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‘So, is it all sorted?’ Her mother didn’t even bother with a hello. Becky, who had had quite a relaxing start and was just enjoying a cup of coffee in the kitchen before a quick shift at the café, felt tension return to her body immediately.

‘Not quite,’ she said, thinking of the beautifully finished wall Pascal had somehow made good, and trying not to panic at how she might fare when she wielded a paintbrush again.

‘Well, what are you doing? You’ve been there a week. Surely it’s time to up sticks!’

‘Mum, it’s going to take a bit of time, I think.’

‘Oh, tosh! Rebecca, think about it. What if that firm of yours comes to its senses and needs you to come back in urgently? They’re hardly going to warm to the idea that you’re lazing around in France, are they?

And I don’t see what you can achieve there that you can’t achieve back here.

It’s one world these days with technology.

I think you should get yourself back home. ’

‘I’m aiming to come soon…’

‘Well, good. Darling, I don’t mean to be pushy. It’s just that I worry about you there, what with your health.’

This was news to Becky. Surely her mum hadn’t bought into the idea of her being burnt out. ‘I’m fine! You said so yourself. It was just the doctor being overzealous.’

‘Still, I’d prefer you to be here for me to keep an eye on you.’

Becky’s mum worked such long hours that they barely saw each other – the idea of her mother actually hovering over her, looking after her was almost laughable. Plus, she didn’t need that. She was perfectly fine. ‘Mum, you know I’m thirty now, so… honestly, I can look after myself.’

‘Hmm.’ Her mother didn’t sound convinced. ‘Yes, I daresay. But it’s that place, Rebecca. It had an effect on you and your father. Both of you became complete slugabeds whenever we went there!’

‘Slugabeds?’ Despite her mother’s stern tone, it was impossible sometimes to take her talking-tos seriously.

‘You know, you laid about like a couple of dilly-dalliers. And then your father – God rest him – started to talk about moving there. I mean. Can you imagine? What on earth would we have done?’

‘It might have been OK?’

The silence prickled on the line.

‘Rebecca Thorne, are you telling me that you think I should have done things differently?!’

‘No, no – I understand.’ Becky rubbed her forehead with her fingers, wondering how they’d got here, conversationally. ‘Look, I do mean what I say. I want to come back as soon as I can. I just… things are complicated.’

‘Well, work a bit of that Rebecca magic on them all,’ her mum said firmly. ‘You’ll soon show them what’s what.’

‘Great. I’ll just do that then.’

But her mother didn’t seem to pick up on the sarcasm. ‘Atta girl. You show that squatter who’s boss. And get back here, to reality.’

‘Will do.’

Once the call had ended she sent another message to Amber.

Becky

Are we OK? You still complete me!

They’d argued before, from the get-go. Squabbling over balls and games in the school playground, fussing over this and that.

Living together in their shared flat, they’d often had disagreements about teabags, or mess, or whose turn it was to take out the rubbish.

But they’d never fallen out properly, not like this.

It was hard to remember what it had even been about.

She’d rung up upset from her argument with Pascal and Amber had given her short shrift, she remembered that.

Amber was stressed about work, Becky got that.

But what had she said that had upset her friend so much?

She’d been in such turmoil she couldn’t really remember.

She felt a pang in her chest, probably indigestion from rushing her coffee, and rubbed it absent-mindedly, wondering what she could do to make things OK again between them.

If she were home it would be easy – bringing a cake home after work, offering to get a takeaway.

Here, she was at a disadvantage. Especially if Amber wouldn’t even speak to her.

Then a beep from her phone.

Amber

It’s OK.

She seized it and began to type ferociously.

Becky

Oh! I’m so glad. Amber, you can’t imagine how difficult it’s been!

I have so much to update you on here. Pascal’s actually a great guy and I’ve been serving coffees, can you believe?

I’ve got stuck in with the decorating too.

Not that successfully. But I’ll explain when we speak.

Oh God, and Mum is on the warpath! I think she worries I might ditch my job altogether and come and live a life here like mad Maud.

The little icon appeared, confirming that her message had been seen.

But Amber didn’t respond. Becky waited for a moment, to see whether the three little dots that indicated someone was typing appeared, but nothing did.

Then again – she checked her watch – it was 8a.m. back in the UK now.

Amber was likely on her way to work. That was probably it.

Still, it was odd that she’d texted so much only to be ignored once again.

She noticed that her knee had started its habitual tremble and stilled it with her hand.

Amber had become so much part of the furniture of her life that she hadn’t realised how crucial her presence in it was; how vulnerable she felt without the woman she jokingly referred to as ‘my other half’. Perhaps Jerry Maguire was right, perhaps some people really did complete each other.

Trying to take her mind off things, she got up, tucked her phone into her pocket – resolving not to look at it until at least lunchtime – and took her cup to the sink. Then she went and unlocked the front door of the café and prepared for the morning’s trade.

Pascal had already shown her how to work the espresso machine – which had been pretty straightforward all in all – and she had enough French to take basic orders. To her surprise, she even quite enjoyed the process of getting out cups, filling them, taking them to tables, collecting empties.

The café’s offering was basic – black coffee, herbal tea or water; sometimes a pastry or a biscuit.

Once in a while a customer would request hot chocolate which would mean whisking spoonfuls of cocoa into warm milk.

But most people just requested ‘ un café ’ and seemed quite content with the inch and a half they were served.

Prices were low, but the café usually had at least ten people – some of whom stayed and became a kind of backdrop to the day, conversing with new people as they came and went, some of whom were in and out in an instant.

Mum had nothing to worry about – working in the café wasn’t Becky’s dream – but for a few hours on a few days, it could be quite dreamlike in its own way.

Methodical, and busy in a way that didn’t tax her too much.

It was kind of relaxing: not the ‘overrated’ kind, but the kind that enabled her to simultaneously make people’s day a little brighter and give Pascal the time he needed to work on his manuscript.

He took over at midday, looking thoroughly refreshed, and thanked her profusely. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she found herself saying. ‘It was my pleasure.’ And, she realised, it really had been.

Her mood shifted downward as she checked her phone and saw a brief message from Amber.

Amber

Try not to stress

But nothing more. At least it was a response of sorts, Becky thought.

She’d just slipped her phone back into her pocket when it began to ring, and she was so certain it was Amber she barely glanced at the screen before answering. ‘Hello, you!’ she said, smiling, as she put the phone to her ear.

‘Is this Rebecca Thorne?’ an efficient-sounding voice asked.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Yes. Sorry.’

‘Oh good. It’s Michelle, from the London office. I’ve been covering some of your work on the Tudors account and wonder whether you’d got the latest magazine copy signed off, or whether I need to finish it up for you.’

Her head started to spin. ‘Oh. God. Yes.’ She racked her brain.

In reality it had only been a week or so ago that she’d been all over this thing and now it was as if she’d wiped it from her mind.

‘Um… I can’t remember… let me think.’ She scrunched her face with effort.

‘Yes. I think it was all sorted before I left… but perhaps run it past Geoff to make sure.’

‘So it’s not complete, then?’ Michelle sounded impatient.

‘I don’t have the files in front of me so…’

‘Fine. Thank you.’

The line went dead without a goodbye. Although what was she expecting?

Everyone was so rushed off their feet in the firm, there was no real time for niceties, especially for employees who’d chucked laptops and been given sick leave and left everyone else in the shit.

Luckily, they didn’t know she was in France.

Not that she wasn’t entitled to be here – of course she was, she was meant to be relaxing after all – but there was something too flagrant about it.

She should be sitting in a white room with only calming music, water and the odd grape, not living it up in the sunshine.

Unless they could tell. What if they’d realised they were calling internationally? How would it look?

Suddenly she felt odd. Her breathing seemed to become more erratic; her head started to spin. She sat down, head in hands, and tried to slow her gasps down, but it seemed her body had taken control of things and she was at its mercy.

Thoughts spun around her head – Maud, whom she’d let down without knowing; Mum, whom she seemed to disappoint on a daily basis.

Amber who was being cold and she wasn’t sure why.

She was here, alone, without anyone who had her back.

What was she actually doing here? What would happen when she went back? Would there even be room for her?

Somewhere beyond her hot, hyperventilating state, someone appeared. The person crouched in front of her, encouraging her to match his breathing. In and out, in and out. And gradually the mists cleared, her heart rate dropped to its normal rhythm and she was able to open her eyes again.