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Becky rested the paintbrush in the tray and stood back to admire her work.

Maud’s new bedroom, a repurposing of the downstairs sitting room that Becky had only ever used once since coming, looked immaculate.

Some more of her photographs were displayed in wooden frames on the walls, as well as some more ordinary photos found in albums. Maud as a child, Maud with her parents.

Maud accepting her law degree. An unfathomably young Maud wearing a long floral dress, standing outside what was to become the café.

Becky had added a picture of herself as a child with Maud, sent over by her mother, and a picture of them drinking from the new mugs in a recent café visit.

She’d hoped that Cynthia might come over, see the place for herself. But Mum wasn’t ready yet. Still, she was softening, and Becky was convinced it wouldn’t be long.

On the side table, Pascal had forced Becky to display her drawing of the café too, in a little ornate frame. She’d been embarrassed at the idea, but had eventually acquiesced. Now that it was in situ , she could see it had been the right decision.

Amber poked her head around the door. ‘Do you guys want coffee?’ she asked.

‘Ah, do you mind?’ Becky said.

They’d employed a young girl from the village to help in the café while they spent time organising Maud’s living space and getting it just right.

They’d had occupational therapists in to assess her needs, bought relevant equipment.

But tried, too, to keep it looking like a room rather than a medical facility.

An arm wrapped around her waist and Pascal pulled her close. ‘I think what you are doing is amazing,’ he said.

She turned, kissed him lightly. ‘Thank you. Although I meant what I said. It wouldn’t be the same without Maud here too.’

It had taken six weeks to get everything ready, longer than she’d expected.

But she’d learned not to be in such a hurry about it all.

It had taken some time to organise the seemingly endless paperwork for Maud’s release.

And to get the rest of the place ready. With her blessing, Becky had repurposed Maud’s upstairs bedroom for herself and Pascal had kept his room; although they usually spent nights together, it was important to have their own spaces for now.

He travelled by train to Paris when needed, then squirrelled himself away to write his next book.

‘Vaudrelle is perfect,’ he’d told her. ‘I don’t think I could have written so well in Paris. It is too noisy!’

‘I’m sure you could have.’

‘Well, maybe. But there are other reasons to love Vaudrelle too.’

Amber, six weeks into her new life in France, was looking well too. Becky kept a watchful eye on her friend, but could easily see how relaxed she now was. They were learning to get there together – to slow down their pace and take time to live as well as work. And it was good.

Becky had invested in an easel and sketchbook and now spent some of her time drawing almost every day.

So far, most of her drawings ended up as balled paper in the trash.

But she knew she was improving. And, what amazed her, is that she felt she’d still be drawing even if she wasn’t getting better at it.

‘It’s the journey, not the destination,’ she’d remarked to Amber last night as they’d sat after closing time sipping red wine. ‘Who said that?’

‘Pretty sure it came from Jerry Maguire ,’ Amber had replied, rapidly looking it up on her phone. ‘Oh. No. it was actually some sort of American philosopher called Ralph.’

They’d both laughed.

Romcom night was still on every Thursday and Pascal had sometimes joined them, back early from his Paris digs and seemingly as amused by watching them mouth the famous quotes in each film as he was by the films themselves.

‘How many times have you watched this?’ he’d asked, when they slipped a familiar DVD out of a rather battered case.

‘Believe me, you don’t want to know,’ Becky had said.

‘It’s just our thing.’ Amber had shrugged.

‘I can think of worse addictions,’ Pascal had replied, shaking his head and laughing.

Amber returned with the coffees and they made their way out of Maud’s new space, shutting the door softly behind them.

In a few hours, Maud would arrive and they’d get her settled in, ready for her new adventure. And although she didn’t have – or want – a fixed plan for her future, Becky had the sense that the next chapter of her life was going to be a happy one.

‘Who are you writing to?’ Pascal asked her as she started scrolling on her phone.

‘Just sending some pictures to Mum,’ she said with a wink.

He gave a small smile in return. Becky had been sending her mother regular updates.

Not revisiting old hurts but hopefully, by sharing her life, showing Cynthia that she still wanted her to be part of it.

Once in a while she’d get a thumbs up or even a small heart in return.

‘Your Mum is very set in her ways, in her thoughts,’ Maud had said recently.

‘It’s a kind of self-protection, I think. But she’ll come around, mark my words.’

‘I hope it isn’t stressing you out?’ Pascal asked.

‘No. It’s just a few photos. I know I have to play the long game.’

‘Are you sure? Just your eye… It was twitching again?’

She laughed. ‘Actually, this time it was a proper wink.’ She touched her eye, realising that somewhere over the last few weeks it must have stopped its habitual twitch.

The end of an era. Thank God.

A moment later, a message pinged on her phone:

Mum

Looks nice, well done.

Becky

Come and see for yourself.

Mum

Maybe. Soon. x

It wasn’t the end destination, but it was a step on the way. The cogs of life were turning again, and this time in the right direction.

‘I think in the long term this might be great for Mum too. For me and Mum. Who we are to each other,’ Becky said, showing Pascal the message. ‘“Problems are part of the journey to transformation.”’

‘That’s a beautiful quote,’ Pascal said. ‘Is it Sartre?’

‘No.’

Pascal frowned. ‘I am sure I have heard this before. Perhaps the philosopher Camus?’

‘Not… quite.’ Becky’s smile became so wide that it almost made her mouth ache.

Pascal looked at her. ‘Becky. Is it the celebrated philosopher Jerry Maguire?’

She grinned. ‘Maybe.’

The light had begun to fade by the time Maud’s taxi pulled up outside. The three of them were in the now-closed café, sipping glasses of chilled, sparkling wine in anticipation of the celebration ahead.

‘She’s here!’ Amber said, standing up.

They all went and helped Maud – Pascal carrying her bags, one of the girls on each side holding an arm. ‘Don’t make a fuss!’ Maud said. ‘One pair of extra hands is probably enough.’

‘Ah, but we want to,’ Becky said, and saw the older woman smile.

They stepped into the café and Maud stopped for a moment and breathed deeply.

Becky, whose nose was now accustomed to the café’s particular scent – coffee beans, polished wood, the ghost of this morning’s now long consumed pastries, and the occasional whiff of fresh decor that still remained.

But she knew that Maud was experiencing that sense of home that only comes when you’re somewhere familiar – the type you experience with all the senses. And with your heart.

She squeezed her arm. ‘Welcome home, Maud.’

Maud looked at her. ‘This really does feel like home. And not just because I lived here for so long. But because of you. And you,’ she added looking at Amber and Pascal. ‘Home is more than bricks and mortar, it’s where you are loved.’ She put her arm around Becky properly.

‘The perfect happy ending!’ said Amber.

‘Oh no. As the saying goes: “I don’t believe in happily ever after. I believe in happy beginnings”,’ Maud said.

‘Foucault?’ asked Pascal.

‘Not quite.’

‘Oh no! Is it Jerry Maguire?’

‘Jerry who?’ Maud looked confused.

Pascal blushed. ‘I am sorry, I think I have spent too much time with these two.’ He grinned. ‘Maud, what philosopher did you quote?’

‘Pretty sure that was Cher,’ Maud said firmly.

Passing outside the closed doors of the café, a couple on their evening walk paused. ‘Can you hear laughing?’ said one.

‘ Oui ,’ said the other. ‘Perhaps it is a party.’

They shrugged. Smiled. And continued their walk.