Quietly, a small smile playing on her lips, she flicked to ‘Here Comes the Sun’ in her playlist. As the familiar tune flooded her senses, she imagined herself opening the front door, exploring the downstairs properly. Marvelling over carved wood and tiled floors. Flinging open the shutters in attic rooms to let the light pour in. Over time, clearing the garden and renovating an old wrought iron table she imagined might be nestling under the brambles. Sitting in a floral dress and sipping Beaujolais as the sun slipped behind distant fields and stained the evening sky orange.
Another day, she’d discover a hatch to a forgotten cellar filled with dusty, delicious and perfectly preserved bottles of wine. She’d create a studio in the barn, removing a stone wall side and replacing it with glass so guests could take in the countryside views while taking classes or relaxing. The studio would be bathed in light, its interior washed white; she’d invite reiki practitioners and yoga gurus and relaxation specialists and treat her guests to the type of luxurious break that would have them coming back time and time again.
Then she imagined coffees in sun-drenched cafés, walking to the boulangerie for her daily croissant, saying cheery bonjours to friendly locals and living each day with the knowledge that she’d had a dream and made it happen. Even if she’d had to do it alone.
She was just musing over colour choices for the salle de séjour, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. ‘Sorry love, captain’s put the seat belt signs back on; we’re coming in to land.’
She felt a lurch, which may or may not have been the descent of the plane. This was it.
‘I’m so proud of you,’ Emily had said when she’d called her yesterday. ‘It really takes enormous balls to do what you’re doing.’
‘Well, maybe not enormous balls.’
‘You’re right. It takes an exceptionally large vagina.’
‘Hmm, why does that sound like less of a compliment…’ Lily had paused for a moment, listening to her friend laugh. ‘So you don’t think I’m making a big mistake? I mean, Ben…’ Her voice had broken slightly as she’d said his name. ‘He’s… we’re both… devastated.’
Emily had sighed. ‘I know, sweetheart. But he doesn’t have to be. He could come with.’
‘Or I could stay.’
‘You could,’ her friend had said. ‘But it’s like you said yourself – you’d always wonder, maybe always resent him for holding you back. At least this way you’re doing the thing you’ve wanted to do for practically your whole life.’
‘I know, it’s just…’
‘I think you’re doing the right thing, lovely. It’s heartbreaking, I know. But staying would be too.’
‘You’re right,’ Lily had said, feeling a sinking sensation deep in her stomach. ‘And I just… I mean, if he loved me enough…’
‘Exactly.’
There a silence, then, ‘Do you want me to come?’ Emily had offered.
‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes, I mean, not forever. I’m not going to become your business partner or anything. And the dogs haven’t even got passports so I’ll have to see whether Chris can cope with looking after them – I don’t want to come back and find him mauled to death or covered in doggie drool. But if I can sort it all, I could come out for a week or so, if you like? Help you settle in. Help knock back that wine that you reckon might be in the cellar.’
‘I think the cellar is more likely to be full of junk. But, pretty sure we can stretch to buying a few bottles if that’s a deal-breaker.’ Lily had found herself smiling.
‘You got it. Look, I’ll have to organise a few things, but I’ll get myself a ticket and be over as soon as I can. Only if you want me to, that is.’
Lily had felt her eyes fill with tears of relief. ‘You,’ she’d said, ‘are such a good friend. What would I do without you?’
There was a silence. ‘You’d manage.’
‘Still nice to know I’ll never have to, right?’
The plane bumped onto the tarmac and screeched to a halt on the tiny runway, jolting her back to the present moment. Almost immediately, the other passengers got up, grabbed bags from overhead lockers and then queued up in readiness for the door to open and release them. Lily waited until most of them had exited, then calmly removed her own bag and made her way to the back of the plane. ‘Thank you,’ she said to the smiling staff.
‘Have a lovely trip!’ one of them said.
‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I’m moving here. I’m getting a visa for…’
But they’d moved on to the next passenger.
She rolled her suitcase over the tarmac, already appreciating the warm sun playing on her face. She was charmed by the tiny airport, the quick exit to collect her baggage, and the fact that the foyer in the building was practically empty. The department of Limousin had one of the lowest populations in France, and Lily noticed a difference in density even at the airport: the lack of pushing and shoving, the amount of space and the air that, despite the planes, smelled somehow fresher and cleaner than it did back home.
‘Aren’t you worried you’ll be lonely?’ Emily had said when she’d told her that there were fewer residents in the whole of Limousin than there were in Basildon
‘Not at all,’ Lily said. ‘It’s not as if it’s completely empty. There are still people there. Just… well, I suppose fewer of them.’
‘Quality not quantity?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Plus, there are an awful lot of cows in that area,’ Emily had added. ‘You can always make some bovine friends.’
‘Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind.’
‘See, you think I’m joking. But before you know it you and the local cattle may have formed a moo-tiful friendship.’
‘That’s awful.’
‘Yes, I apologise.’
‘I feel as if you’ve let yourself down.’
‘I am deeply ashamed.’
Lily had decided to book a small hire car for the first month to get her started, so after collecting her case and making her way through passport control – which had taken just twenty minutes – she headed to the car hire building. Her on-board suitcase was modern, light and had wheels. But the enormous case she’d placed in the hold was old, unwieldy and bursting at the seams. Rolling one while carrying the other proved no mean feat, but she developed a kind of roll-limp and drag motion that got her to the tiny administrative building with a picture of a car above the door just across the pedestrian crossing.
There was one customer ahead of her in the queue who already had his keys and papers, but seemed deep in conversation with the assistant. They gabbled together in such fast French that it was impossible for her to eavesdrop. She caught the words, soleil (sun), plage (beach) and what may or may not have been haricots verts.
Come on! she wanted to say. Allez, for god’s sake. She wanted to get in the car, whizz to her B. & B., get the kettle on and make herself the mother of all cups of tea. She tapped her foot and glanced behind her at the three people now waiting in line.
But instead of looking at watches or sighing loudly, they all appeared to be waiting patiently, seemingly not in a hurry at all.
Finally, the man finished his tale of beans on the beach or whatever he’d been gassing on about and it was Lily’s turn. The woman at the desk shuffled some paperwork, looked up and smiled. ‘Bonjour, Madame,’ she said.
‘Bonjour,’ Lily replied. Then, glancing at the back of her hand where she’d written the word ‘voiture’ (car) just in case, added. ‘Je voudrais louer un voiture.’
‘Pardon?’
She’d double-checked the French beforehand to make sure she’d got it right, so tried again, ‘Je voudrais louer un voiture, s’il vous pla?t.’
The woman looked confused. ‘You are English, yes?’ she said. ‘You can speak English if you like.’
‘Thank you,’ said Lily, deflated. ‘I want to hire a car.’
‘Ah, une voiture,’ the woman pronounced carefully. To Lily’s ears, it sounded exactly the same as when she’d said it seconds ago.
‘Un voiture,’ Lily repeated, trying to perfect her pronunciation.
‘Yes, but une,’ replied the woman. ‘It’s feminine.’
Lily had never completely understood the French language’s propensity to give everything from toasters to toilets a sex. ‘Why does it matter what sex my car is?’ she wanted to say. ‘I just want to drive it, –not shag it.’ Instead, she nodded. ‘Une voiture,’ she said, pronouncing it correctly.
‘Oui, that’s it!’ The woman nodded. ‘May I ’ave your name?’
‘Lily Butterworth.’
Finally, after about half an hour spent spelling out her name, signing something and paying some sort of deposit that hadn’t been mentioned on the website, Lily slipped into a small Nissan Micra – left-hand-drive – and pressed the ‘start’ button. And she was away, following the satnav instructions, feeling completely out of her depth in a left-hand drive car on the right-hand side of the road, and heading towards the tiny village of Faux la Montagne.
‘This is it, car,’ she told the Nissan. ‘I’ve really done it now.’
7
Lily looked up as the cute guy sank into the seat next to her. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Crowded today.’
‘It’s OK,’ she replied, although in reality there were a few other spare chairs, none of which had anyone’s bag on it. She propped her bag against her knees and drew out her notepad.