Driving through in some cases deserted villages and small hamlets, she experienced several unexpected feelings of déjà vu. Feelings she pushed firmly away, but her sense of unease grew as her destination drew closer. Long shut-down memories began to surface despite her attempts to keep them buried. She really didn’t want to be here in Brittany. To remember. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – allow herself to think about the past.

A quick glance at the satnav display on the dashboard indicated that she was nearly at the end of her journey. The next village with its ‘Welcome’ sign on the verge confirmed the fact that the time to change her mind and carry on driving until she was far away was running out. She barely registered the school or the church as she approached the main street. The aroma of freshly baked bread from the boulangerie drifted past her nostrils as she reached the centre of the village and her stomach rumbled, reminding her about her decision not to eat breakfast on the ferry. Another hundred metres and the village was behind her and she was approaching a T-junction.

Belinda gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white as she fought the desire to turn round and go back to England. To tell Nigel and Molly that she couldn’t do it and resign, like she should have done in the very beginning. She was experienced enough now to get another job.

Seconds before the satnav announced ‘In twenty yards turn left’, Belinda saw the ‘Camping dans La Forêt’ sign on the verge, pointing down a narrow tree-lined track. She stretched out her left hand and turned the satnav off. This was it. The point of no return. If she turned onto the lane, she would be committed to stay and do the job Nigel expected her to do.

Sitting there, her foot on the brake, Belinda mentally gave herself a good talking-to. She was a grown-up for goodness’ sake, no longer an impressionable teenager. That person had put the past behind her years ago and got on with life, never dreaming that one day she would be forced to once again come face to face with it. But maybe she was overreacting? After all, it had happened thirty-five years ago. Times were different. People were different. She was different.

Determinedly, Belinda lifted her foot off the brake and pressed the accelerator, turning the steering wheel slowly as the car moved forward onto the lane.