Fern was steering the car down quiet country roads. Roads Belinda had travelled many times in the past. Roads she’d never expected to drive along again. As the car tyres swished over roads still damp in places from an early-morning shower, unwanted memories were surfacing in her mind. Haphazard recollections: the school bus; Amelie, her best friend; a cottage; Lucky spooking at a tractor. Belinda squeezed her eyes to shut out the passing scenery in an effort to stop the memories coming, and wished the journey over. In that moment, it came to her in an intuitive flash what Fern was doing.

‘You’re avoiding the N164, aren’t you?’ Belinda said quietly, opening her eyes and glancing across at her friend.

‘Yep. Can’t drive on it. Always go the scenic route these days.’ Fern’s over-bright voice masked the grief that lay behind the decision.

‘Fair enough,’ Belinda said. She’d rather put up with a few of her own unwanted memories than have an unhappy Fern drive on the busy dual carriageway when she was still feeling so raw. Belinda knew only too well that while life itself could change in a heartbreaking instant, the collective tsunami of the events it triggered in that nanosecond of time lingered for years. Seemingly forever in some cases.

The rest of the journey continued in silence as Belinda resolutely dismissed her memories and thought about the campsite while Fern concentrated on driving.

Five minutes later, Fern parked alongside the river and Belinda smothered a sigh of relief as they got out of the car.

‘That’s the restaurant we’re having lunch in,’ Fern said, pointing to a complex on the other side of the river, approached by a bridge. ‘Come on, let’s walk the dogs and build up an appetite.’

With both dogs on leads, happily showing them the way, the two of them strolled along. Other people were out and about, enjoying the spring-like morning and several polite ‘Bonjours’ were exchanged as they passed. Fishermen were setting up their rods and little encampments of seats, picnic boxes and fishing nets at various points along the river.

‘I wonder if fishermen used to come to the campsite? We have the fishing rights on the river for about a kilometre,’ Belinda said, watching as one man showed a small boy how to cast his line. ‘Do you think fishing holidays would prove popular?’

‘Years ago, Alain’s parents used to organise an annual fishing festival. Laurent went the last year it was held. About thirty men and their families turned up for the weekend.’

‘I must talk to Alain about it,’ Belinda said. They continued to walk in companionable silence until it was time to return to the car.

Thirty minutes later, they were driving over the bridge and parking in the restaurant car park.

‘The dogs will be okay in the car?’ Belinda asked.