A Year at the French Farmhouse(2)
‘Bye, honey!’ said Karen on reception, looking up with an oblivious smile as she passed. ‘Early finish, eh!’
‘Something like that.’
‘Well, have fun, honey!’
Once she was safely inside her car, Lily allowed the tears to fall. They streamed, hotly, down her cheeks – tears of anger, disappointment, fear for the future. And an inexplicable shame at finding she was surplus to requirements.
The shame came as a surprise. Redundancies aren’t uncommon – she knew that. Friends, ex-colleagues, strangers on social media – she’d seen it happen frequently. Often people used the opportunity to try something new, or even took it voluntarily to make the most of a fresh start.
But nobody had ever mentioned the gut punch you felt when it actually happened. No one had ever said how it felt humiliating and infuriating and so many other ‘atings’ she couldn’t properly find words for.
Eventually, she wiped her eyes on her sleeve – something she’d spent the last eighteen years training Tyler not to do – and started the car. Switching on the radio, she tried to engage herself with the hot topic of the day on LBC – whether raising a dog was easier or harder than raising a child. ‘At least babies wear nappies!’ a woman was saying. ‘You don’t see mums in the park picking up their kids’ poop.’ But she couldn’t focus. Instead, she kept thinking of the meeting, imagining how she could have reacted differently. Turning over chairs, or doing a Jerry Maguire: loudly vowing to start a new firm, and taking one of the better interns with her for the ride.
Maybe she should have yanked Grahame out of that toilet and forced him to actually explain his reasoning to her. Made him look her in the eye and… well, if nothing else, apologise. Because not only had he used to be her boss until about half an hour ago, she’d also thought of him as a friend. He’d looked at pictures of Ty growing up; he’d spoken to her about his family. Come to think of it, she’d even helped him pick out an anniversary present for his wife, Brenda, last month – her choice of necklace had got him out of the doghouse for last year’s gift disaster: a voucher for a ‘nooks and crannies luxury wax’ at the local beauty salon.
She felt the tears well again and shook her head. No. She wasn’t going to fall apart. She’d been through worse. And it wasn’t as if they were going to be in financial difficulty. Ben’s job was going well; they had some savings. Ty was off to university soon and even had a part-time job lined up for when he arrived. They would be OK.
She would be OK.
She began to drive the familiar route home. Cars hummed rhythmically as they passed in the opposite direction and the larger shops began to morph into smaller stores, newsagents and corner shops as she reached the outskirts of town. Everything was the same; but everything seemed somehow different – she was detaching from her ordinary life, like a greying plaster dropping wetly from a graze.
At the traffic lights she caught the eye of the man in front in his rear-view mirror, his eyebrows knitted into a scowl. People passed on the streets as she waited for the green light, their faces intent on smartphones, their expressions distant. A woman with a buggy laden with so many shopping bags it almost tipped every time she rested, fought her way past. The scenery, while familiar, was grey and man-made and set against a backdrop of miserable sky.
Nothing much had changed in the town over the past twenty years. Sure, she had happy memories of living here, working here. She remembered delicious meals in jam-packed restaurants, drinks in bars after work. Good times.
Yet stepping back, she saw her working life for what it had been: endless pounding on a corporate treadmill: reaching for more, working harder, trying all the time to keep up with others in a race that meant nothing.
It was definitely time for a change.
By the time she pulled into her driveway, she was feeling more determined. She’d sit down with Ben and make a plan.
‘Let’s do it!’ she’d say, dramatically. ‘It’s only a year early – let’s just take the plunge! Vive la France!’
She’d been dreaming about cross channel living for at least a decade before they’d even met. She’d spent summers in Limousin and Dordogne as a child, bumping along in Dad’s VW campervan, trundling from campsite to campsite, and had fallen in love with the leisurely pace of life, the fresh air, the views, the culture. ‘One day,’ she’d said to Ben, shortly after they’d got together, ‘let’s move to France and have an adventure.’
If she was honest, she was a little tired of waiting for the move anyway. Every time she’d sat with Ben and discussed it, the goalposts had seemed to move. They’d originally said they’d see Ty through his GCSEs, then his sixth form exams; now they were waiting to see Ty settled at uni. She’d been on board – for the most part – with Ben’s suggestions but it had still hurt to continually put her dream on the backburner.
Last time, to make up for the delay Ben had bought her a French silk scarf for her birthday, together with a book entitled France: Your Guide to Moving, and a hamper containing Brie, Camembert, escargots and wine. ‘If Lily can’t make it to France just yet, then I’ll bring France to her,’ he’d said, giving her a kiss.
It wasn’t exactly living the dream, she’d thought: munching snails at the kitchen table in Basildon. But she’d smiled and kissed him, because he’d made the effort, been thoughtful. Plus, the year before he’d bought her a saucepan set (and she’d never forget the miracle juicer he’d produced for her fortieth that came with a free ‘slimmer thighs’ recipe book). This, at least, had been growth.