‘Well,’ I wince, ‘I don’t have a car right now …’Or the money to fix it. ‘Or a tractor to borrow every day.’ I try to laugh. ‘And I’m not sure Madame B’s bicycle is enough.’ I’m making light of the situation, but inside I’m devastated. If I could just have kept going until the end of the month …
He nods slowly. ‘I understand,’ he says, and glances at Gilles, who does the same.
We clear away the remnants of lunch and I head back to the mill with the last of the day’s bread. With a wave to the fisherwomen, I stand outside. It’s raining, a summer shower.
I throw large pieces of bread into the lake, ripping up the baguettes. Tears trickle down my cheeks, mixing with the rain.
The ducks land and paddle happily, scooping up the bread. I have no idea if they should be eating it or not. I break off another piece and then, in frustration, just throw half of the baguette into the water, narrowly missing a duck that squawks and flaps its wings in indignation.
‘I don’t know what you do in your country, but around here we tend not to throw missiles at the wildlife.’
I whirl around and see Laurent.
I attempt to brush away the tears and can’t help but laugh at little. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t, I mean …’
‘I came to see if you were okay.’
I take a deep breath. ‘I’ve realised this has all been a mistake. The mill, I mean. I’m never going to be able to make this business work, and I should sell it to you. It’s yours if you want it.’
He sighs. ‘I’m afraid that may not be possible.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m not in a position to buy right now.’
‘Really?’
He nods. ‘I had other ways I needed to spend my savings. Sorry.’ And with that he walks away, clearly as upset as I am.
I’m done.
Chapter 37
There is knocking on the front door, rousing me from my deep sleep.
‘Oui, j’arrive,’ I say, realising I’m automatically speaking French now and will have to change to English when I’m back home. Home … Where is home? Where will I stay?
I messaged Pete when I got back to the mill, letting him know that I was unlikely to get my visa to stay on, so would be making plans to come back. Pete replied,Are you sure? Isn’t there any way for you to stay?Which took me by surprise.
I wish there was, I typed, making it clear my heart is still very much here.
Let me know if I can do anything to help, he said, and I realised he’s not waiting for me to come home. We’ve both had a taste of a different way of life, one without the other in it, and we’re happy.
Bang, bang, bangcomes the knocking, and I stumble from bed, where I’ve been napping, down the wooden steps and through the main room to pull open the door.
It’s Madame B.
‘Bon après-midi,’ she says. ‘Come, we have somewhere we need to be.’ She puts out her cigarette on the ground with a flourish of her foot, then picks up the stub.
I get my bag and close the door behind me. ‘Where are we going? What’s going on? Is it theboulangerie?’
‘You’ll see,’ she says, walking beside me in smart red shoes with gold buckles, matching her trademark red nails. The endsof her short silk scarf catch in the wind. Bibi trots along beside her, taking in the smells, clearly enjoying the change from being in the apartment all day.
We arrive in the square after our short walk, and there, outside theboulangerie, is an old bicycle, propped against the window. My spirits dip. As kind as it is of her, the bicycle won’t help me do bread rounds big enough for whole towns. Then I hear jovial voices and laughter. Beside thetabacthere is a building with two garage doors, a fading sign over one, indicating it was once a car mechanic’s workshop. There, in front of the dark blue, worn wooden doors, stand Gilles, Hubert and Eric, beaming.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask.
‘You’ll see,’ says Madame B, reverting to her usual clipped tones and lighting another cigarette. I look back at theboulangerieto where my car is parked in front of it, dented at the front. They must have towed it back for me while I was napping. It’s so good of them. I should have gone with them.
