A Year at the French Farmhouse(5)

‘Hey, I’m not planning on shrivelling up any time in the near future.’

‘Nobody ever is,’ replied Emily darkly. ‘But soon you’ll be fifty, then sixty…’

‘Steady on!’

‘I’m not saying you’re old. We’re the same age, for Pete’s sake. And I’m practically a foetus. But there is going to be a time when it’s too bloody late to do all that. When you won’t have the energy to set it all up – to do the difficult bit. I reckon you’re doing the right thing.’

‘Thank you.’

There was a moment’s silence.

‘So, what’s the plan? Going over and seeing where the wind blows? Arranging some viewings? Renting for a bit?’ Emily asked.

‘I haven’t fully thought it out.’ Lily opened her laptop, which lay next to her on the duvet and, putting Emily on speakerphone, brought up a list of French country houses on Google. ‘I mean France is… enormous. And I haven’t been that often, when it comes down to it. Except all those holidays when I was a kid. Ben… well, we’ve done Nice and Paris a few times, but it’s not as if we’ll ever afford a house in either of those places.’

‘Not unless there’s a EuroMillions win you haven’t yet told me about.’

‘Afraid not. Anyway, city breaks are great for holidays, but living… I want somewhere…’

‘Cheaper?’

‘Yes. Definitely cheaper.’ She laughed. ‘But also quieter. Somewhere, you know, tranquil.’

‘Like Limousin,’ said Emily, in an exaggerated French accent.

‘Oui, like Limousin.’

‘Where even is that by the way?’

‘It’s kind of two-thirds of the way down France, if you look at a map. You know. I went there every year from the age of about twelve to sixteen.’

‘Ah, yes. All those postcards with cows on the front?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Wow, so really rural, then.’

‘Yes. But it’s beautiful. And the houses are… well,’ Lily gasped as a page she clicked on loaded. ‘Wow, ridiculously cheap. There’s an old farmhouse here for fifty thousand euros!’

‘What’s that in real money?’

‘Maybe forty grand. It’s within the realms of possibility: I’ve still got most of my inheritance from Mum. And now the redundancy money… Plus, when we sell this place, we’ll have money in the bank, to live off for a bit, do the renovations. That kind of thing. We’d have no obligations, time to set up a business…’ She trailed off, lost in her imagination.

‘Sounds blissful.’

‘And it isn’t as if I have anything much to stay here for, since – well – since Mum died. And with David in Australia now.’

‘Excuse me? Nothing to keep you here? Your big brother may not be on the same continent any more, but you still have an errant bestie!’ Emily said, with mock offence.

‘The errant bestie has a passport.’

‘Good point. I forgot about the free holiday for best friends aspect. Forget I said anything.’

‘I mean, Ben will see how much it makes sense to get on with it, don’t you think?’ Lily said, trying to still a sudden doubt. ‘Strolling in vineyards, exploring the countryside, collecting fresh bread from the boulangerie each morning… What’s the alternative? Sitting in Basildon, watching reruns of Bargain Hunt or Real Deal?’

‘Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it. I think Dickinson’s growing on me.’

‘Are you sure? It’s probably just a rogue mole.’

‘Ha. Well, look. You have my one hundred per cent support, however you decide to do it.’

‘Thank you,’ Lily said, pulling up a page of short-term rentals. ‘There’s loads of places to rent too, while we house-hunt. It’ll give Ben a chance to get used to rural living – you know; so it grows on him.’

‘Grows on him? You make it sound like a fungal infection.’

‘Emily! I’m serious.’

‘Well, I’m all for you finally embracing your dreams. You know that. It’s about time you stood up for yourself, Lily Butterworth. You are entitled to ask for what you want – put yourself first.’

‘Yes,’ Lily said. ‘You know what. I think you’re right.’





By the time Ben arrived home several hours later, Lily was sitting on the sofa, flicking through the channels in a vain attempt to find something to watch on TV. Ty had appeared briefly in the doorway at 10.30 p.m., then disappeared upstairs with a box of Frosties.

‘All right, love?’ Ben said, walking up and planting a kiss on the top of her head.

‘Yeah, not too bad,’ she said, head full of France and countryside and endless summers.

‘So, work gave you the afternoon off or something?’

‘What?’

‘You were home early, so I thought…’

Shit. In all her chatting with Emily, paired with three-quarters of a bottle of wine, she’d actually forgotten she’d been made redundant earlier that day.

‘Oh. Yes. Shit. Well, yeah. I suppose it wasn’t such a great day. I mean, not initially. I was made redundant.’