‘My dream.’
‘No,’ he’d said. ‘Our dream. That’s what I want you to think when you look at this.’ He shook the globe, sending white fluffy pieces tumbling. ‘I’m not here just because I love you. Although I do of course. I’m here because I want to be.’
‘Oh Ben.’
‘Wait, there’s more,’ he’d said, with a small smile. ‘I just… I want you to know that all the times we spoke about it – the move, I mean – over the years, well, I wasn’t pretending. I loved the idea of it – of being together, somewhere completely new, working for ourselves. Stepping outside all the day-to-day stuff and having an adventure.’
She’d smiled.
‘It was only when it came to it – when push really came to shove, I got scared. I… well, I wasn’t well. And it felt like too much, you know? It felt like it would always be too much.’
She’d squeezed his hand. ‘I know, it’s OK.’
‘Anyway, I just wanted to make sure that you know I’m here for the long haul, whatever that turns out to be. Here because I love you. But also here because every day I’m beginning to love this life more and more. I’m… well, happy – happier – I guess. And it’s because of you…’
‘What, my rogue eBay activity?’ She’d grinned.
‘No,’ he’d said, all seriousness. ‘Because you showed me what it meant to have courage; you took the first steps out here for me. And because I discovered when you left that the only thing in life I’m really afraid of is having to live without you.’
At that, she’d put the snow globe, with its tumbling flurry, down on the table between them, then leaned forward to pull him in for a kiss.
She smiled at the memory, then reached to turn the key and start the engine. But before she could pull away there was a knock on the window. Frédérique’s face smiled at her through the glass. She wound it down, smiling. ‘Bonjour, Frédérique,’ she said.
‘Bonjour, et bonnes fêtes.’
‘Merci, toi aussi.’
It had taken a few weeks for them to re-establish some sort of friendship. But in October she’d seen him with a woman on his arm, whom he later introduced to her as Frances. He seemed happy, and his happiness had helped her release the last bit of guilt at her rejection of him.
‘I think it will snow for your first Christmas in France, oui? It will be very cold. Have you enough fuel?’
‘Oui, merci, we had a delivery yesterday and we’ve got plenty of wood.’
‘That is good to ’ear,’ he said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled widely at her.
‘And you? What are you doing for Christmas?’
‘Ah, I am seeing my mother and father, but also my grandmother is coming, eh? Per’aps you and your ’usband will meet ’er and tell ’er about the ’ouse.’
‘Yes, that would be lovely.’
‘So, Merry Christmas to you, Madame Buttercup,’ he said, with a wink.
‘Merry Christmas!’ she said.
She wound her window up and began to drive, realising as she did that she was smiling. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought this year could come to a close in such a wonderful way – in a new place, with family and new friends, and happier than she’d been for years.
They both finally had their residence permits, their business was fully registered and in January the website would go live. Although she was a little nervous about actually taking bookings, she was excited too. Somehow on the cusp of things, ready to take a tentative step into something brand new and thrilling.
As she neared Broussas, a few flakes of snow began to hit the windscreen and she watched the automatic wipers spring to duty. By the time she pulled up outside the house, it was falling more heavily – highlighted diamond-bright in the glare of her headlights. She turned the engine off and looked for a moment at the house that had begun to feel just like home – only better. Inside she could see Ben, reaching to add another bauble to the tree, his skin reflecting the coloured lights. Ty was there too, holding a box of decorations.
She watched as Ben put an arm around his son and said something, at which they both laughed.
Opening the car door, she stepped out into the cold night, feeling the flakes against her skin and breathing in the icy cold air. And feeling not the closing of the year, or the sombre mood that sometimes engulfed her when winter’s curtain of darkness fell, but that this was the start of things – of possibilities and adventures and years of life ahead in which to live her dreams.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have so many people to thank for their help both in supporting my writing and generally putting up with me over the course of getting ‘A Year at the French Farmhouse’ to publication.
The first has to be Ray, my husband, who has read draft after draft of a novel that is probably not his first choice of genre, and never tires of listening to my outpourings of creative enthusiasm or self-doubt (or at least, he never appears to). My children: Lily, Joe, Tim, Evie and Robbie, who have had to keep their distance from my attic office during some of the more intense writing periods despite wanting me to join them on the trampoline or needing my help with their maths homework. Sorry kids.
I’d like to give a special thank you to my agent Ger, of The Book Bureau. I count myself extremely lucky to have her as my agent. She is always on hand to give me feedback, answer questions and generally provide unwavering support. Finding the right publisher for a book can be a fraught process, and she has gone above and beyond to keep me upbeat and positive – which is no mean feat. She is well and truly in my corner and believes in my work, even when I doubt myself. So thank you.
Tara, my editor, has been wonderful too. So enthusiastic about the book, and great to work with. The whole publication process has been delightful from start to finish (yes, even the edits), with clear communication and a real personal touch. The whole team at Boldwood: Jenna, Nia, Amanda, Claire and so many others has been a delight to work with and I’ve been so impressed with their efficiency, professionalism and great communication.
I’d also like to thank some of the independent bookstores who have been so supportive of my career, despite my living in France and being unable to yet visit in person. Most notably ‘The Book Nook’ in Ware, ‘Heffers’ in Cambridge, ‘Book Corner’, Saltburn and the online indie shop ‘Tea Leaves and Reads.’
I’ve been supported brilliantly online both in my author group ‘The D20 authors’ – all of whom debuted during 2020 – and in reading groups, most notably ‘The Motherload Book Club’ and ‘The Fiction Café Book Club’ – both home to wonderful reading communities and run by amazing admins.
I also need to thank Natalie, a brilliant friend and avid reader.
I am blessed to live in a wonderful village in France with friendly inhabitants and a real community feel. Living here for the past decade has given me so much to draw on, and writing this book has made me fall in love with the country I call home all over again. Thanks to everyone who has made me and my family feel so welcome here.
Finally, thanks to readers who have been in touch, left reviews or shared my books with others. There’s nothing more wonderful than knowing my books are being read, enjoyed and shared – and it’s always a delight to hear from readers.