Page 64 of The Village Cafe in the Loire

‘Perhaps we can talk, when you have seen your friend. About the café. I have a solution for you. I think one that will be the best for all of us.’

Was he really talking about this now?

‘Whatever you want. It doesn’t matter,’ she snapped.

Her taxi arrived then, its engine audible a good thirty seconds before it rounded the corner. She hoped it would get her to the airport in one piece. She had no idea what Georges wanted, but the last thing she cared about right now was the café.

Georges nodded. ‘Well, I hope to see you soon,’ he said, opening the door for her to slide in. He spoke to the taxi driver in rapid French, then tapped on the roof with his hand as if imbuing the taxi with the oomph it needed to get her to the airport in a timely fashion.

‘Sure.’ She tried to smile as he pushed the door to. Then allowed her face, finally, to fall.

24

Why were hospitals such mazes? Becky had been directed to the cardiac ward when she arrived at reception, but couldn’t find it on the blue signs which seemed to point her in all directions but the right one. Visiting hours ended at 8p.m., and she only had forty-five minutes to find her friend. She’d rushed from the airport and felt sweaty and frantic and exhausted. If she missed the chance to see Amber, she’d be devastated.

‘Excuse me,’ she asked a nurse. ‘But can you tell me where the cardiology department is?’

‘Next floor,’ the nurse said, rushing by with a box in her hands.

Confused, Becky returned to the lift, waited an age for it to arrive, then got in. The interior was mirrored and she saw herself, bedraggled and red-eyed and not like herself at all. Her blonde hair, which had lightened in the French sun, looked wild and was tousled from the flight. She pulled it back as best she could and tried to smile. It was no use, she looked absolutely dreadful.

But it didn’t matter, she told herself as she rushed out of the lift again. She found the right ward almost instantly and entered,slowing her pace, sensing a different tempo in the air. It was quiet. Machines beeped. There were six beds, curtains around two of them. A desk with a couple of nurses dressed in blue scrubs. Someone with a clipboard was talking to a man in a white coat in hushed tones. The air smelt like antiseptic and sweat, like the changing rooms at school.

It was, of course, raining outside and the large windows only revealed a grey sky dotted with the tops of buildings, through scattered water droplets. She wished she could whisk her friend back to France, sit her in the sun. Tell her never to go back to the job. Encourage her to talk about her worries. Prevent her from ever having to spend time in this place again.

At first, she thought that Amber must be in one of the curtained-off cubicles – but then the woman in the bed at the far end of the ward caught her eye. Her curls were flattened against the pillow, and there was a drip partly obscuring her face, but something about her called to Becky. It was definitely Amber.

Relieved, she walked over to her at pace. Amber was sitting, propped against a pillow, her eyes on a tattered book she was reading. ‘Hi,’ Becky said softly, not wanting to alarm her.

Amber looked up from the book, her eyes weary, and gave a double take. ‘Bloody hell,’ she said, giving out a heavy sigh. ‘I take it my mother’s been on the phone to you.’

‘Well, yes. But… come on, Amber. Why didn’t you tell me?’ This was not the way Becky had wanted to start things.

Amber looked at her, her expression unreadable. ‘Seriously?’ she said. ‘You’re making things all about you?’

‘No! No, of course not!’

Amber nodded. ‘I know, really,’ she said, looking down at herself in the generic hospital gown she’d been assigned by the hospital. ‘I’m just feeling a bit shit.’

‘Well, with cause.’ Becky pulled up a chair and sat as close to Amber as she could. ‘It must have been terrifying.’

‘It was, a bit,’ Amber admitted. ‘I mean, I’ve had chest pains now and then for a while, but…’

‘And you didn’t get it checked out?’

‘Becky, we’re in our thirties. It just doesn’t happen. I kept thinking it was indigestion or stress. And it kind of was… stress-induced. I just didn’t realise it could have been… heart-related. Serious.’

Becky put her hand on Amber’s. ‘Pascal said you didn’t look well, when he saw you,’ she admitted. ‘But I reassured him. Said he didn’t understand what he was talking about. What an idiot.’

‘You’re not a doctor.’

‘No. But I’m not a great friend either.’

‘You realise we’re still talking about you, right?’

‘I’m so sorry!’ Becky blurted, immediately feeling tears pool in her eyes. ‘I just feel like this is all my fault.’

Amber looked at her dryly. ‘I mean, you’re capable of a lot of things, Becky, but I honestly don’t think you can be responsible for my cardiac health.’

---