Page 16

‘What happened?’ Pascal said once her breathing had steadied and she was feeling a little better.

‘Nothing, really. I was just here, and there was a phone call. And then…’

‘From your mother? She upset you?’

This assumption at least, made her smile, although it was a genuine enquiry. ‘Well yes, she was first,’ she said, ‘but I was fine after that. It was actually a call from work asking me a question. Which is weird because I’ve been hoping they’d call, really; it’s nice to be in the loop, you know?’

He looked at her confusedly and straightened up, moving to the fridge to get a bottle of water and handing it to her.

‘Your work called you? When you are on holidays?’

She found herself flushing. ‘Well, not strictly a holiday. It’s… more of an enforced absence,’ she said. Then realised that this sounded even worse than the truth. ‘Look, I’m actually signed off work sick,’ she admitted.

‘You are not well?’

‘I’m fine. Honestly. It was all a bit of a mix-up.’

Pascal looks even more confused than before. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Are you sick or not? Should you be at work?’

Sighing, she explained about the doctor, about her overzealous diagnosis.

About the fact she was making the best of it, although she’d honestly rather be at work.

And now this ridiculous panic when she’d just been asked quite a simple question.

‘The crazy thing is that I would have been able to answer it easily a week ago,’ she said.

‘I practically know my files off by heart. But I was so surprised that my mind went blank.’

Pascal nodded.

‘Now they probably think I’m incompetent as well as crazy,’ she said, rolling her eyes.

It was meant to be a joke, but Pascal doesn’t laugh. ‘Why do you say these things about yourself?’

‘Oh. It’s… I’m joking, sort of. I just… I’m imagining it through their eyes I suppose.’

‘Or perhaps your mother’s eyes?’ He cocked an eyebrow.

‘Do not be offended. I am just thinking of myself, how I sometimes used to call my work useless or say I was wasting my time. One night, Maud asked me why I would say such things about myself. She told me that I had to try to believe in myself no matter what. Because nobody else would unless I started to. It really hit me here,’ he tapped his chest. ‘And I realised that I had been brought up with so much negativity around my work – not my academic work of course, but my passion – that I was looking at things the wrong way.’

‘That was nice of her. Of Maud.’

‘She told me that her mother was similar. And Maud, you know of course that she was a lawyer before she came here. Then her sister – your grandmother – got sick, and she died quite young, I think. Perhaps fifty? And Maud realised that she wanted a different sort of life.’

‘That makes sense.’

‘ Oui . Of course some people, they dream of being a lawyer. And some people dream of having a career like you have or my mother. But it is not for everyone.’

‘Oh, it’s definitely for me,’ Becky said. ‘I was just going through something.’ She didn’t mention that the fact she’d found out he was living in the café was the catalyst for Laptopgate. It didn’t seem fair.

Pascal nodded. ‘Well, if you ask me, your work are to blame. They should not be calling you when you have been diagnosed sick by a doctor.’

‘Yes, but I think everyone knows… I mean, “burnout”?’ Becky uses her fingers to create air quotes. ‘Seriously, it’s not really something that people in my industry buy into.’

‘I’m sorry. Burnout?’

‘Yes. You know. You work too hard, you get sick.’

‘Ah! Surmenage .’ Pascal nodded. ‘But this is a genuine problem for many people.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I know. It’s just… you have to be quite tough in my firm.’

‘I do not know much about it, but I don’t think that burnout is for weak people. Perhaps it is for strong people. Because they push themselves too hard. Everyone has their limit.’

‘Maybe.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, I’m feeling better now, so…’

‘No, you should rest.’

She shook her head. ‘Honestly, resting is like my… kryptonite.’

He laughed. ‘Ah, so you are Superman?’

‘I just mean I can’t do it.’

‘You cannot rest?’

She shook her head, realising both that her words were true and that this wasn’t normal. ‘I sleep OK at night most of the time. But during the day… I just feel better when I’m working, when I’m doing .’

‘Yet your body is perhaps telling you otherwise?’

Why did he have to be so bloody perceptive? ‘No,’ she said. ‘It was a blip.’

‘OK. Of course.’ Pascal set his empty water glass down. ‘But still, it would be a good idea perhaps just to take a little time off.’

‘No.’ She said this more firmly now.

‘OK.’ Pascal smiled a little sadly and walked towards the café door. Then, turning, he said: ‘But answer one question for me. Why are you afraid to stop?’

‘I’m not afraid to stop!’

‘You are afraid to relax.’

‘Relaxing is over?—’

‘ Non . These are not your words. Why are you, Becky, so afraid to be with yourself, without a distraction?’

Was she afraid? She pictured lying on her bed – not to sleep, not to read or scroll her phone but simply to rest and shuddered. ‘I guess I probably think too much,’ she said at last.

‘And you are afraid to think?’

It did seem a bit weird when he put it like that. ‘Not exactly. Just… I suppose I’m not used to it. Being idle. It feels better when I’m doing something.’

‘And were you always this way? Perhaps as a child?’

She shut her eyes, picturing her life at home: colouring books, piano lessons, ballet, homework, reading more and more challenging books.

Then holidays – football clubs, Girl Guide camps.

Those breaks in Rome and Greece her parents took her on.

Never the pool. Always guidebooks and tours and ancient ruins.

Except in France. She tried to picture those holidays all those years ago.

Painting and running in grass. Sitting on Dad’s knee and looking at the sunset.

Restaurants and walks and playing silly games. Her eyes snapped open.

‘Not always,’ she said.

He nodded. ‘Perhaps you need to find that part of yourself. The part that can stop for a moment and really feel. Perhaps that is what the burnout is trying to tell you.’

‘What are you, a therapist?’ She was half joking, half annoyed.

‘ Non , but I am a writer. I think a lot about things. And it makes me sad that you cannot do this, that you are afraid to stop and be with yourself.’ He shrugged.

‘But you know, I am happy. My life is… good.’

‘Except that you have burnout.’

‘But I don’t! That was just some stupid doctor who…’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes! I just had a bad day at the office and…’ Pascal’s eyes remained on her and her words petered out.

She thought about the eye, which handily twitched her a reminder, the trembling leg.

The panic. The fact that she’d been here for more than week and hadn’t really stopped, explored the town properly or done anything other than try to push forward her plan to get Pascal out and the café sold. ‘I don’t know,’ she said quietly.

Pascal nodded. ‘OK. Well, perhaps be gentle to yourself just in case?’

She nodded, feeling suddenly teary.

‘I will go to work. But you must call me if you feel unwell.’

‘OK,’ she said, looking up at him, feeling the warmth of his soft, concerned gaze. ‘And thank you.’

‘ De rien . It is nothing.’

After a morning’s work and a light lunch, she returned to her room and changed into some fresh clothes.

If they were going to use the evening to update the decor, then maybe she really did have time to take a walk and look at the town properly, in daylight.

She could label it research to give herself permission.

Checking her watch, she realised that Amber was likely on her lunch-break: 1.30p.m. in France would be 12.30p.m. back home. Tentatively she scrolled through her contacts and pressed Call.

‘Hi,’ Amber answered almost immediately. She sounded as if she were walking; Becky could hear traffic, the background hum of the city. She felt a wash of homesickness for the polluted, crowded, bustling melting pot of home. Or perhaps just for her best friend.

‘Thanks for answering.’

Amber laughed. ‘It’s OK. Sorry for being a bit short with you. It’s been a difficult time at work. And I’ve been?—’

‘Don’t say any more, it’s forgotten,’ Becky interjected.

‘I know, it’s just I really wanted?—’

‘Nope. Not listening!’ Becky joked.

‘You,’ said her friend, ‘are bloody infuriating at times. You know that, right?’

‘Guilty as charged.’ Becky said. Then, ‘Sorry though.’

‘It’s OK.’ Amber’s voice was exaggeratedly weary. ‘Apparently you never have to say you’re sorry when you love someone.’

‘Ha! Love Actually ?’

‘ Love Story .’

‘The oldies are the best, right?’ Becky smiled.

‘So they tell me.’

‘Anyway, I’ve made some progress here.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. I’m actually serving coffee, can you believe.’

‘Really?’ Amber sounded genuinely incredulous. ‘What’s that like? Driving you mad?’

‘Actually no. I’m quite enjoying it.’

‘Wonders will never cease!’ There was a laugh, but suddenly Amber’s voice seemed to change. ‘Look, I have to go. I’m back at the office, but talk later, yeah?’

‘No. Wait. Just a sec. Look, I’ve been thinking and… I wondered if you wanted to come out. Just for a few days. My shout.’

‘Oh. No. I just couldn’t.’

‘Look, I know you don’t have any leave. But I’ve checked and there’s a flight this Friday, late afternoon. It’s only a couple of hours. Then one back on Sunday. My treat.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t let you pay.’

‘I insist. It’s my way of making it up to you.’

There was a silence.

‘It would be nice to talk to you properly,’ Becky wheedled.

‘That’s true. Because you know?—’

‘There’s wine…’

Silence.

‘Say you’ll come.’

‘OK,’ Amber said. ‘Thanks. Why not.’

‘Brilliant,’ Becky grinned. ‘I’ve really missed you, you know.’

‘Me too.’ And this time, although it was just an audio call, Becky was convinced that Amber was smiling.