A cheer breaks out among the crowd gathered there, and we hear the slam of a car door as Claude parks his white van and gets out, furious with Monsieur Martin.
‘I know a good miller,’ I say.
‘The miller and the baker should always be good friends, very good friends.’
‘What about more than friends?’
‘In this case, definitely more than friends,’ he says, and kisses me again. And I know I’m exactly where I want to be: at the heart of this little French village.
‘Ouch,’ I say, as I lean into him.
‘What’s up?’
I reach in and pull the euro from my top pocket. It was pressing sideways into me. ‘Someone once told me I should never be without one. It’s my lucky euro.’
‘You never know when you might need it,’ he reminds me. ‘Or where it might take you!’
He kisses me again, and it’s as if I’m waking after a long winter hibernation, emerging where bright, brilliant sunshine bounces off the lake and there is always a flash of the kingfishers’ blue to remind me of good things to come.
Epilogue
Christmas Eve
Ipull up in the bakery van outside theboulangeriefrom a last round of visits to the four villages that used to depend on vending machines for their bread and now wait for Dolly and me to arrive each day. The machines have been covered with black sacking, no doubt waiting to be moved on to other small villages that don’t have a localboulangerieany more. Claude’s is closed and standing empty, after he tried to upscale his side hustle and sell drugs from under the counter at the shop. It wasn’t long before thegendarmesgot wind of it – it seems that Claude wasn’t so close and friendly with the local police force as he claimed he was. A cheer went up when he was charged, while angry parents and shopkeepers alike celebrated getting rid of him and his clients, and vowed to boycott the shop.
I’ve visited some of the nearby farms and hamlets that I regularly deliver to and received gifts of wine, homemade pâté and local cheeses to wish me a happy Christmas. I can’t wait to share them with Laurent and Madame B. Everyone in France is getting ready for the big Christmas Eve dinner. They’ve been preparing it for weeks, and I’m no exception. I have everything planned and ready at the mill. There is a table in the middle of the room, covered in a white cloth with red candles and dark green ivy trailing down it. A huge tree stands beside the millstones, decorated with red and gold baubles, lights and holly decorating the mantelpiece over the fire that is laid and ready to light. Festive cards are strung up either side of it with Christmaswishes from back home, including one from Pete and Mandy with a snowy golf buggy and a little Jack Russell in a Santa hat driving it on the front. It’s a big tree for just Laurent, me and Madame B.But why not?I thought. We have the space.
I switch off the Christmas music I’m playing from my phone on the van’s dashboard, then duck out beneath festooned paper chains and bunting. I pick up the empty baskets and make sure the side hatch is secure, then step out into the cold, dark, crisp Christmas Eve. The church bells are pealing and people are on the steps, greeting each other with kisses and wishing each other ‘Joyeux Noël.’ The lights are twinkling in the square, multicoloured bulbs strung between the plane trees – it was a spectacle in itself watching Gilles and the others with the tractor putting them up. It couldn’t feel more festive.
I look to where thetabaconce was and wave at the new owners of the wine shop and deli, selling meats and cheeses from the local area. They wish me ajoyeux Noëland I tell them I look forward to seeing them at the mill for drinks tomorrow – Christmas morning – with Gilles and his wife and the others from the village. And Bertrand the mayor, of course.
I look back at theboulangeriewith its newly painted sign,Annie’sin gold, shining brightly, making my eyes sparkle with a few tears for a friend who should still be here. ‘Because she couldn’t be,’ I told Laurent, when I finally settled on a name.
‘It’s perfect,’ he said. ‘It’s your second chance, and she would be cheering you on all the way. Just as she did from the start.’
I can’t wait for Annie’s husband and the children to visit in the spring, as we’ve agreed, when the weather is warmer and they can enjoy exploring the woods and playing in the swimming hole.
The lights are on in theboulangerieand the orange glow I love to see is as bright as ever. I head to the shop and push open the door, hearing the tinkle of the bell. I stand for a moment, takingin the rush of warmth from the ovens, the voices and laughter. Suddenly, the room falls quiet and I hear, ‘Mum!’
‘Surprise!’
Maddie, Jake, and Becky! I rush forward and hug them tightly. ‘You’re here!’ I say, with a crack in my voice.
‘Well, we knew you wouldn’t be able to get away now you have the bakery van.’
‘Dolly,’ Madame B corrects.
‘Dolly.’ Maddie laughs. ‘So we came to see you!’
‘Oh, this is wonderful.’ I look at Laurent. ‘Did you know?’
He shrugs. ‘I may have had an idea. Maddie wanted to surprise you and asked if I thought it would be okay.’
‘I thought we agreed no more secrets!’ I say, then laugh. ‘Unless they’re glorious ones like this!’
I hear a pop. Madame B has bottles ofcrémantin an ice bucket on the table, and glasses. Tea lights flicker against the dark night outside. There are little rounds of toasted French bread topped with grilled goat’s cheese and pâté.
‘A little aperitif before dinner,’ she suggests, and I think about the turkey that’s cooking in the oven at the mill, far too big for the three of us. And there’s a Bûche de Noël, a chocolate log, and, of course, a cheese board that will feed us for days to come.
