A Year at the French Farmhouse(59)

Lily couldn’t help wonder, as she backed away smiling after promising to read and really ‘take in’ the information June was determined to send her, what Emily would have done in the same situation. And really how far against her own beliefs she’d go just for the sake of politeness. So far she’d appeared to agree that it was fine to drink-drive, so long as you didn’t get caught, that global warming was, at best, a ridiculous joke. And now she was well on the way to being brainwashed into a flat-earther’s cult.

Emily would have flattened each argument and still managed to somehow make friends and become part of the crowd. She’d simply smiled and scuttled away.

Why couldn’t she ever speak up?

Noticing a spare deckchair by the pool, she sank into it, almost spilling her wine as she went down. The glass was still perilously full – she’d only had two tiny sips as she definitely wanted to drive home sober. She took the opportunity to tip a little onto the grass next to her, hoping that Dawn wouldn’t notice.

‘Oops, see you like the wine then?’ said a voice.

A woman with red hair tied back in a ponytail was sitting in the deckchair a metre or so away from her.

Lily grimaced. ‘It’s not that, it’s just—’

‘Seriously, it’s horrible.’ The woman grinned. ‘Save it to sprinkle on your chips instead. I accidentally spilled my glass. Got myself a few Cokes for me and the kids. Want one?’ She reached down beside her, then waved a can in Lily’s direction.

‘Oh, yes please,’ Lily said, reaching for it.

They lapsed into silence. She wasn’t sure whether she dared start another conversation at this particular party. But then the woman said, ‘I’m Sam, by the way.’

‘Lily.’

‘Nice to meet you. Dawn said you’re new?’

‘Well, yes. Just moved over.’

‘I’ve been here a couple of years now,’ Sam said, leaning forward slightly, her hair brushing against her cheek. Then, ‘Derek, give him the ball back now!’ she barked so suddenly that Lily almost spilled her new drink to boot. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Never bring kids to a party, is my advice.’

‘Sounds like a sensible plan,’ Lily said.

‘You got any of your own?’

‘Just one. Tyler. He’s eighteen now, off to uni.’

‘So you took the chance to move?’

‘Yes. Something like that. How about you? What brought you here?’

‘Oh, love, I suppose. Met Gabriel, got married. Now stuck speaking French for most of the day,’ she laughed.

‘Ah OK, is he here, your husband?’

‘No, I’m giving him a day off,’ she said. She leaned forward. ‘A few people here are a bit of an acquired taste.’

‘Flat-earthers?’ Lily ventured, keeping her voice low.

‘They’re the ones.’

‘Then why—?’

‘Ah, they’re harmless enough, unless you’re particularly susceptible to conspiracy theories,’ said Sam. ‘And I don’t know. It’s nice. I don’t get to see my parents that often. And hearing voices from home… It’s … I need it sometimes.’

‘Even if they are trying to convince you that global warming is just a phase?’

‘Even then.’ Sam grinned. ‘And you know, don’t let the conspiracists put you off. There are a few normal people lurking about if you know where to look. And I like to think that I’m one of them. Here.’ She leaned over and rummaged in her bag, producing a piece of paper and pen. ‘Take my number,’ she said, scribbling rapidly. ‘You know, in case you ever need anything.’

‘That,’ said Lily, taking a swig of Coke and feeling her eyes water slightly from the fizz, ‘is really kind of you.’ She took the paper from Sam’s outstretched hand, and was just about to key the number into her phone, when it began to ping and vibrate in her hand.

Three messages from Ben.

Lily, I’m not sure what else we can say.





I miss you, but I can’t come to France.





Maybe it’s better if we don’t message any more.





20





The grey early morning light gave way to the first proper rays of sun as she sat in her kitchen nursing her third cup of tea. After an evening spent on the phone to Emily, followed by a call to Ty during which she’d pretended all was well and tried to sound upbeat, she’d spent a restless night lying alone in the silent house, waking what seemed like every five minutes only to find the clock hands had barely moved.

Lily hadn’t realised how much she’d been clinging to the hope that Ben would come round. That whatever it was that was holding him back wouldn’t seem so important once he started missing her.

But his message to her had been so stark, so final, that it had felt almost like they had broken up all over again. Her text messages, pictures of the house, lake, local town, which had been met with thumbs up or the odd smile emoticon had not had the effect she was hoping.

Around five o’clock, when she’d given up on sleep and come downstairs to the kitchen, her bare feet shocked by the cold, tiled floor, misery had given way to a kind of indignant rage. Rage that she’d spent so long with a man who clearly wasn’t in it ‘for better or worse’, but should have added to his vows ‘within a thirty-mile radius of Basildon’. Rage that she’d put off her dream for so long when perhaps she could have saved herself a decade of wasting her designs on local shopfronts and been running retreats in the French sunshine – perhaps with a little bilingual Ty by her side.