Page 85 of The Village Cafe in the Loire

‘Yes. No. I don’t know.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘They were. Maybe they are. Oh God, it’s so complicated.’

‘But it doesn’t have to be. Nobody is asking you to live here forever. But take a breath. Take a year, two maybe. Find out what you want. Explore your art, try new things. Maud didn’t run the café all the time. It was there for her when she wanted, but she had people to help her. The café runs itself, in essence. The café gave her the freedom to be whoever she wanted.’

She looked at Pascal. ‘But I’m not like her.’

‘Perhaps you are. Perhaps not. Perhaps you do not yet know who you are. And it’s OK. Because I don’t think anyone really does. That’s what my book is about. People who are taking journeys. And are scared because the destination is unknown. But that is what makes it magical too.’

‘I’m thirty, Pascal.’

‘Oh, mon Dieu! You are so very old!’ Pascal’s eyes widened, then he laughed. ‘You are abébéin that case. Why not give yourself time to work out who you are. You talk about this ladder, but there are other ways to find status and success if that is what you truly want. There areascenseurs! Lifts, I mean. And those moving stairs… And… and helicopters!’

It was impossible not to smile at his enthusiasm.

‘So you’re saying, if I stay, I could always get a helicopter to put me at the top of the ladder in a couple of years’ time.’ She grinned.

‘Why not? But I think you might find that you do not want the ladder at all. Why climb a ladder when you can relax and find your own way to success, or happiness – whatever is important.’

She lay her head on the table momentarily and groaned theatrically. ‘Argh. I just don’t know, Pascal. I don’t know.’

‘Exactement. And that is your gift. The not knowing. It means that you are open to possibilities. You have time. You have space. You have the café. You have life to live and explore and find out. Becky, you are very lucky.’

She thought about Amber then. Amber who’d said something similar – not everyone could sidestep life, give up a job without fear of destitution and have somewhere rather wonderful to work out their next steps. She remembered the wordsI would, in a heartbeat.

‘I’ll think about it,’ she said at last.

‘Bon. I will take that,’ Pascal said. ‘But now there are important matters to address.’

‘There are?’

‘Mais oui! If we are not quick, we will miss theplat du jourat the restaurant. And it ismoules– mussels. My favourite. We must get there urgently.’

‘Oh no! Sounds serious!’

‘I am French. Many things are serious. But lunch, it is sacrosanct.’

32

At three, they brought Maud to the café again. The paper had been removed from the windows, revealing the interior, and already there were one or two would-be patrons in the street, waiting for the three-thirty launch.

When Maud was installed at a table near the counter, her stick leaning up behind her, Becky handed her a paper package, with a blush.

‘For me?’ Maud said. ‘You shouldn’t have, honestly.’

‘Wait till you open it. It’s nothing special.’

Maud carefully unwrapped the picture, her eyes sparkling as they alighted on the drawing in its new wooden frame. ‘You did this?’

‘Yes, but you don’t have to put it up on the wall or anything,’ she said, feeling quite embarrassed. ‘I know it’s quite… rudimentary.’

‘That’s so kind. And it’s lovely.’

‘It’s… I mean, the colours aren’t quite…’

‘No,’ Maud said. ‘Don’t apologise for your work. Be proud of it. It’s good. Truly. And what makes it more beautiful is thatyou’ve painted the café the way you see it. Something only you can do.’

They smiled at each other for a minute and Becky felt herself glowing. It was a bit like when she’d been seven, showing her teacher a picture at school, or the times when she’d called Mum to tell her she’d been given a pay rise or promotion. A contented glow washed over her.

In reality, it didn’t mean much. Maud would probably love her picture no matter what. But her approval fed into some sort of need in her, fed the part of her that was afraid to tell her mother that she’d quit her job. Was that it? Was it her need to please others – or impress Mum – that made her as driven as she’d been?

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