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Georges was waiting outside the café when they returned. As Pascal parked his car approximately in the space it had left, he turned, frowning.

‘Uh oh,’ Becky said.

‘Sorry?’

‘He’s back!’ she said, dramatically. ‘Again.’

Pascal laughed. ‘Oh, Georges? But he is not a monster!’

‘Still, he looks a bit…’ She nodded at Georges, who had turned fully and was watching them both, his mouth a straight line.

‘He probably misses his caffeine,’ Pascal said. ‘Don’t worry.’

He exited the car and made his way over, as Becky undid her seatbelt and climbed out. After a quick handshake, the two men started talking quite rapidly together. It wasn’t clear whether the conversation was friendly or hostile.

‘ Non ,’ she heard Pascal say. ‘ Pas maintenant .’

Not now , she translated, missing the words that followed.

Becky walked over slowly, trying to take her time to avoid being caught up in anything. She smiled as she approached. The two men stopped talking abruptly and turned to face her, looking a little like two toddlers caught stealing cookies from a jar. ‘ Bonjour ,’ she said to Georges.

‘ Bonjour .’ He stepped forward and quickly pecked both of her cheeks.

It was the first time anyone had greeted her this way in France, although she’d witnessed countless bisous in the café.

She tried to pretend that this was a completely normal way to greet someone – although could only imagine what would happen if she started to welcome her colleagues back home in this way. A lawsuit, probably.

‘Everything OK?’ she asked, glancing from one to the other.

‘ Oui . Georges was just coming to see how things went with Maud,’ Pascal said, giving Georges a look.

‘Oh. Yes. Oui , I was here to find that out,’ Georges said, seeming flustered. ‘Was it all OK?’

‘Yes. Strange, obviously. Because I thought she was… you know. But yes. Lovely. She’s just as I remember her.’

Georges nodded. ‘I am glad.’

Tell that to your face , she wanted to say, but didn’t.

Pascal got out his key and unlocked the café. ‘You will stay for coffee?’

‘No. I must go. But again, I am very happy for you.’

Pascal nodded and pushed the door open fully.

Georges walked away, glancing over his shoulder at them as they went into the building. ‘I will see you tomorrow?’ he called to Pascal.

Pascal gave him a wave but remained silent.

‘Was he OK?’ Becky asked. ‘He was acting a little… strangely.’

Pascal laughed. ‘That is just Georges!’ he said. ‘I have known him some time now. His mannerisms take a while to read.’ She noticed his neck was slightly blotchy – red perhaps from the heat in the car.

‘OK.’ Walking into the café, she put her bag down on the counter and sank into one of the contentious yellow chairs. It was extremely comfortable and sitting there, she realised she could feel her muscles ache. ‘I’m shattered,’ she said.

‘Hardly a surprise. It was a big deal today, I think.’

‘Yeah. It was.’ She pulled out her phone and looked at her message to Amber. It hadn’t been read.

‘Everything OK?’ Pascal said, walking towards the door into the main building.

‘Yeah. It’s just Amber. She normally replies and she’s virtually blanking me.’

‘She is busy?’

‘Yes, but that doesn’t normally stop her. Especially… she knows what I’m up to today.’

He shrugged. ‘Sometimes things are not so important to others. I am sure she will reply soon.’

‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’

‘Perhaps she is missing France.’

Becky laughed. ‘Probably. It’s raining again in London.’

‘Did you ask her?’

It was an odd question. ‘What? If she was missing France?’

‘If she was OK.’ Pascal said. ‘Because I think sometimes it seemed like maybe she wanted to talk more about herself.’

‘What do you mean?’ Her voice sounded a little sharp.

‘Oh, it is nothing.’

‘No. Please. What is it?’

Pascal sighed. ‘Perhaps it’s rude to say, but as a writer I listen to conversations, I observe things. And it… I don’t know you very well, but I have noticed that sometimes you talk…’

‘Well, yes. So does everyone!’

‘No. I mean you talk but you don’t listen as much. You don’t ask questions of other people so much.’ He walked up and gently touched her shoulder, the back of her neck.

‘Yes I do! I’m always asking questions!’ She felt herself stiffen.

‘OK. I did not mean to offend. It is just an observation. But for example, I told you that I was writing, but it was more than a week before you asked me anything about it. And when you decided to decorate… you did this on your own without consultation.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t know you then. I didn’t think you’d want to help.’ She shrugged his arm away. Her shoulder felt cold after the warmth of his hand.

Pascal’s eyes hardened. He nodded. ‘I understand.’

‘Anyway, Amber’s fine. We talked a lot when she was here,’ she almost snapped.

‘And quite honestly, you don’t know her at all, so I don’t see how you could sense how she feels.

’ All the while, inside, a little voice was telling her to stop; to alter her tone.

Why was she talking to Pascal like this? He clearly meant well.

‘I just thought I might mention it. I am an empath. I feel people. She seemed very sad.’ Pascal’s voice was close to monotone.

‘Amber? No, she’s fine,’ Becky said firmly.

‘Good.’ Pascal made towards the door again, then turned. ‘Oh, and you will be pleased to know, I think, that I have started to make plans.’

‘Plans?’

‘Yes, to return to Paris. The publishers my agent sent the novel to are very happy with my work and have made me a generous offer. Good enough for me to tell my mother about my book deal, and for her to even be a little pleased for me, I think.’

‘Oh! Right.’ She felt a sinking sensation. Was this his way of telling her that last night had meant nothing? It felt off, as if he were annoyed at her.

‘So you definitely need to go to Paris for this?’

‘ Non . But it is time. As you say, I cannot stay here.’

‘You can, though!’ she found herself saying. ‘I mean, there’s no rush from this end.’

He raised an eyebrow, acknowledging her U-turn.

‘Thank you. Well, I will stay for the two weeks you are here. I will help you to finish the works? The tables are coming soon, non ? And your very modern coffee machine. I would like to help you finish, and I think Maud would want this.’ He smiled thinly.

She nodded, somehow unable to speak. For a moment he looked as if he were going to say something more, but seemed to check himself, smiled, and made his way through to the kitchen. The door shut and she was once again alone in the café.

It felt odd being here with no customers, without the hustle and bustle of locals consuming coffee, without their cheerful bisous and general conversation.

The sun still shone resolutely outside and its light streamed into the café, illuminating the first row of tables.

But here, near the counter, she was in shadow.

She didn’t move to turn on the lights, preferring to feel invisible to anyone who might pass.

Her stomach clenched as she thought of Pascal.

How easily he’d managed to brush her off.

Not that she’d hoped for more. Obviously, nothing long term could happen between them.

Still, it would have been nice to be wanted.

She felt something stir inside her and for a sudden moment wished she were back at work where there were clear rules and where she could lose herself in the busyness of her job and forget that there was life outside the bright, white walls of the office building.

Drawing out her phone she scanned through her messages to Amber from the last couple of weeks.

There were a lot of them. She tried to find a moment when she’d asked Amber something about herself.

How she was, or how work was going. But other than, ‘Can you talk?’ and ‘Let me know when you’re free!

’ her messages did actually seem to be almost solely about her own experience.

But then she was going through quite a tumultuous time. Amber had to understand that.

She typed in ‘How are you? Hope you’re OK?’ just in case. Then got up and made her way through the kitchen and upstairs towards her room. Drawing out her mobile phone again – although it hadn’t been any more than five minutes – she saw her message had been read. But Amber hadn’t yet replied.

It was odd, this separation from Amber. She’d seen her daily for years – a little less when they’d attended different universities of course.

But then when they’d both been offered jobs in offices a stone’s throw from each other and realised they could rent a place together, they’d jumped at the chance.

And it had worked – they’d lived together seamlessly ever since.

She never ordinarily had to second-guess text messages from Amber, because she’d see her every morning and evening.

She watched the message window for a moment as if by doing so she could perhaps telepathically encourage her friend to write back.

But no.

There was nothing for it. She’d have to go ahead and call Mum without a bolster from her best friend first.

She should, of course, have broken the news about Maud to Mum immediately. But she’d put it off, telling herself it would be better to wait until she’d actually seen her; so she could deliver a full report about how she was. Maybe even pass a message!

But now, calling up her mum from her list of contacts, she realised that deep down she’d simply been avoiding it. Whether it was to spare Mum the shock, or some other subconscious reason she was barely aware of, she didn’t know.

‘Now or never,’ she said to herself as she pressed Call.

‘Rebecca! How are you!’ Mum answered before she even heard a ring on the line, making her jump.

‘Yes. Good. Thank you.’

‘Oh, wonderful! So you’re surely back in the UK now? Fit for work?’

For a moment, Becky was confused. Then she realised: Mum had thought she was signed off for a fortnight, not a month. And she’d never corrected her. ‘I’m a lot better,’ she began cautiously.