Page 60 of The Village Cafe in the Loire

‘I am not sure what has happened to me, but I am starting to like the chairs.’

‘Ah, you’re just saying that,’ she’d teased.

‘Non! It is serious. The café, the whole aesthetic you’ve created. It’s something really special, Becky. You have an eye.’

She’d basked in his praise. ‘Thank you.’ Then put a hand to the gauze. ‘Hopefully I have two.’

He laughed. ‘It is sure,’ he said, gently caressing the skin next to her dressing. ‘But you have truly transformed this place. That is why I think this launch is so necessary. To get people from farther away to come and try. To really show people what you have achieved.’

‘We.’

‘You are speaking French,oui?’

‘No! I mean “we”. Whatwehave achieved.’

Smiling, he’d leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips, before sitting up and picking up the notebook and pen.

‘Do you think we should bring Maud here first, too? So that she gets to see everything before the party?’ she mused.

‘Maybe.’

She crawled out from under the duvet and sat next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. His skin was cool to the touch. ‘Time to open up in a minute?’

‘Oui.’ He looked at her. ‘It was good,’ he said. ‘Last night.’

She nodded. There was something in his eyes, an emotion she couldn’t quite put a word to. But she felt it too. They barely knew each other; but it felt somehow that they’d known each other forever. She’d felt it yesterday when they’d kissed, and again this morning when she’d woken up next to him and it had seemed the most natural thing in the world.

Somehow, things that hadn’t made sense to her before were starting to fall into place here. ‘I want to stay,’ she said impulsively. ‘I want to stay here with you.’

‘I would like that too,’ he said, maintaining eye contact for a moment, his dark eyes serious, watching hers. ‘I wish it could happen.’

Moments later he went to get showered and dressed, ready to start work for the day, and she was left simply with his words –I wish it could happen.

What did he mean? That he wanted it to happen, but it couldn’t? That he wanted it to happen, and would make it so? Was it a grammar faux pas or a gentle brush-off? And how was she supposed to know?

This was what best friends were for. Picking over important words and working out what they actually meant. She pulled out her phone and rang Amber’s number yet again. But nothing. Herthumb even wavered over Mum’s number. But Mum would be no good for this kind of conversation. Becky knew exactly what Mum would make of all this, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear it.

It struck her, then, that she didn’t have anyone else she could call, not really. There were friends, sure; people she’d have a drink with after work or meet up with occasionally. But nobody she could call in the early hours to try to pick apart Pascal’s words and help her to decide what she ought to do about it all.

Amber, she said to herself.Where are you?

She tried once more. This time leaving a short message after the tone. ‘Amber, call me back? Hope everything’s OK!’

Then, not knowing what else to do, she bathed and dressed, made her way downstairs for breakfast. As she approached the large, tiled kitchen that served both the café and the house, she heard the sound of talking. Recognising Pascal’s voice, she paused, listening out for the other person’s voice. But there was only his; he was either talking to himself or on the phone.

Not wanting to interrupt, she waited. And although she tried not to listen, at least… a little bit, she couldn’t help but overhear some words in French.

‘Oui, Maman! Je rentrerai bientôt!’ She closed her eyes, trying to grasp the meaning – he would be home soon. He must be calling his mum to tell her about the book. About his upcoming move to Paris. ‘Oui,oui,’ he was saying.

She was just about to disappear back up the stairs until he finished the call when she heard the words. ‘Bien sûr, il n’y a rien ici!’ – there is nothing here. What did he mean? Nothing holding him back? That it was boring in Vaudrelle? Or was this evidence that what had happened last night hadn’t meant much to him at all?

Did he mean that? Hearing his words filled her with sudden doubt. And her idea of staying and having Pascal at her side –perhaps not running the café, but working on his writing, staying local – started to crumble. Was she kidding herself?

She crept back a few stairs, then re-trod them, making sure she was as noisy as possible. Then she flung open the door. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Didn’t mean to disturb.’ He ended the call and looked at her.

‘Did you fall?’

Clearly, she’d overdone the banging. ‘No. Not quite. Just, um, stumbled. Were you calling your mother?’

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