‘You know,’ he says then, stopping me in my tracks, ‘they say that seeing kingfishers is good luck. It’s a sign of a new beginning.’
‘I hope so.’ I turn away again, tears rolling down my face, feeling foolish and betrayed. ‘Good luck, Laurent.’
Chapter 41
By the time I’m back at the mill, the tea dance is ending. People are taking their chairs, plates and cutlery and weaving their way back to town. As they leave, they wish each other and me a ‘bonne soirée’.
The place is spotless. You would never think there had been such a party here. I brush away any stray tears and take a deep breath, hoping the quiver has gone from my voice.
‘Day off tomorrow, Madame B. It’s needed,’ I tell her firmly, and she agrees. I know she wants to say something, but we’re interrupted.
‘So, I’ll see you tomorrow and we’ll talk business,’ says the mayor, carrying his record player. ‘I’m looking forward to hearing the plans for this place.’
My heart plummets. The only plan I have is to put it back on the market.
As the villagers leave, my phone pings.
It’s Annie’s husband, texting news I wanted never to hear but knew would come some day soon:It is withdeepsadness I have to tell you that my darling Annie passed away peacefully this afternoon.
The following morning, I’m red-eyed from crying and lack of sleep. I take my coffee and sit outside. In no time at all, the kingfishers reappear. The message from Annie’s husband seems to have put everything in perspective. Laurent’s prank with the baguette, our argument – it all seems irrelevant and stupid now.What’s the point in holding a grudge about something, when none of us knows what’s around the corner? All I can think about is Annie, her husband and children, robbed of their future together.
‘Thank you for being here,’ I say quietly to the kingfishers. ‘You have been my constant company when I needed you.’ I’m choked thinking about Annie. It’s too soon, too unfair. I wish I could have done this for her, like she told me – to go and live life. But I couldn’t make it work and I feel wretched.
I message the family WhatsApp group and tell them the sad news about Annie, and that I’ll be leaving France soon. I can’t wait to see them all.
I have the key in my bag to theboulangerie, ready to return it to the mayor. Then I will have to explain to Madame B that I’m shutting up shop and leaving.
I drive up to the square, ready to hand the keys to the bakery van back to Laurent. As I turn towards theboulangerieto park, I wonder if I’m seeing things: there are tables and chairs outside, clearly from yesterday’s lunch, with people sitting at them. They seem to be chatting, drinking coffee, eating bread – and it’s more than just the locals, I notice.
Just then, Laurent comes out of theboulangeriewith a tray of coffee and a couple of the brownies from yesterday and puts them on the table. He’s wearing a black baker’s hat, white T-shirt and black jeans. He looks more than handsome. He stops and stares at me, making my insides leap.
I slide down from the driver’s seat and shut the door.
Everyone, it seems, is at theboulangerie, either helping or sitting and enjoying the early September weather, when the sun shines lazily, without June and July’s ferocity.
I walk across the square to where Gilles, his wife and friends are sitting together, drinking coffee and eating bread and butter with homemade jam. The fisherwomen, with their husbands andchildren, are there. The square is full of life as the children play and families gather with coffee and chat to one another. Even Bibi and the mayor’s cat have made friends and are snuggled up together in the sun under one of the plane trees.
‘I thought I’d told Madame B we wouldn’t be opening today,’ I say to Laurent, as I look at the busy space in front of theboulangerie.
‘It seems the baker and the people wanting your bread had other ideas. When the van didn’t turn up, they came here to buy it. I brought the coffee machine over. I thought it might be useful. For your customers and the till.’
‘But what about thetabac?’
‘This village can’t survive on coffee alone. It needs both: bread and coffee. The perfect partnership. Maybe even some British cakes.’ He smiles.
I shake my head. ‘But … I’m leaving.’
‘Not if we’ve made enough money,’ he says. ‘And not if you don’t want to.’
‘And,’ I say tentatively, ‘would that be okay with you?’
‘More than okay. Like I say, it’s time the past stayed exactly where it is. And I take the kingfishers as a sign that it’s time for a new, hopeful beginning. What about you? Can you forgive me for leaving that baguette?’
I can barely breathe I want this so much. I know what Annie would say:Forgive him, forget what doesn’t matter, and seize the day. Life is for living.
I nod and smile. ‘A line in the sand. Today is a new beginning.’
Then he takes my hand and leads me to the till, which he opens with a ping. Madame B is standing in the kitchen doorway, grinning expectantly.
