Page 34

She awoke the next morning to find herself alone in Pascal’s bed.

It was seven, and the morning stretched ahead of her with nothing particularly to fill it.

Everything necessary for the launch had been ticked off their ‘to do’ list and all she had to do was wait.

Rather than that making her feel relaxed, though, she felt edgy and nervous – her fingers twitching for something to do.

She sat up in bed and texted Amber a good morning.

Becky

How are you?

Amber

I’m OK. You?

Becky

Yeah. Pretty good.

Amber

Called your mum yet?

Becky

Told your mum about the soup?

Amber

Good comeback!

She got up slowly, took her odd little bath, and pulled on some jeans and a T-shirt. Thoughts kept popping into her mind – work, her mother, Pascal, Amber, the café, Maud – but none of them formed anything coherent for her to hang on to.

A note informed her that Pascal had gone to pick up the fresh macarons and pastries they’d ordered; he wouldn’t be back for a while.

To stop herself spiralling, she decided to go out herself and buy a gift for Maud.

Something to brighten up her room at the home, perhaps.

A little reminder of the café that she would get some pleasure from looking at.

Only she had no idea what. Perhaps a mug?

But then the café’s mugs weren’t particularly distinctive.

Not something that would spark memories.

She could of course take a picture of the café, have it framed.

Maybe get it printed in black and white to make it look a bit arty.

But she remembered Maud’s photographs now hanging in the café, and her newly acquired knowledge that her great-aunt was quite a celebrated photographer.

A picture taken on her smartphone just wouldn’t cut it.

Then it came to her. She could draw the café herself. Perhaps it wouldn’t be frameable, but it would be personal. Besides, it would take a few hours to do and she really needed to have something to get her teeth into before she descended into anxiety.

She remembered seeing some thick, cream-coloured card down in Maud’s studio, so made her way down into the cluttered space, clicking on the light as she went.

Walking in, she felt a little trepidatious, as if she were entering somewhere she shouldn’t.

But she pushed on, found the card and a couple of fineliners and made her way back upstairs.

She set herself up at the large kitchen table then took a breath and began to draw, using some pictures on her phone for reference.

‘Becky?’

A voice at her ear made her jump. She looked up and felt her face get slightly hot, realising that not only was Pascal right next to her, grinning, but that he could see the picture she was working on. Which was both unfinished and looked – to her eye, at least – embarrassingly amateur.

‘Oh! I didn’t hear you come in!’ she said, her heart still thundering. Pascal was close to her and she could smell his habitual scent of fresh air, coffee and the clean, soapy smell of his aftershave.

‘Yes, I noticed.’ Pascal was still smiling. ‘I spoke to you two times before you heard me. What are you working on?’ He leaned down.

‘It’s a drawing. Of the café.’ She covered it instinctively with her hand.

Pascal laughed. ‘Yes, I can see that,’ he said. ‘I mean what is it for? I wondered perhaps for the wall of the café?’

‘This? Oh no!’ she said, hastily. ‘It’s… I’d hate that. Sorry. It’s just a picture I’m thinking of giving to Maud. If it turns out OK.’

‘It looks very good to me,’ Pascal said.

‘Thank you.’ She looked at it again. It didn’t quite match the picture she’d hoped to create in her ambitious mind. But it was OK. With a bit more shading, a little dash of watercolour here and there, it might even be quite good.

‘Anyway, I wanted to know if you wanted to come for lunch? I cannot cook today, so I am going to the restaurant.’

‘Lunch?’ she touched her phone to wake the screen up and saw to her surprise that it was 12.30p.m. ‘Oh my God, I hadn’t realised! I’ve been doing this for, what, about three hours!’ It didn’t seem possible. ‘It felt like about five minutes.’

Pascal nodded. ‘This can happen.’

‘Yeah?’

‘ Oui , they call it a creative trance,’ he said. ‘When we are fixed in our work, and our subconscious mind takes over.’

‘Sorry, what?’

‘It is a good thing. The feeling of losing ourselves in our art. I have experienced this too when writing. Although not as much as I would like. Sometimes, for me, writing can be almost painful!’ he grimaced. ‘You lost yourself for a little.’

‘So that’s a thing?’

‘ Oui , it is, as you say, “a thing”,’ he said with a smile. ‘And you are good, non ? When did you last draw?’

‘Well, I did something back in England. Just a silly sketch really. Before that? Probably not since school,’ she admitted.

‘That is a shame. It feels good to create something.’

‘Maybe.’

‘I mean it. You have your aunt’s talent perhaps? Her eye?’

‘Oh no. Nothing like that.’

Pascal shrugged. ‘I think you are too modest. But then I cannot draw.’

‘But you can write, evidently,’ she said. ‘How are things going for your Paris plans? Have you heard from the publisher?’

He looked at her. ‘Yes, it’s good,’ he said. ‘I have told them now that I might not be in Paris all the time. It is fine of course; I am not Michel Houellebecq – the demand is still quite small. And I want to be here. With you.’

She felt a frisson of excitement at his words. The idea of staying longer, staying with him, was close enough to touch. Yet how could she? ‘You’d really do that?’

He nodded. ‘How could I not? So now you must decide to stay here and be with me.’

Her heart soared at the idea, then sank.

Because the present here felt wonderful, but what would her future be like if she stayed?

There would be no progression; no plan. Clearly, everything back home was going to change.

But perhaps she could embrace that, but in a more structured, safe way.

Maybe get some training. A different job in a different field.

‘Oh Pascal,’ she said. ‘You know I’d love to stay. For as long as I could. But… I just don’t know. I’m not sure I have it in me.’

‘But why not? It is simple, surely?’ He crouched down next to her, his beautiful eyes fixed on her face.

‘I just… I’m not like that. A month ago I had it all laid out.

The plan I’d been working towards for years!

And now… I’ve left my job. But I can’t just drift around doing nothing.

Everyone I know is starting to put down roots, settle down, they’re getting promoted, doing well at work.

Thriving.’ She thought of Amber, but pushed the image away.

‘What people?’

‘Old colleagues, classmates. I’m on a business profile site and you get updates… Pascal, I spent so much time being ahead, doing better than everyone else. And now… I’ve left my job but I’ve got nothing to update anyone with. I’ve got no direction.’

He put his hand gently on hers. ‘If you have no direction, perhaps the answer is to stay still?’

‘But I can’t live my whole life running a café. It’s lovely. It’s great. But it’s not enough. Even for you, it was a stopgap, not your whole life. I just…’

‘But why does it have to be your whole life?’ he said softly, looking at her with steady eyes. ‘What about a year, or perhaps two?’

‘Because I’d get stuck! Once you get off the corporate ladder, you get left behind.’

Pascal regarded her. She looked away. ‘But why do you want to be on this ladder? What is at the top?’

‘Success!’ she said. ‘Money! Status!’ She was beginning to sound like her mum, she realised.

‘And these things are important to you?’

‘Yes. No. I don’t know.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘They were. Maybe they are. Oh God, it’s so complicated.’

‘But it doesn’t have to be. Nobody is asking you to live here forever.

But take a breath. Take a year, two maybe.

Find out what you want. Explore your art, try new things.

Maud didn’t run the café all the time. It was there for her when she wanted, but she had people to help her.

The café runs itself, in essence. The café gave her the freedom to be whoever she wanted. ’

She looked at Pascal. ‘But I’m not like her.’

‘Perhaps you are. Perhaps not. Perhaps you do not yet know who you are. And it’s OK. Because I don’t think anyone really does. That’s what my book is about. People who are taking journeys. And are scared because the destination is unknown. But that is what makes it magical too.’

‘I’m thirty, Pascal.’

‘ Oh, mon Dieu ! You are so very old!’ Pascal’s eyes widened, then he laughed.

‘You are a bébé in that case. Why not give yourself time to work out who you are. You talk about this ladder, but there are other ways to find status and success if that is what you truly want. There are ascenseurs ! Lifts, I mean. And those moving stairs… And… and helicopters!’

It was impossible not to smile at his enthusiasm.

‘So you’re saying, if I stay, I could always get a helicopter to put me at the top of the ladder in a couple of years’ time.’ She grinned.

‘Why not? But I think you might find that you do not want the ladder at all. Why climb a ladder when you can relax and find your own way to success, or happiness – whatever is important.’

She lay her head on the table momentarily and groaned theatrically. ‘Argh. I just don’t know, Pascal. I don’t know.’

‘ Exactement . And that is your gift. The not knowing. It means that you are open to possibilities. You have time. You have space. You have the café. You have life to live and explore and find out. Becky, you are very lucky.’

She thought about Amber then. Amber who’d said something similar – not everyone could sidestep life, give up a job without fear of destitution and have somewhere rather wonderful to work out their next steps. She remembered the words I would, in a heartbeat .

‘I’ll think about it,’ she said at last.

‘ Bon . I will take that,’ Pascal said. ‘But now there are important matters to address.’

‘There are?’

‘ Mais oui ! If we are not quick, we will miss the plat du jour at the restaurant. And it is moules – mussels. My favourite. We must get there urgently.’

‘Oh no! Sounds serious!’

‘I am French. Many things are serious. But lunch, it is sacrosanct.’