Page 93 of The Village Cafe in the Loire

‘OK, experienceliving. I haven’t lived, Mum. Not really. Haven’t found out who I am.’

‘Claptrap. You already know yourself, Rebecca. And if you don’t, well, I can tell you exactly who you are. Who you could be with a little work.’

‘Mum, you don’t even seem to know my name. I’m Becky. Not Rebecca. And yes, I am good at marketing, advertising. But I don’t know if it makes me happy. And working the way I’ve been working made me bad at everything else. Being a good friend. Even being a good daughter. I found my work niche, but lost everything else.’

‘But you?—’

‘And I’m just not sure if that’s a price I’m willing to pay.’

Over by the kitchen, their waiter was talking to his colleague, Steve. ‘I’ll give you ten pounds to wait that table for me,’ he said.

Steve looked over. ‘Those three? They look all right.’

‘So you’ll do it?’

‘Go on then.’

As he walked over, clutching his pad, the original waiter leaned against the wall. Thank God for that.

35

Becky revved the engine of the soft-topped MG and she and Amber looked at each other. The day was warm, the top was rolled back and Amber had even put on sunglasses and a headscarf. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘This is all very Bridget Jones.’

They looked at each other and started to giggle. ‘Can you actually believe we’re doing this?’

‘I know.’

After Becky had bought the car on a second-hand selling site five days ago, they’d mapped out a slow route through France, staying at B & Bs on the way before arriving atLa Petite Pause. Pascal had agreed on the agenda – he had to leave for Paris a few days later, but would be back after a short break.

Becky put her hand on the gear stick, and Amber covered it with her own. ‘Let’s do this,’ she said.

It had taken a while to settle into driving on the wrong side of the road when they’d exited the ferry three days ago but eventually, away from the main route, it felt easier, more natural. Once in a while, Amber would say ‘Get over!’ when another vehicle approached and she’d realised she was drifting left a little. But most of the time it was a comfortable ride.

‘It really is beautiful here,’ Amber said, watching the buildings and grassed areas and woodland and open skies play out through the passenger window. ‘I could get used to this.’

‘You’d better.’ Becky reached over and gave Amber’s knee a squeeze.

Now on the last leg of their journey, with just sixty kilometres to go, she could hardly wait to get to the café, to see Pascal again. To settle into her room and even take a bath in the odd, tiny bathtub. She couldn’t wait to start this new life she’d chosen.

They switched on the radio, where a French song with a beautiful melody was playing. Occasionally, as they caught one or two words in the chorus, they tried to sing along. The result was hilarious rather than musical.

Then, as they passed a sign reading ‘Vaudrelle 4km’, Becky suddenly signalled and turned right.

‘Um, what are you doing?’ Amber asked.

‘Just a little side mission,’ Becky said. ‘You’ll see.’

‘And it’s a secret because…?’

‘Because I’m terrified it’s all going to go wrong.’

Amber looked at her but didn’t probe further. They passed through a small village with several stone farmhouse-like properties, a small bar in what had clearly once been a barn, and a littleboulangerie. Then out again into the countryside. Eventually Becky signalled and turned into a car park near a sign that read ‘Maison du Bonheur’.

‘Oh!’ Amber said. ‘I’m getting to meet Maud!’

‘Yes, you are.’

‘Hang on. Do I have to win her approval or something?’

---