she liked it or not, had her career mapped out by the time she left for university, and had had to get used to a mum who asked her how her job was going before she enquired after her health. After Dad had died unexpectedly fifteen years ago, if anything, it had become more intense – Mum and her ambition had become one entity.

Mostly, Becky was grateful. She saw how some of her contemporaries were faring on the job market and felt proud of how far she’d already come. But sometimes – just sometimes – it would be nice to have a mum who would be concerned about a daughter’s potential burnout and come around with a flask of chicken soup and an even deeper well of sympathy.

There was a tentative knock on her bedroom door. Amber stuck her head around and grimaced. ‘Everything OK?’ she asked.

‘Yeah. Job’s done.’ Becky sat up and smiled at her friend.

‘How did she take it?’

‘About as well as you’d expect.’

‘That bad, eh!’ Amber moved over to the bed and sat down next to her friend, wrapping an arm around her. ‘Well, remember, she does love you. It’s just her way of showing concern.’

‘So I keep telling myself!’

Amber shrugged. ‘It’s not always great the other way, either. I mean, my mum worries about me so much I daren’t always tell her everything, just to keep her from getting anxious.’

‘Ah, I know. Your poor mum. What do you think she’d do if you got signed off for burnout?’

‘You mean, if I dared tell her about it?’

---