A Year at the French Farmhouse(44)

‘Today’s disaster is tomorrow’s brilliant anecdote,’ her friend had added, giving her a squeeze. ‘You’ll be dining out on this one for years.’

‘Well, in that case, thank you for your help.’ Lily had replied.

Then, after Emily had helped her back onto the unforgiving mattress, she’d disappeared to her room leaving Lily aching in the dark. The noise of rodents overhead seemed twenty times louder than it had before, and she pictured them, scurrying, their enormous tails flicking behind them; their black, beady eyes shining in the slivers of moonlight that shot in between the tiles.

Eventually, she fell into a light doze, but awoke each time she tried to turn. By seven, she gave up any hope of proper sleep. Instead, she dragged herself up from the floor, slipped on her dressing gown and went to wake Emily, who’d apparently now found the ability to sleep no matter how many poltergeists or rats were making merry above her head. Lily gave her prone figure a poke with her slippered foot.

‘Eh?’ Emily said, blinking blearily.

‘Come on,’ Lily replied. ‘We’re getting out of here.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Just after seven, but I’ve been up since, well, you know.’

‘Ouch, how are you feeling?’ Emily grimaced.

‘I’ve been better.’

‘I feel completely responsible.’

‘Good!’ Lily said, with a wry smile. ‘You are! But… look, it doesn’t matter. I’ve decided: why don’t we spend a couple of nights on a decent bed, and get someone to deal with the squirrel things before we come back? Might see if I can’t pick up a couple of proper mattresses before we do too – those air things are bad enough when you haven’t fallen from height, but believe me when your body is one big bruise, they are seriously uncomfortable.’

‘Again, really sorry,’ said Emily, patting Lily’s leg from her prone position. ‘But decent beds? Sounds lovely. Where were you thinking? There was a hotel I saw in Eymoutiers when we drove through that looked relatively habitable…’

‘I thought we’d go to La Petite Maison.’

‘Of course! Chloé’s place. Do you think she’ll have rooms?’

‘Hopefully.’

Leaving her friend to gather an overnight bag and stick on some clothes, Lily went down to the kitchen and filled the kettle. Then she drew out her mobile phone and, after checking the time – half past seven: Chloé served breakfast from seven, so surely it was OK to call? – she went to dial Chloé’s number.

Before she did, she noticed a missed call from late last night. It was from her old home number and the sight of it there, still displaying as ‘Home’ on her screen, made her heart flip. She clicked quickly on the icon for her answerphone and listened as the automated voice told her she had one new message. Then she heard Ben’s voice: ‘Look, Lily. I need to ask you one more time. Please come back home. I know you have this dream or whatever, but what you’re doing is crazy. We can buy a holiday place, maybe? Or travel a bit more if you like – to all sorts of places. But you need to come home. I miss you. Tyler misses you. Surely that should mean something?’

Lily felt her eyes fill, first with tears of guilt and worry, then with anger. Had her husband just called her crazy and suggested she didn’t love her son, or him? Could he literally not see things from her perspective? All those promises; years of dreams, shattered.

She’d spoken to Ty yesterday evening and he’d seemed fairly upbeat. He’d finally sorted his accommodation for uni and had opened a student bank account. If anything, not having his mum constantly looking over his shoulder would be a chance for him to stand on his own two feet – he was, after all, an adult now. She’d told him she missed him, and he’d said ‘you too’ but it had sounded simply affectionate rather than desperate. Meaning Ben had just used their son as a pawn in his guilt-inducing game.

Then she looked at the time of the message. One o’clock in the morning. It wasn’t like Ben to stay up late and she felt a sudden pang for everything she was putting him through. Perhaps he hadn’t been thinking straight, she told herself.

She decided to try to put it out of her mind and called Chloé, who confirmed that she still had one room available that she and Emily could share. Lily wondered what it might be like sharing a bed with her oldest friend. The last time they’d done it was aged twelve at a sleepover, when Emily had been all kicking legs and sleep-talking, had stolen the duvet and woken her up at 3 a.m. because she thought she might have seen a spider.

Hopefully, at least some of her behaviour had been caused by teenage hormones and too many midnight snacks. If not, she was jumping out of the frying pan into the fire.

After several coffees and the dry end of a French loaf, she called Frédérique.

‘Oui ’ello?’

‘Frédérique? It’s Lily.’

‘Ah, Madame Buttercup! Comment ?a va?’

‘Oui, ?a va bien merci, et vous?’

‘Tutoie-moi.’

‘Sorry, what?’

‘Tutoie-moi, we are friends, no? You can say tu, not vous.’

‘Oh.’ For god’s sake, was this really the moment for a grammar lesson? ‘OK, well, in that case tu as un problème.’