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The following morning Becky was up early, replacing half of the chairs in the café with her new, plush versions.

She stacked the older, ramshackle chairs in the corner, vowing to take them to a charity shop later on.

As the day came into itself and the sunshine brightened, she stood back and contemplated her work.

It did look a bit odd at this stage – the chairs’ newness and evident luxury made everything else in the café look shabby, highlighting the need for further change. But it was a start.

Pascal appeared behind her, coffee in hand. ‘ Mon Dieu! ’ he said, slopping the coffee a little. ‘Sorry, I did not expect to see you there.’ His eye cast over the room, taking in the chairs, his mouth crinkling a little.

‘What do you think?’ she asked. ‘I mean, I know they don’t match everything yet. But when the tables come – and of course I’ve got a lot of work to do on the walls – I think they’ll be a real asset. The colour pops, don’t you think?’

‘Yes,’ he said, not sounding entirely convinced. ‘The colour does, as you say, pop.’

Her eyelid gave a warning twitch as if detecting an untruth. ‘Don’t you like them?’ she pressed.

‘Well, perhaps it does not matter what I think. But, if I am entirely honest, perhaps they do not suit this café, this village, the customers we have.’

The fact that he was voicing what she’d secretly been worrying about made it somehow worse. ‘Of course they do! People don’t always know what they want until they see it!’

‘Yes. Perhaps you are right.’

Something in his lacklustre tone, his reluctant agreement made her arms stiffen. ‘Half the people who come here probably aren’t used to something so comfortable. But if we give it to them, they’ll realise how much better things could be. They just don’t know any better!’

Pascal raised a quizzical eyebrow.

‘What?’ she said.

‘I’m sorry. But you are making assumptions about the people of Vaudrelle. Yet you don’t know them. You make them sound ignorant of the world. It is not true at all.’

‘Of course, I know I don’t know these people. But I run advertising campaigns for a major corporation. I’m used to thinking about what people want and working out ways to give it to them. Knowing people better than they know themselves.’

Pascal grinned.

‘What?’ she prompted again, feeling a prickle of anger.

‘It is nothing,’ he said. ‘But it is a great talent to know people so well, so easily.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘I am just saying that maybe it would have been better to spend some time here. Talk to people about what they like, what they don’t like.’

‘Have you seen the people who come here? They probably never leave the village. They probably don’t know how nice this place could be. I want to?—’

Something in Pascal’s expression shifted; darkened.

‘Non . It is you who doesn’t know. I am almost certain that even the backward, rural people who live here will have come across a cushion, non ? But do they want it when they are stopping in the café for an espresso before looking after their fields, or walking their dog?’

‘Well, perhaps they do. How do you know?’

Pascal shook his head. ‘I do not know for certain. I would not presume to decide for them. But the café has been here for many years, and it is always full. There are always people here, dropping by, coming in. They can come in their boots, with their mud, with their dogs, and it is perfect for them. Maud, she understood this. It is a success. The takings are good. When you come to sell, someone will buy it.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with trying to make things nicer, better for people,’ she snapped, feeling her face get red.

Pascal’s nostrils flared. ‘Of course not! But there is something wrong with deciding you know people, that you know a business, or village – and that you know better what people want. We may be a small village, but people here are intelligent, interesting, they have good jobs. René – he works with film studios in Paris; Clarence, the lady with the tiny dog? She is a poet with two books published. And the others, they have interesting lives. They travel. Do not decide who they are when you know nothing about them.’

Becky’s eyelid went into overdrive and she felt tension tighten the muscles in her neck, her shoulders, even her legs. Unconsciously, she balled her hands into fists. ‘I’m just trying to make this place nice for people. I’m trying to do the right thing!’

Pascal was shaking his head. ‘Perhaps you believe this,’ he said. ‘But it is not true. You have looked at the people here and decided who they are.’ His voice quietened a little. ‘And you have looked at me, too, and decided who I am. But you do not know me. You think I am a nuisance.’

‘Hang on, how do you know what I think?’

‘It seems to me that you are not interested in working here, fulfilling Maud’s wish. Instead, you want to change everything; impose yourself on us when you have no intention to stay. All your aunt wants is for you to spend a little time here. Maud is very special to me. And it matters.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, grow up!’ she said. ‘This is a business, and I’m being… businesslike! And why are you so obsessed with Maud anyway?’ Somewhere, deep inside Becky, a smaller version of herself urged her to stop. But she was too far gone.

Besides, Pascal, who’d seemed so kind, so gentle, was being downright mean. What had got into him? They were chairs! How had it come to this? Amber briefly flitted into her mind – her comment about burnout, about anger, but she batted her away.

Pascal’s cheeks coloured. ‘Maud saw me when I was alone. She took me in, gave me a chance in life, a chance to live somewhere and follow my passion, my writing. And I will always be grateful for that.’

Becky felt suddenly exhausted. ‘Well, good for you,’ she said. ‘Good for you and your… kindness. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for saying that about Maud. But I don’t see why you have to be so mean.’

Pascal stepped towards her, his voice softening. ‘I am sorry if you think I have been mean. But you asked me what I think. And I told you.’

‘I only wanted to know about the chairs! I didn’t want a character assassination.

Certainly not from YOU. I mean, what do you know about life?

You’re, what? Thirty? And you have achieved what, exactly?

You run a coffee shop. You write, but you’ve never been published.

You don’t even have anywhere to live, not really.

Just a room given to you by a pitying old lady. Who are you to judge me?’

Pascal’s face was ashen, closed. ‘And what have you achieved?’ he said, his tone quiet but firm.

‘I’m actually very successful.’

‘Yes. You have a good job. But what else do you have? As far as I can see you have nothing. You are just someone with a good job. And perhaps not even that. If you are so very important, why is it so easy for you to spend a month here? Why does nobody care? What is happening to your job right now?’

It was like a gut punch. She turned and stormed past Pascal, rushing up the stairs to her room before flinging herself on the bed like an eleven-year-old in a tantrum.

Her heart hammered in her chest, and it took a while for her breathing to slow.

She propped herself up against a pillow and pulled her phone from her pocket, wiping away yet more tears. Amber. She needed to call Amber.

It took three tries to get hold of her. Each time the answerphone clicked in she’d hang up and call again. Clearly this wasn’t a good time for Amber, but this was an emergency – her friend would understand.

Eventually the call was picked up and Amber whispered ‘Hello’ so quietly that Becky could barely hear her. ‘I can’t really talk,’ she said. ‘I’ve had to come to the loos again and apparently?—’

‘I’m sorry it’s just… oh God, it’s so awful,’ Becky cut in, her voice still thick with tears.

‘Oh no, what’s happened?’

Becky took a breath and told her friend about the chairs, about how she’d got up early to put them out. Pascal’s reaction. The argument.

Afterwards, Amber was silent.

‘What do I do?’ Becky said. ‘I mean, he’s not right, is he? I don’t understand why I have to stay here, why I have to put up with this.’

Amber cleared her throat. ‘Well,’ she said, carefully, calmly. ‘First of all, you don’t have to stay, don’t have to put up with it. You’ve chosen to be there and you can choose to leave. You’re not trapped.’

‘I know, but then…’

‘Yes. I know. I know all the reasons why you’re there. But have you considered what it’s like from Pascal’s point of view? This has been his home, his lifeline, for years. And he seems very dedicated to Maud. I know that doesn’t suit your plans, but it doesn’t make him a bad guy.’

‘Well no, but?—’

‘Nor does him not liking your chairs, Becky. They’re chairs, for God’s sake!’ Amber’s voice hardened.

‘All right! There’s no need to be like that about it.’

Silence again. Then, ‘Maybe there is.’

‘What?’

‘Well, maybe you do need to be told sometimes,’ Amber said, her voice still quiet, but firmer, more forceful at the same time. ‘Perhaps Pascal does know more about the village, about the clients, what they’ll like. He ought to.’

‘I’ve seen the customers! And you should see this place, Amber, it’s nothing like the cafés back home.’

‘No, probably not. But maybe it’s right for the place. Look, I’m not being horrible. I do understand that you’re… up against it. Stressed. But they’re only chairs. So what if he doesn’t think they’re right. People will sit on them anyway.’

‘Anyway, I’ve bought them all now.’

‘But maybe next time you get something, well, just involve Pascal a little. It can’t hurt. Unless you decide to ditch this whole plan, you’re stuck with each other for a while.’

‘So you’re taking his side.’

‘For God’s sake, Becky. Try to see things from someone else’s perspective for once.’

‘Pascal’s?’ she snorted.

‘Well, yes. And mine. You’ve just called me three times at work when you know I’m up against it here, that personal calls are forbidden.

You’ve said it was an emergency but all I can see is that you’ve had a falling out with Pascal.

But you called me anyway, knowing that it would make my life difficult. ’

‘Amber! I didn’t mean?—’

‘Look, I’m at work. It’s… I’ve got to go.’

‘No! I get it. I won’t call you at work again. But now you’re here, don’t go. I need someone to talk to.’

‘Don’t we all?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Look, you know I’ve got your back. But maybe Pascal has a point. It wouldn’t hurt you to listen sometimes. You’re very good at… telling people things. But when’s the last time you actually stopped to listen; considered that someone might have had a point?’

‘Wait a minu?—’

But the line was dead.