‘Ah yes. Thank god for the dogs. They have absolutely no desire to live in France, as far as I can tell.’
‘Ah, but you never know. I reckon Buster would look fabulous in a beret!’
‘You know what? You could be right!’ Emily laughed. ‘Seriously though… Now it’s actually happening. Wow. I’m happy for you, obviously. But… you know – I actually hate the thought of you not being around.’
‘I know,’ Lily said. ‘But I mean, it’s been a long time coming. When did I first talk about moving to France? I was – what – about fourteen?’
‘Younger than that. I remember in Year Eight, all you wanted to do was help Mademoiselle Fran?ois create a French café for parents’ evening.’
‘But that was just… I…’
‘Ooh, Mademoiselle, laissez-moi vous aider!’ Emily mimicked. Let me help you.
‘That does not sound like me,’ Lily laughed.
‘Admit it, you’re France obsessed.’
‘I wouldn’t say obsessed, exactly…’
‘Really, so, tell me. How many times have you watched A Year in Provence?’ Emily asked, knowing already that it was Lily’s all-time favourite movie.
‘It’s called A Good Year actually. A Year in Provence is the book it’s based on. Anyway, you know how I feel about Russell Crowe.’ Lily was a sucker for the now-vintage film; the way living in Provence changes the lead character, Max Skinner, from corporate go-getter to someone more wholly real and attractive. The fact Max Skinner was played by Russell Crowe was just a bonus. But she wasn’t going to admit how many times she’d watched it – even to herself.
‘Still, don’t catch you watching Gladiator on repeat. Or A Beautiful Mind, do we?’ Emily pressed.
‘OK, you got me. I’m France obsessed,’ Lily said, feeling herself smile. There was no hiding her truth from Emily. ‘But you know, this isn’t just me. Ben’s really keen to do it too. Next year at least. It shouldn’t be too hard to get him to bring our plans forward a bit.’
‘It’s amazing what twenty years of wearing someone down will do.’
‘Two decades of nagging – and finally a result!’ Lily quipped back. ‘Although, he honestly does love the idea. I mean, that hamper for my birthday was really…’
Emily snorted. ‘If someone bought me a packet of bloody snails for my birthday, I’d turn around and shove them up…’
‘It was romantic.’
‘Romantic my arse.’
They laughed.
‘Seriously though, good for you, Lil. I mean, just going for it. It sounds like an amazing idea. And I know you’ve been a bit worried about Ty, but there does have to be a time, doesn’t there, when you say, it’s my turn now. Before it’s too late.’
‘Too late?’
‘Well, what are we now, forty-two?’
Lily laughed: ‘Forty-four, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, fuck off, we’re not. Forty-two’ll do. Anyway, we’re forty-two – you want to go to another country, start a business and recline on a sun-lounger or whatever…’
‘Swim in the lakes, go to beautiful cafés, learn to speak French like a native…’
‘Yes, yes, all of that,’ Emily continued, dismissively. ‘But you know, if you’d left it much longer, it might not have been possible!’
‘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.’