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Cynthia walked into the smart London restaurant wearing her habitual dark trouser suit, bright blouse, steely expression. Her hair was, as always, perfect. She scanned the dining room for a moment until she saw Becky. If she was surprised that Amber was there too, she didn’t show it.

‘Hello, girls!’ she said, sliding into her chair. ‘Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise! Amber, how are you feeling?’

‘Yeah. Not too bad, thanks,’ Amber replied. She glanced at Becky, whose expression looked rather frozen, her jaw, tense.

‘So,’ Cynthia said. ‘I suspect I know what this is all about.’ She gave a knowing smile that sent a chill down both their spines.

‘You do?’ Becky asked. It wouldn’t be the first time that her mother had seen right through her. She’d wondered, on occasion, whether Cynthia might have some sort of psychic powers. But she’d never dare suggest it.

In the week since she’d returned to the UK, she and Amber had been planning, packing.

They’d bought a car to make the trip in – opting to take it slowly rather than rushing.

They’d visited the doctor and made sure everything was in order.

They’d checked out their rights and applied for visas.

Not everything was finalised, but they were almost ready to go.

Cynthia was their last hurdle.

‘Of course. Lunch at my favourite restaurant? I expect we’re talking flats, aren’t we?’ She looked at them both expectantly. ‘Deposits?’

‘Oh. No. Actually, I cancelled the reservation,’ Becky admitted.

‘Oh? Why’s that?’ Her mum’s tone was suddenly sharper. ‘Second thoughts?’

‘Something like that.’ Becky glanced at Amber, who was studying the menu intently. Under the table, her leg was pressed into her best friend’s. Now and again, one would give the other a nudge of solidarity. They would get through this together.

Amber’s mother hadn’t been thrilled at the prospect of Amber leaving so soon to go to France with Becky.

But Amber had promised to register with a GP as soon as she got to Vaudrelle, to call her every day.

Promised she would fly back and visit, and encouraged her mother to look up flights for a visit to France herself.

In the end, she’d acquiesced. ‘Perhaps the change of scene will be good for you,’ she’d admitted. ‘But you know…’

‘I know. You’ll worry,’ Amber had said fondly. ‘But Mum, I’ll be OK. I’ll have Becky. And I’m only going to be an hour and a half’s flight away.’

‘You will visit me, won’t you?’

‘Just try to stop me!’

Cynthia’s blessing, Becky suspected, would be a little harder to obtain.

‘What it is, Mum,’ Becky said hesitantly, ‘is that I’ve decided to spend, uh, a little more time in France.’

Cynthia’s eyes narrowed. ‘A little more time? What, a week? Two?’

‘Maybe… maybe a year or two?’ Becky hated the way her statement came out as a question, as if she were still, at thirty, seeking her mum’s permission.

‘Rebecca! A year! Two!’ Her mum was shaking her head rapidly. ‘No. No. This is twaddle. You are not thinking straight, darling.’

‘I am. I am thinking straight. I’ve done… well, so much thinking recently.’ Becky tried to put her hand on her mother’s arm, but her mum whipped it away as if she were inflicting a blow.

‘Maud’s got into your head. I knew she would! I knew it!’ Two spots of colour appeared on Cynthia’s cheeks. A vein on her temple began to swell. ‘You can’t listen to her, you can’t. She’s… a lovely lady but she doesn’t know you. Doesn’t know what’s right for you!’

‘It’s not Maud. I mean, obviously she’s the reason I went to France in the first place. But… this is all me, Mum. I promise.’

‘So you’re seriously telling me you think that owning a café in a tiny town somewhere irrelevant in France is going to make you happy? Come on now, Rebecca. This isn’t you. This won’t be what you’re looking for, I can promise you.’

The waiter arrived, stood with his pad, sensed the mood and muttered, ‘I’ll give you a moment,’ disappearing quickly across the restaurant to another table.

None of them moved.

‘No,’ Becky said. ‘I don’t think that owning a café is going to make me happy. I don’t think I’m going to want to work my whole life as a barista.’

‘Well, exactly. Darling, you are so much more than that. Listen, if you’re worried about references after that… unfortunate incident at work, well! You needn’t. I have several openings at my place. You could even take over the marketing department, with your skills. And I really need?—’

‘No, Mum.’

‘I’m sorry?’

Becky shook her head. ‘No, Mum. It’s so nice of you to want to help me… like that. But my mind’s made up. I’m not going to change it.’ Her voice shook a little. ‘I’m going to France. Setting off tomorrow, actually.’

‘And what do you think of this, Amber?’ Cynthia turned to Amber, eyes sharp. ‘I hope you’ve tried to talk her out of it!’

Amber paled a little under the intensity of Cynthia’s gaze. ‘Actually,’ she said quietly, ‘I’m going with her.’

‘I’m sorry, what ?’

‘I’m going to do the business stuff. The paperwork. Accounts,’ Amber said.

Cynthia took a deep breath. ‘Now, Rebecca, I see what this is. You two… you’re a couple? Because if that’s it, you really don’t have to hide it.’

Becky laughed gently. ‘No, Mum. It’s not like that. We’re friends. Best friends. Nothing romantic. We just – well, I’ve got the chance to work with my best friend. Do something together, figure things out together. Why not? It sounds brilliant to me.’

The waiter came back, looked at Cynthia’s horrified expression, and walked away again.

Cynthia laid down her menu decisively. ‘Rebecca,’ she said.

‘I want you to think long and hard about this. In two years’ time, maybe three, you were going to end up running a division.

Maybe you’d even be starting your own firm.

I know things have been tough, physically, for you but trust me, this is temporary.

You can’t throw it all away on some… flight of fancy!

What kind of future will you have out there? ’

‘I have absolutely no idea!’

‘Well, clearly!’

‘But that’s the beauty of it, Mum, don’t you see?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I don’t know what’s going to happen. Maybe I’ll end up staying forever.

Maybe I’ll be back in advertising, working freelance or remotely.

Maybe I’ll take a course, start another sort of business.

Become… well, work on my drawing. I don’t know.

And Mum, that’s what I’m saying. I don’t know, and that’s OK. ’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Mum,’ she reached out a hand and this time her mother didn’t move away.

‘All my life I’ve had a plan. A fixed plan.

Targets. Sometimes from school, society.

And from you too. Five-year plans, ten-year plans.

My life mapped out in bite-size chunks. And I know that’s helped me get where I am today. I’m not ungrateful. I’m really not.’

Cynthia hmphed.

‘But Mum, I had to step back. And when I did, it was the first time I’d ever had the time to…

look at it all. I’m not sure if the life I’ve built makes me happy.

If it’s what I would have chosen myself.

I have no idea. I’ve never taken the time to think.

To look about me. To think about who I am. What I want.’

‘Oh Rebecca. Are you sure you’ve thought this through?

’ said her mother, shaking her head. ‘I know things are different with you millennials, or whatever you call yourselves, than they were in my day. All this self-examination, all these emotions. Being triggered. Your feelings. But it’s very self-indulgent. ’

‘But Mum, why shouldn’t I indulge myself? I’ve worked hard, I’ve got qualifications to fall back on. I’ve been given this… opportunity. At worst, even if I decide I want to come back… resume things, I won’t have missed much. And it could be… it could be wonderful.’

‘ What could be?’

‘Having absolutely no plan at all.’

Because when she was trying to decide whether to choose her life in London or her life in France, she’d realised what she wanted more than anything.

And it was absolutely nothing.

She didn’t want to make a choice between two different lives. She didn’t want to think about where her choices would lead her. She didn’t want to sign on a dotted line, or shake on a deal, or commit herself to anything.

She wanted to have the space not to know.

And wanted that not to matter, if only for a little while.

‘It sounds,’ Cynthia said, ‘as if you might be having a breakdown after all. Look, I wasn’t going to say, but my friend knows a really good doctor. Fantastic chap. I could…’

‘Mum. I’m OK. I’m just saying I want to try a few things. Take a break.’

‘A break? Hogwash! You’re thirty, you have to keep the momentum up if you want to achieve what you’ve set your sights on.’

‘And what is it that I’ve set my sights on, Mother?’

‘Rebecca! Don’t cheek me. Success, of course. Self-sufficiency, independence.’

‘I don’t think I have.’

‘Rubbish! Everyone wants to be successful, Rebecca.’

‘Well, maybe. But Mum, I’ve been thinking… and I’m not 100 per cent sure what success actually means for me.’

‘Of course you do… It’s…’

‘No, Mum. I know what you wanted. I can even see now what Maud wanted, when she made her move and changed her life. And you have done amazing things. Both of you. But I don’t know what success looks like for me .’

‘Now Rebecca, I think it’s important that you don’t do anything hasty…’

‘I couldn’t agree more! That’s what I’m saying. I’m going to take a bit of time… get to know myself. And while I’m doing that, I’m going to do something worthwhile. Run the café, learn a little French, experience life.’

‘You’ve already experienced life!’

‘OK, experience living . I haven’t lived, Mum. Not really. Haven’t found out who I am.’

‘Claptrap. You already know yourself, Rebecca. And if you don’t, well, I can tell you exactly who you are. Who you could be with a little work.’

‘Mum, you don’t even seem to know my name.

I’m Becky. Not Rebecca. And yes, I am good at marketing, advertising.

But I don’t know if it makes me happy. And working the way I’ve been working made me bad at everything else.

Being a good friend. Even being a good daughter.

I found my work niche, but lost everything else. ’

‘But you?—’

‘And I’m just not sure if that’s a price I’m willing to pay.’

Over by the kitchen, their waiter was talking to his colleague, Steve. ‘I’ll give you ten pounds to wait that table for me,’ he said.

Steve looked over. ‘Those three? They look all right.’

‘So you’ll do it?’

‘Go on then.’

As he walked over, clutching his pad, the original waiter leaned against the wall. Thank God for that.