‘Good. Although, I meant about the other thing.’
Emily shrugged. ‘C’est la vie,’ she said. ‘What will be, will be, I suppose.’
‘Isn’t that Que sera sera?’
‘Depends what country you’re in. Anyway, you have to agree with me, remember? I’m the one in the midst of a health scare.’
‘Oh, Em.’
‘I’m not joking. It’s one of the few perks of being potentially very ill. People have to be nice to you. It’s the law.’
‘Shh, let’s talk about something else.’
When Emily had told her that she’d hopped on the plane after having an outpatient biopsy at a private clinic, Lily had been horrified. ‘Shouldn’t you have been resting?’ she’d said.
‘Well, maybe a bit,’ Emily had admitted. ‘But then I thought – how exactly does one rest one’s cervix? And I thought I’d be better off, well, keeping my mind off the results.’
‘Which you’ll get…’
‘Which should have arrived yesterday, only they didn’t.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yep.’
Like most women, Lily had been going to smear tests for years – complaining about the discomfort, both emotional and physical, of having someone peer at her nether regions, open up an enormous speculum for a better view, then scrape off cells to send to some unfortunate scientist in the post.
She and Emily had shared anecdotes with each other over the years – the time Lily had lost her knickers when the doctor had inadvertently kicked them under the radiator, the time when Emily had coughed, only to see the speculum fly out of position. They’d laugh, and dread them, but neither had ever missed one.
But, Lily realised, for all their talk of vaginas and speculums and knickers and examination tables, they’d never spoken about what might happen if a test result came up positive. She realised she’d had absolutely no idea what might happen next.
Now she knew. Emily had had a call from her GP, who’d told her there had been some abnormal cells, and booked her in for a biopsy as an outpatient procedure. Only she hadn’t been able to wait the three weeks for that appointment so had paid privately, without telling Chris.
‘I just wanted to get it over with,’ she’d explained. ‘Didn’t want him going through all the stress if there was nothing to get stressed about.’
‘So you took it all on yourself.’
‘Yes.’
‘Which, as it turns out, wasn’t the best idea.’
‘No.’ Emily had told her how she’d argued with Chris the night before she’d flown to France. ‘He knew something was wrong,’ Emily had said, ‘but by that time it seemed almost worse to admit that I’d kept it all from him. So I came here to get my mind off things.’
‘But you couldn’t…?’
‘Turns out, my mind is pretty focused when it comes to people snipping samples off my body for analysis and then taking an inordinate amount of time to produce the results.’
‘Well, yes, I can imagine. And drinking the stress away didn’t exactly work out.’
‘Not really.’
‘Oh, Emily, you’re such an idiot.’ Lily had said, leaning forward and gathering her still alcohol-breathed friend into her arms. ‘You should have told me sooner.’
‘I know.’
Lily had pulled free of the hug and had taken her friend firmly by her upper arms, looking into her eyes. ‘Well look. You’ve told me now. And whatever comes next, I’m here.’
‘Thank you,’ Emily had said. ‘Sorry. I thought I was stronger than this.’
‘It’s not about being strong, Em. You’re the strongest woman I know…’
‘Coming from you, that’s an enormous compliment.’
‘Is that a joke?’ Lily had said. ‘You know as well as I do that I’m a complete and utter mess half the time.’
‘No, for once, sweetheart, I am not joking. You are one formidable woman.’
‘Oh.’
‘Well, how much strength does it take to walk away from your husband, move to another country and start some sort of brand-new life?’
‘Try not to confuse strength with being completely and utterly mad.’
‘Ha. Well, there is that.’
‘Anyway, OK, let’s change the subject,’ Lily said now, pushing an interiors magazine across the table. ‘I was thinking dove grey for the hallway – what do you reckon?’
‘It’s a bit… well, grey.’
‘Well, grey does tend to come up a bit on the grey side.’
‘It’s quite a loir colour, isn’t it?’
‘That,’ said Lily, crossing her pen through the colour swatch, ‘is a very good point.’
‘Well, look. How about we go for a walk, or something. Up at the lake? Check out how that French mayor guy is doing ridding your house of vermin on the way?’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
‘Great. I’ll go and de-hangover in the shower, and then…?’
‘Perfect,’ Lily said.
Emily left the breakfast room, her feet tapping on the hall tiles then coming to an abrupt halt.
‘Bonjour, Madame,’ came a familiar voice.
‘Bonjour,’ Lily heard Emily reply.
Then there was the sound of two sets of footsteps, one heading away, the other drawing nearer. The door swung more fully open to reveal Frédérique, his face and hands peppered with small red wounds.
‘’ello?’ he said. ‘Ah, Madame Buttercup!’ His smile was wide, despite his evidently sore face.
‘Oh my god,’ Lily said, turning to him and forgetting to even try to speak French. ‘What happened to you?’
‘These little ‘mignon’ loir, they are not so sweet when you try to catch them, uh?’ he said, with a shrug as if it didn’t matter he’d clearly been set upon by a family of rodents. ‘And then when you try also to release them, he is even more angry, I think.’
‘I’m so sorry!’ Lily stood up, hand over her mouth. ‘I didn’t realise they could be so… well, vicious.’
‘De rien, you are welcome,’ he said. ‘You can sit, eh? I have put some treatment on zem and I will live, they say.’
‘Well, that’s good to hear,’ Lily said, sinking back into her chair, still feeling guilty. Should she have let him use the poison after all? Or just been a bit more relaxed about her loft-invaders, like Dawn seemed to be? After all, she hadn’t even noticed them until the night of the fall.
Still, it was done now, and she looked at him gratefully. ‘Well, thank you,’ she said. ‘It is appreciated.’
‘Pas de problème.’
Lily had read many times about how the French were more relaxed, how stress rates in France were far lower than in the UK. One of the reasons she loved the culture here was that so many people seemed friendly and easy-going.
But could he be for real? She couldn’t imagine being completely calm about being set upon by a pack of snarling mini squirrels. Especially if her initial instinct had been to get rid of them in a much less humane way.
But Frédérique’s smile seemed to be genuine. He walked over and peered over her shoulder, looking at her sketches.
‘This iz nice,’ he said, pointing at the kitchen sketch, his arm just inches from her ear in a way that felt strangely intimate. She could smell the antiseptic he must have used to treat his wounds, the faint scent of coffee on his breath and underneath, the aroma of soap and aftershave.
She wondered for a second whether he could smell her in return. After spending a couple of hours on the sun-lounger, she was probably slightly less fragrant than she’d have preferred.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s the new kitchen for the house, or at least I hope it will be.’
‘It iz very nice. I like it with the modern placards et bar Américane,’ he said. ‘The cupboard, eh? You ’ave a good eye.’ He slid into a chair next to her unasked. ‘And these are your other plans, yes?’ He picked up her sketches and flicked through them. ‘Zey are, how you say, very stylish.’
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘When you ’ave finished, I think my grandmother will not recognise it, eh?’
‘No, maybe not,’ she said, not quite sure how to answer this without accidentally insulting an elderly woman’s taste in decor. She could hardly say ‘Let’s hope not!’ and laugh her head off, could she? ‘Can I get you a drink or something?’ she said instead. Chloé had said that she could help herself to the room and make use of the coffee maker in the corner if she wished. She was sure that her host wouldn’t mind her getting Frédérique a cup.
‘Fank you, but non, I am fine,’ he said. He looked at her for a moment, his eyes intensely green in the afternoon light. ‘But I want to ask… I ’ear you ’ave a problème,’ he added quietly, ‘in ze town wiv your friend, aujourd’hui uh? Is it all OK for you?’
Lily nodded. ‘I hope we didn’t upset anyone?’
Frédérique made a face and shook his head. ‘Non, I do not think people are very easy to offend, tu comprends? But some people, they find it très funny. They say, look at the English ladies, uh? But I tell them, Madame Buttercup, she is my friend; she does not be’ave like that normalement.’