‘This tin contained something belonging to me.’
‘Like what?’
‘A little security, that’s all.’
This place, deserted and taken up by the local drug scene. No wonder no one wanted it. I look out on the beautiful lake, and hear a car door close as the attractive fisherwoman arrives. The beautiful view is now tainted as raindrops begin to fall into the water. The fisherwoman passes us, bids us good day and continues to her flat rock, setting up her fishing rod under an umbrella. She doesn’t move, as if weathering the storm, literally.
‘I have nothing of yours,’ I say, as evenly as I can. ‘And, just for the record, where I come from, if you’re married, you don’t kiss other women.’
‘It’s a very old-fashioned way of thinking. And it was you who kissed me,’ he says, fuelling my fury.
‘Come near my property again and I’ll call thegendarmes. I presume that still works in the old-fashioned way around here? You get caught supplying drugs, you get charged?’
He swears under his breath as he turns on his heel and stalks away.
Chapter 11
Ihear his car drive off. I’m standing in the rain as fat drops slide down my hair and face, making me even more miserable if that were possible. I don’t think I could feel any worse. Part of me wants to run inside, pack up my belongings and go home, with my tail between my legs. But then I see the fisherwoman look at me and raise a hand. She may be checking I’m okay. With all the effort I can muster, I raise a hand back, also checking with her that she’s okay in the rain. But I bet she doesn’t feel as wretched as I do. I feel stupid, falling for his charm in the first place.
But another part of me wants to stand tall, not be driven out by a stupid move and a shark taking advantage of me. I want to stand up to him for all the other women who’ve been made to feel foolish, when really we should feel strong, with the scars we wear, the families we’ve raised and our bravery in finding ourselves. I turn and walk into the mill.
I go to the back of the big room, to my computer on the work surface, keen to connect with my old life. I message Annie and tell her how stupid I’ve been. It’s just seconds before I get a reply, telling me he sounds like an idiot, and to move on. Life’s too short. And she’s right. I may have made a fool of myself, but there are far worse things and so much more to look forward to.
I open my inbox and see an email from the mayor’s office, titled ‘visa application’. My heart quickens.
I open it and stare at the screen.
‘DECLINED.’
Chapter 12
Itry to read the email properly, but the words keep jumbling as tears spring to my eyes. If I thought I couldn’t feel any worse, any more stupid, well, now I do. I slam down the lid of the laptop. What does it matter what it says? I can read the word ‘declined’ clearly enough. And, all of a sudden, I can feel self-pity piling in on me. Could things not have gone my way, just this once?
I stand up and feel drawn to head outside where the rain seems to be passing. I grab my zip-up fleece from the hook beside the door, pull it on over my dress, wind a scarf around my neck and walk slowly to the lake’s edge. I stand with my arms wrapped around myself. The fisherwoman is still there. I scan the water’s edge for the kingfishers but can’t see them. I go to the corner of the lake where the canoe is, then walk onto the path, pulling the fleece tighter around me. The sun is starting to push away the clouds but there’s still damp in the air, raindrops hanging on branches and leaves. I walk along the worn path, over the big rocks, with no idea where it leads. I can see the big flat stone where the fisherwomen meet. Beyond that, the path peters out. It’s more rocky and, on the other side of the lake, dense with trees. I decide to turn back, not wanting to interrupt her fishing or her thoughts, but she turns to me with a smile.
‘Bonjour,’ she says, as she does every time she sees me. There is something very comforting about the routine of it, even if we don’t know each other.
‘Bonjour,’ I reply, with a smile. ‘You’re still here,’ I find myself saying. ‘Even with the rain.’
‘I am,’ she replies, in English, as I watch a tug on her fishing line.
‘Grab that.’ She points to the purple plastic bucket next to her fishing bag.
I bend and hold it out as she reaches down for a net beside her. I watch as she pulls the fish from the water, hands me the net and, without saying a word, I catch the creature in it, laughing with delight, as does she. I’m still laughing as she puts down her rod and removes the hook, before dropping the fish into the bucket of water.
‘Do you eat them?’ I ask.
‘Yes. But we only take what we will eat. Just enough.’ She tilts her head. ‘Would you like coffee? Or something stronger?’
‘Coffee would be lovely,’ I say, ‘if you’re sure I’m not interrupting you.’
‘Not at all. I am Geneviève,’ says the woman, holding out her hand, and I smile as I take it. She nods, prompting me.
‘I’m Juliet,’ I reply.
‘Enchantée.’ She pours me coffee from her flask and some for herself.
‘Have a seat.’ She offers the camping chair, which I accept. I sip the coffee, looking out over the lake to the trees beyond. It’s as if time has stood still. Nothing else matters.
