Page 80 of The Village Cafe in the Loire

‘OK, well, I guess I’ve got a lot to think about.’

‘Looks like it.’

‘Will you do one thing for me though?’ Becky said softly.

‘What?’

She grinned. ‘Will you call my mum for me? Because honestly, I think she’ll probably lock me inmybedroom if she gets wind of this.’

‘Afraid you’re on your own,’ Amber grinned. ‘One difficult mother is my maximum.’

They laughed. ‘Ah, but they love us,’ Becky said.

‘That they do.’

Half an hour later, Becky left. Passing a slightly less hostile version of Amber’s mother. And feeling, if not upbeat, then atleast like someone with more of a sense of purpose than she’d entered the house with.

That was what best friends did, she realised. They held you up no matter what.

30

There was a crucial difference between herself and Jerry Maguire, of course, Becky thought as the plane taxied on the runway and slowed to a stop. When Jerry Maguire left his toxic workplace, he had had a plan for his future. He’d wanted to start a new company that would treat people with more respect. Whereas she’d stormed out of a pretty good job to half-heartedly go to France for a few days, then see what happened. Plus, where had Jerry’s mother been in all of this? He hadn’t had one single conversation with her for the entire film. His situation was definitely the more straightforward for it.

Still, she thought, looking out of the window onto the sun-dappled runway… At least, in her story, the sun was shining, and although she didn’t have her future mapped out, the next few days were spoken for. She’d tried to lose herself in them and worry about what happened next… next.

Less than an hour later she was well on her way in a taxi, watching the semi-familiar views on either side of the route to Vaudrelle. Buildings she recognised, others she’d clearly missed on her previous journeys. Old stone houses and peach-colouredmodern cottages. Sun-drenched orchards and children’s play equipment. Swimming pools, restaurants and picnic areas.

The farther the taxi burrowed its way into the French countryside, the more relaxed she felt – like a hypnotherapy patient descending more deeply into her subconscious. And by the time they pulled up outside the café, she felt somehow lighter.

She’d spoken to Pascal last night after everything had sunk in – sobbing down the phone about whether she’d made a mistake; worried about references, her future. But he’d simply said: ‘Come to Vaudrelle. Everything will be OK.’ And somehow, at least in this moment, something in her felt calm, as if everything would be.

Pascal had clearly gone to town on the idea of a launch – he’d put paper up at the windows to hide the interior, and a giant sign informed would-be punters that the café was closed until the grand reopening tomorrow. She smiled, thinking of the type of do she’d put on for clients in London compared with their offering here. But somehow this was sweeter, more authentic.

She used her key to open the door then, closing it behind her, she walked across the strangely dark interior, bumping into one or two tables that had been rearranged in her absence. The air smelt of paint and paper and glue and, as she neared the counter, the unmistakable scent of freshly ground coffee beans. Reaching the door to the kitchen, she knocked – not wanting to burst in and surprise anyone on the other side.

There was the sound of a scraping chair in the wake of her knock and when she opened the door, she saw Pascal and Georges, the former sitting at the table, the latter standing, awkwardly clutching a sheaf of papers.

‘Bonjour!’ Pascal said, rather loudly, and stood up, arms outstretched, pulling Becky to him in a tight embrace.

Over her shoulder she watched Georges regarding them both impassively. When she pulled away, she grinned. ‘So, what are you two up to then?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m joking – you just looked so guilty when I walked in. I thought you might be planning some sort of illegal deal or something!’ she laughed.

‘Ah, I love this sense of humour!’ Georges also said loudly, his words sounding a little false. He stuck his hand out for a shake, having finally sensed perhaps that Becky wasn’t the biggest fan of the cheek-kissing he usually favoured. She took it gratefully. ‘Non, I was just having a look at your new interior. It is very smart.’

‘And today I offered him some of our new drinks,’ Pascal said, clearly proud of himself. ‘I read the instructions and it was not too hard.’

‘Yes, they are very nice,’ nodded Georges.

‘Right. Well, good!’ she said. ‘That’s good.’

They all smiled at one another, none of them quite sure who would make the next move. ‘Well, I must go now,’ Georges said to Pascal. ‘Remember what I said.’

Pascal’s smile looked rather forced. ‘Of course. But I do not think it’s a good idea.’

‘What was all that about?’ Becky said when Georges had finally left.

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