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Back Escape to the French Farmhouse Save as PDF
Chapters (79)
  1. COVER
  2. About the Author
  3. Also by Jo Thomas
  4. DEDICATION
  5. ONE
  6. TWO
  7. THREE
  8. FOUR
  9. FIVE
  10. SIX
  11. SEVEN
  12. EIGHT
  13. NINE
  14. TEN
  15. ELEVEN
  16. TWELVE
  17. THIRTEEN
  18. FOURTEEN
  19. FIFTEEN
  20. SIXTEEN
  21. SEVENTEEN
  22. EIGHTEEN
  23. NINETEEN
  24. TWENTY
  25. TWENTY-ONE
  26. TWENTY-TWO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. TWENTY-FOUR
  29. TWENTY-FIVE
  30. TWENTY-SIX
  31. TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. TWENTY-NINE
  34. THIRTY
  35. THIRTY-ONE
  36. THIRTY-TWO
  37. THIRTY-THREE
  38. THIRTY-FOUR
  39. THIRTY-FIVE
  40. THIRTY-SIX
  41. THIRTY-SEVEN
  42. THIRTY-EIGHT
  43. THIRTY-NINE
  44. FORTY
  45. FORTY-ONE
  46. FORTY-TWO
  47. FORTY-THREE
  48. FORTY-FOUR
  49. FORTY-FIVE
  50. FORTY-SIX
  51. FORTY-SEVEN
  52. FORTY-EIGHT
  53. FORTY-NINE
  54. FIFTY
  55. FIFTY-ONE
  56. FIFTY-TWO
  57. FIFTY-THREE
  58. FIFTY-FOUR
  59. FIFTY-FIVE
  60. FIFTY-SIX
  61. FIFTY-SEVEN
  62. FIFTY-EIGHT
  63. FIFTY-NINE
  64. SIXTY
  65. SIXTY-ONE
  66. SIXTY-TWO
  67. Epilogue
  68. Acknowledgements
  69. RECIPES
  70. Lavender shortbread
  71. Apricot jam sponge cake
  72. Lavender lamb
  73. READ MORE
  74. Prologue
  75. ONE
  76. TWO
  77. THREE
  78. FOUR
  79. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

I wander among the stalls, piled with mirrors, chandeliers, milk churns, even beautifully carved dark-wood furniture, where the car park usually is, at the top of the town, in the shade of the big plane trees there. I stroll leisurely. The only thing I have to do today is make plans for the rest of my life and, right now, I want to put that off for as long as possible. It’s far more appealing to mingle with people, furniture, clothes and bedding, full of stories about the life they had before and waiting for a new era to begin. A bit like me, I think, and tears spring to my eyes. I blink them away. I have just walked out on ten years of marriage and everything I know but I can’t let myself crack. I have to keep going.

I used to like the idea Ollie had for our life, our future. He preferred things to be perfect, even though life isn’t. But I can be happy, I think, picking up a jug and running my hand over its crackled glaze.

My stomach rumbles. I put down the jug and walk along the main street towards the boulangerie we’ve used every day since we’ve been here.

‘Bonjour, Madame,’ says the young woman behind the high counter. The baker is pulling baguettes from the oven in the kitchen behind her.

‘Bonjour, Mademoiselle, Monsieur,’ I say.

She smiles at me brightly behind her round glasses, asking me what I’d like.

I look at the pastries. I’ve been trying to avoid them, but I point to a pain au raisin. I take a baguette too. For later, although I have no idea where I’ll be. I have to drop the key to the house with the estate agent and work out where to go from there. I take the pastry and pay from the change in my purse. I still have the envelope of cash from the sale of our sit-on lawnmower that I was supposed to pay into the bank before we left France. I push the baguette into my bag and pull it up on to my shoulder.

‘I thought your husband said you were leaving,’ she says. ‘Did you forget something?’ She cocks her head sympathetically.

I look at her and see myself, a young woman with all of life’s opportunities in front of me. ‘I think I probably did,’ I say, and smile. Myself, I think.