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‘But come on, Pascal, you know what old people are like! It’s all very well her having had this fantasy about me running the café, but it won’t make any difference to her whether I do or don’t, will it, in reality?

And I’m so busy at work, and I need this place to sell.

Because…’ To her horror, she realised that tears were welling in her eyes.

‘Can’t we just find a way to work this out? ’

Pascal’s hand approached hers over the wood of the table, but he drew it back before it made contact, probably thinking better of it.

‘I am so sorry that you are sad,’ he said.

‘And if it were in my power to help, then I would. But this promise…’ He sighed.

‘Maud has been very important to me. She took me in when I had nothing. And I owe her this. I am sorry, Becky. But perhaps it will not be so bad?’

‘No! You don’t understand!’ Becky’s voice sounded a little screechy even to her. He sat back in his chair abruptly, eyes wide. ‘Sorry,’ she continued. ‘I’m just… I don’t know what I’m going to do.’ The tears came then, and she had no way of stopping them.

Becky wasn’t a crier. Her mother was always eager to tell anyone who’d listen that she hadn’t even cried when she’d broken her arm aged twelve. Just come into the house with the arm at a strange angle, looking pale and asking whether her mother had time to drive her to A another that this guy, Pascal, is living in. I’m in the little room I used to sleep in as a child.’

‘Oh, that must be weird. Has it changed much?’

‘No,’ said Becky, walking to the wall where a few yellowed pictures were still hanging. ‘Nothing has.’

‘Wow. I think I’d feel… kind of strange.’

‘I do, a bit. I keep expecting Mum to come in. Or… well, or Dad obviously.’

‘Oh, Becky. That’s tough. I wish I could go out there with you.’

‘Me too. Oh God, Amber, what am I going to do?’

‘You could come back home? Forget the café for a bit? Wait for this Pascal bloke to move on naturally?’

‘I’ll lose the flat.’

‘There will be other flats. Or you could borrow the rest of the deposit from your mum?’

‘And never hear the last of it? No thanks.’

‘Well, maybe put your flat dreams on hold. No one owns anything any more anyway. I doubt I’ll ever get a deposit together.’

‘I know. I just kind of set my heart on it.’

‘OK, but think of it this way. I know it sounds harsh but if this café was as important to Maud as it seems, well, maybe she deserves to have some say in what happens to it.’

‘But I can’t work in a café!’

‘Well, maybe not forever. But you don’t have to rush to sell it. Spend a little time there, get some sun. Take a moment to consider all your options.’

‘Do you think if I employed my own French solicitor, I could force things…?’

‘Maybe, but it’s very complicated by the sound of things.’

‘Just a bit.’

‘How’s the eyelid?’

‘Doing the bloody “Macarena”.’

‘Ouch.’ Amber was quiet. ‘I know I’ve said this before, but we could go together later in the year? I’d help you.’

‘Thanks… just… it would be too late for the flat. And…’

‘It’s really that good? The flat? I mean, it’s beautiful from what you showed me. But is it worth… this?’

Becky thought. The flat with its smooth, clean lines, newly installed kitchen. ‘I think so. But it’s more than that. I don’t like being pushed around, forced to do things. I shouldn’t let this Pascal guy win.’

‘It’s not a competition, hon.’

‘It feels a bit like one. Like I’m being made to stay against my will.’

‘Well, maybe reframe that. Do it for Maud. They’re her wishes after all. He’s just trying to honour them, by the sounds of it.’

Becky was silent for a moment. She imagined herself staying, getting some sun.

Convincing Pascal to leave somehow despite the letter.

Or returning home, cancelling her flat purchase.

Sitting in her rental, twiddling her thumbs.

Neither option felt particularly appealing.

But neither did fulfilling Maud’s wishes and running the café.

‘Are you OK?’ Amber asked into the silence.

‘Yeah. Just thinking…’

‘Well, if you need something to get your mind off it, I was meaning to ask—’ Amber began.

‘I’ll sleep on it.’ Becky said decisively.

‘What?’

‘That’s what Mum always says. Sleep on it. It’ll feel better in the morning.’

‘But I?—’

‘I know. You think I should give it up. And maybe I will.’

‘No, I?—’

‘Speak tomorrow!’ she said, feeling suddenly exhausted and ending the call.

She lay down on the tiny bed, feeling strangely enormous, and gazed at the pictures on the wall in the half-light until her eyes grew heavy and she finally slept.