Six hours later, standing with other passengers on the front deck, Belinda watched the lights of the French coast, and then Roscoff ferry port itself, get closer. This time, there were no feelings of dread, of not wanting to set foot on French soil, churning away inside her despite being at another crossroad in her life. Instead, there was the strange feeling of coming home to a place she recognised and an overwhelming sense of being in charge of things; in charge of her emotions. She’d deal with the package of official papers in her suitcase she’d decided to bring with her, lay a few ghosts and then get on with her life.

There was no need to set the satnav this time as she collected her car, with BB sleeping happily in the back, before joining the stream of traffic driving down the boat ramp and making its way up to the main road. The traffic quickly thinned out and within the hour Belinda was driving up the campsite lane. A newly resurfaced lane with not a single pothole, she was pleased to note.

She parked in front of the office and let BB out of the car. The office was closed and locked. Belinda glanced across at the staff house. No lights inside, but an outside one by the door was on.

The house had a lived-in feel to it this time when she unlocked the door, walked in and switched on the lights. Mugs and plates drying by the sink. A car magazine on the coffee table in the sitting room. The wood-burner stove was warm and the firebed was glowing, taking the evening chill off the air. Milk, ham, cheese, butter, a bottle of white wine and several small bottles of beer were in the fridge when she went to put in the food she’d brought with her. Briefly she wondered if Alain was going to sleep here tonight now that she was back, or return to his parents’ house. She knew that Nigel had emailed him to tell him she was returning early.

Taking her suitcase upstairs, Belinda was surprised to find that Alain had opted to use one of the smaller bedrooms rather than the one she’d prepared before leaving. She unpacked her suitcase and put things away in drawers and the wardrobe. The envelope she placed on the bedside table. Taking a towel and her toiletries bag, she made her way to the one and only bathroom, intending to leave her things there, ready. A toothbrush and toothpaste were on the shelf by the sink, a large bath towel on the towel rail. She retraced her steps to the bedroom. Probably best to keep her personal stuff in her bedroom.

A door slammed downstairs.

‘Belinda?’

Alain was waiting for her in the small hallway as she went downstairs. ‘Welcome back,’ he said. ‘Good trip?’

‘Thank you. And yes, it was.’