Jojo’s French Escape
LORRAINE WILSON

One More Chapter

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Copyright © Lorraine Wilson 2020

Cover design by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Lorraine Wilson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008363123

Ebook ISBN: 9780008363116

Version: 2020-04-28

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Also by Lorraine Wilson

About the Author

About the Publisher

To Anna Bell, John Prentice and Flump (aka The Artful Dodger). I’ll be forever grateful for the encouragement and inspiration provided by writer friends and cheeky puppies!

Chapter 1

‘New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings’

Lao Tzu

From annabelgrant@thestickybun.co.uk

To joannagrant@thestickybun.co.uk

Subject: Heads up

Hi JoJo,

Hope you’re okay? It’s been a while since we heard from you. Mum’s been worrying. I know you said you’ve been much better lately, and you’re happily settled in France but you feel so far away and after what happened last year it’s difficult not to be a bit concerned when you go quiet. Just humour me and stay in touch, okay?

I only ask because I love you, you know that, right?

Anyway, I need to give you a heads up about something. Two somethings in fact, I want you to be forewarned so you have some time to think.

Something number one: Have you decided what to do about the café? Because if you’re going to stay in France maybe you should think about selling? I’m happy to keep looking after it for a bit longer but I was thinking that maybe I’d like to go traveling, at some point anyway. I know how much The Sticky Bun means to you but if you’re not coming back … Your call.

Something number two: we had some people from the television company turn up on the doorstep. They said they’d tried to get in touch with you, but you weren’t answering your phone or email. They were talking about doing a special ‘one year on’ piece for Sex in the Suburbs @Nite, it’s a companion panel show to the main Sex in the Suburbs series … well, you know the kind of thing they want. Where is Joanna Grant now? And does she still hold a grudge? Maybe they were planning to give you a surprise on-air reunion with Aiden and Sally and hoping you’d punch Aiden? Who knows.

Actually, I’m hoping you’ll punch Aiden. On or off air, I’m not fussy.

Dad told them to fuck off. Can you believe it? After all the grief he’s given us over the years for bad language? Anyway, I thought you should know. Just in case they try to ambush you.

Stay safe okay sis? And please send me a reply soon.

Miss you lovely. Sending hugs.

Annabel

xx

P.S. I love the photo you sent me with Pickwick sitting on your shoulder. Who knew a miniature Yorkshire terrier could do a parrot impression. Poppy’s dogs are so cute, I’d love to meet them. Send me some more pics when you get a chance. Peanut’s dancing on YouTube is hilarious and Treacle sounds really sweet, I’m glad he’s not so timid now and getting over his pre-rescue traumas.

‘You know, I’m sure it’s her, it’s definitely JoJo …’

‘No, really? So she’s like a waitress now then?’

I do my best to block out the voices and sit tall in my chair at the kitchen table. There’s a tightness in my chest. It’s just anxiety, I know.

Just. Ha!

I try to keep in mind how far I’ve come in the past year. I knew that a new summer season would bring its challenges and I’m determined to hold on to all the progress I’ve made since last year.

Last summer I would’ve been hiding in my room or the loo having a full-on panic attack, not just a few anxious twinges. It would be fair to say that when I first arrived in France I was in pieces but after a year of Poppy’s non-judgemental, easy-going company and the peace of living in a rural community that couldn’t care less about English reality TV I’m finally feeling more like myself again. I love running the guesthouse, and the fresh air and outdoor lifestyle have been great for me. Discovering the French markets has been amazing and inspiring, both in terms of the fresh produce for cooking inspiration and the antique brocante markets for interior design ideas. Gradually I’ve clawed and climbed my way out of the dark hole I landed in last year.

And I’m not going to let a few people gossiping push me back down again.

It’s taken a while to put the pieces back together again, like an emotional jigsaw puzzle that’s more or less finished. Some pieces have the edges knocked off and there are a few holes where I’ve lost pieces of myself, but I am mostly together again.

Mostly.

And I plan to stay that way.

‘I read she had a breakdown and checked into the Priory …’

Do they realise their voices are carrying from the terrace into the kitchen?

Days like today are just a little wobble. Hearing the English guests whispering, speculating, wondering if it’s really me … it knocks me. But like a Weeble I’m determined to wobble back into place. I won’t let it keep me down for long.

I do the yoga breathing Poppy taught me and it works well, the tightness in my chest lessening. Ha! Take that, anxiety! Who’s in charge now? So the guests want to talk about me. So what? I absorb the peace of the kitchen, of cosy hot chocolates with Poppy, of glasses of wine on the kitchen table or out on the terrace while I plan menus and compile to-do lists and Poppy sketches in her journal.

I pick at the frayed edge of my denim shorts. I spent last summer shrouded and sweltering in baggy clothes and baseball caps. This summer I’m looking forward to wearing cute summer dresses and pretty tops. I’m finally emerging from my shell again and I’m done apologising for being me.

I think about Annabel’s email and the Sex in the Suburbs people wanting me to do a panel show and have to suppress the urge to laugh hysterically. As if!

A large furry muzzle appears on my knee. First impressions suggest the muzzle is attached to a giant shaggy rug but on closer examination it’s possible to see a pair of eyes amidst the fur. They belong to one of Les Coquelicots’ most important residents, Barney, who is a crossbreed griffon/beagle/hearthrug. I can attest to the fact that he makes a lovely foot warmer and footstool in winter. In summer, not so much. We’ll have to think about giving him a fur cut soon, before the really hot weather hits us.

He rests his head on my lap and leans the rest of his shaggy body against me, his pale, milky eyes reflecting his blindness, a disability he’s adapted to with amazing ease. Putting his head on my lap and leaning in is Barney’s version of a hug and I reciprocate, reaching out to sink my hand through curly, thick fur until it meets dog.

On my other side another important Les Coquelicots resident, Pickwick, puts his front paws up on my shin and taps me, asking to be picked up. As he is a miniature Yorkshire terrier he can barely reach my knees but like Barney he doesn’t let anything hold him back, not even the crooked front legs he was born with. Peanut and Treacle, the Chihuahuas, are even smaller still and are undoubtedly out the front with Poppy and the guests, dancing about on their hind legs, looking cute and begging for as much food as they can get their paws on. Barney and Pickwick tend to keep me company in the kitchen though, when Poppy goes to Leo’s.

I definitely have a special bond with them. Barney because he virtually lives in the kitchen, determined everyone remembers that since his rescue he’s now an indoor dog and shouldn’t be left out at night. Pickwick because I’ve taken to dog-napping him to sleep on my bed at night and I talk to him a lot. In my defence he does talk back, making odd pigeon-like noises that sound exactly like he’s chattering away, making his point. Poppy has the Chihuahuas – well, and she has Leo too now and soon she’ll have Leo’s dog Maxi as a permanent addition to the pack – but my bed is pretty empty so having a tiny Yorkie curled up on my feet or occasionally on the top of my head on the pillow is good company.

Poppy says that Barney and Pickwick only stay in the kitchen because I sneak them extra treats. I like to think it’s more than that though. Felix, our cat at home, would be horrified – I’ve become a dog person.

Dogs are great though. They just listen and don’t pass judgment. They continue to offer their unconditional love and support no matter what.

If only people were the same.

If you imagine the stupidest thing you’ve ever done and multiply it by a hundred, even then you probably won’t come close to the appalling, stupid decision that got me into this mess. I do hope not anyway. I wouldn’t wish that kind of humiliation on anyone.

My self-preservation instinct compelled me to run. I got as far as the South of France, where lack of funds and the kindness of strangers made me decide to stop running and start hiding. And where better to hide than a tiny, welcoming village in the heart of the Languedoc countryside? I left the happy, body-confident, outgoing JoJo, the Joanna Grant everyone knew from the telly, behind me in England and reinvented myself as ‘just Joanna’, a reserved, itinerant worker and cook with a love of baseball hats and baggy clothes.

Recently though I’ve been feeling like it might be okay to be JoJo again.

I’m not sure at what point my hideaway became my home. Initially I couldn’t see how to get over it, given the drama and scandal were on the internet for ever, a replay available at the tap of the screen or click of the mouse. But I took things one normal, non-disastrous day by normal, non-disastrous day, and each day the world didn’t end I breathed a little easier. My mind became filled with other, nicer preoccupations but every so often something happens, like tonight, and it hurts, like I’m knocking against thorns hooked deep beneath my skin.

Sitting in the kitchen is calming me. It’s the heart of my friend Poppy’s guesthouse, Les Coquelicots – a chambre d’hôtes in the village of St Quentin sur Aude and the scene of many a consoling late night hot chocolate over the past year. Not just for me either – Poppy had her own stuff to deal with last year when her boyfriend Pete dumped her by text the day she signed the purchase papers for the house, announcing he wouldn’t be moving to France with her after all. The fact that she got over it and is now in a relationship with Leo, the lovely village vet, gives me hope that maybe one day I’ll find that too. Okay, that seems like a stretch now, but that I’d even be contemplating it would have seemed inconceivable last year. So … maybe.

I put the kettle on to make a cup of tea. Les Coquelicots isn’t just a home, it’s been a safe haven, a second chance and a place to hide from the world, all while still technically working and paying my way, wrapped up in one. Helping Poppy renovate the house and turn it into a profitable business has saved me from going completely insane. Without something to keep my hands and brain busy I would have rerun what happened last year over and over on an endless loop until I … No, I don’t want to think about what I might have done if I hadn’t met Poppy, if she hadn’t given me a chance, if she hadn’t, well, saved me, I suppose. It sounds melodramatic but it happens to be true.

I pop my cup of tea onto the stripped pine table that I found for Poppy at a local brocante market and rest my forehead on my arms, inhaling the faint aroma of beeswax polish as I calm my breathing and block out the conversation from the terrace. I hear Poppy’s voice outside, back from Leo’s and greeting the guests. I’m reassured she’ll steer the conversation elsewhere. People often make the mistake of thinking she’s soft but there’s a core of steel running through her when the people, or for that matter the dogs, she cares about are threatened.

I sip my tea and resist the urge to go out on the terrace and put the story straight, to correct all the lies. It wouldn’t do any good and would just make things worse but I’m only human and the urge to defend myself is one I’ve yet to master. It’s not fair but it is what it is. I know I’m not to blame. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve nothing to be ashamed of.

I repeat the mantra in my head and eventually the urge to wade in and explain myself subsides. I’ve been telling myself the exact same thing every day and I do believe it.

Mostly.

There are questions I’m not sure I’ll ever get answers to. Like if I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of then why do I feel so ashamed? And why do so many people on the internet believe I should be ashamed of myself and want to tell me so in great detail? Head belief and heart belief seem to be two very different things.

I bend down to scoop up Pickwick and let him perch on my shoulder, parrot style as he likes it. I think I’m starting to understand how eccentric misfits end up the way they are. I mean, I’ve been using a Yorkshire terrier who thinks he’s a parrot–pigeon hybrid as a counsellor, for pity’s sake, talking away to him about everything that happened.

Well, it helps and at least I know he’s never going to sell my secrets to the tabloids. I don’t believe he’d betray me even for a lorry full of dog treats. Whereas my cat would so sell me out for his favourite salmon treats.

By the time the meal is over I’ve sent Annabel a short reply and some dog photos and I’ve cheered myself up enough to put a smile on my face for Poppy. I remove Pickwick from where he ended up falling asleep, curled up on my chest, and together Poppy and I clear the plates and wipe the table down.

‘Fancy a hot chocolate?’ I stack the dishwasher with the dirty plates and ignore the half hopeful, half plaintive expressions on the dogs’ faces. I know they aren’t hungry because I fed them myself earlier but they are skilled little actors.

‘Yes please.’ Poppy yawns and stretches, apparently oblivious that Peanut and Treacle have abandoned their attempt to break into the dishwasher and are trying to scale her like she’s a climbing frame. ‘Just don’t expect any small talk, I’m completely out of it.’

‘No problem, I used all mine up on Barney and Pickwick anyway.’ I get the milk out of the fridge and find a clean milk saucepan. Good hot chocolate can’t be done in the microwave; the milk needs to be heated slowly and the cocoa powder added gradually. We use a Swiss brand of hot chocolate powder that comes in milk, white and dark flavours and has added B vitamins that make it good for us. That’s our story anyway and we’re sticking to it.

Poppy yawns widely and sinks down into a chair.

‘Did it go okay up at the Château earlier?’ I ask. ‘Was there a lot of wedding planning talk?’

‘Oodles of it,’ Poppy replies glumly, absent-mindedly fiddling with her engagement ring.

‘Happiest day of your life, remember?’ I tease.

‘Only if you don’t have two different lots of relatives to keep happy who both want – no, both expect – different things.’

‘You could just elope?’

‘Then I wouldn’t be making anyone happy. There’s a difference between upsetting a few relatives and pissing everyone off.’

‘So, upset the few then. If you can’t win don’t try.’ I whisk the chocolate powder into the hot milk until it becomes frothy.

‘I know that’s sound advice, but this is my mum we’re talking about.’ She laughs. ‘Choosing to get married in France so Leo’s dad doesn’t have to travel has been a little contentious, as you know. But anyway, enough about me, I had a nice evening, ignore me, I’m just a bit tired. How are you? You seem … off.’

She tilts her head and examines me. She has an uncanny ability to pick up other people’s emotions, which can be annoying at times, when you’re trying to pretend everything is okay, for instance. But I know it’s only because she cares.

‘The guests were talking about me.’ I lower my voice. ‘They recognised me.’

‘Oh,’ Poppy frowns. ‘Nothing too …’

‘No, nothing too …’ I leave the possibility blank too, deliberately. ‘It’s only going to get worse over the summer. We’ve lots of bookings from English guests and I’m not going to hide away like last year. I’ll just have to, you know, deal.’

‘Not all of them will have heard of you.’

‘No,’ I concede. ‘If they were marooned on a remote island with no wifi last summer they might have missed the story of “disgraced TV star Joanna Grant”. Yes, seriously, you know, it’s like my official moniker or something. It appears no journalist or blogger can write the words Joanna Grant without adding the word “disgraced”.’

‘Well, I hadn’t heard of you,’ Poppy replies mildly.

‘Which is just one of the reasons why I love you.’ I pass her a mug of hot chocolate. ‘But you’ve got to admit you’re not exactly typical … You don’t even have a TV here.’

‘Oh, I just haven’t got round to it yet,’ Poppy replies vaguely. ‘I must admit I’ve never quite understood why you are the one who is disgraced when you did nothing wrong. It was all down to him.’

Him. Yes. It was my ex-boyfriend, reality TV star Aiden, who filmed us having sex without my knowledge. It was Aiden who was responsible for getting the video online, and this just after I had to absorb the shock of finding out, live on TV, that he was cheating on me with my best friend Sally. Apparently, the close-ups of my tear-streaked face were prime-time entertainment. My life became a soap opera.

Or rather a very public melodrama. Maybe now it’s obvious why I prefer the company of dogs to humans? I sit down and drink my hot chocolate sitting next to Poppy in companionable silence. I kind of love her obliviousness. It gives me hope and reminds me there is another kind of world out there, it’s just up to me to find it.

Why Aiden behaved the way he did I’ll never know. I used to think about it. I had plenty of sleepless nights thinking about it, wondering if it was because he fell in love with her, or I wasn’t making him happy. Maybe I just wasn’t enough for him? As for turning our sex life into a sordid sex tape … well, I don’t think I’ll ever understand that.

My sister Annabel’s theory is that he’s a selfish prick who can’t keep it in his trousers, or, and this one gets my bet, he did it to make better telly and keep the spotlight on him and doesn’t care about Sally any more than he ever cared about me. The only love Aiden knows involves the use of a mirror or a TV camera.

As it is, I’ll never know what was going on in his head because I can’t trust him to tell me the truth. He is the one still on TV, the star of Sex in the Suburbs, loving the limelight and basking in seemingly endless adulation while I’m the one … disgraced. He was seen as just a bit of a lad. I was seen as a … well, as a slut, to put it bluntly. That was how the narrative went online. You’ve got to love double standards, haven’t you?

Ha! Either that or delete all your social media accounts.

Although deleting all the links to my social media accounts on my phone feels a bit like sticking my head in the sand, ostrich-like. That world is still out there but for me it’s a dangerous place to visit. The temptation to engage is too strong, the desire to defend myself, to set the record straight, to persuade the people who think they know me that they’re wrong … It’s mental quicksand and I avoid it at all costs.

The cost of my mistake has been that I’ve had to leave behind my family, my home and my business. And I’ve lost my ex-boyfriend and my ex-best friend. I don’t know what our guests think of me, but I can bet I’ve heard it all before and probably a million times worse. People don’t generally troll face to face, not when they can look into your eyes and see that you’re a human being, just like them. But they come out in force online, hiding in the anonymity of the internet. Aiden fans actually told me I should kill myself. That was the point when Dad disabled the house wifi and took my phone away ‘for my own good’.

‘Are you ever tempted to just say to people, “Yes, I’m that Joanna,” and set the record straight?’

‘Of course, but honestly it’s better not to engage. I want to leave all that behind me and how can I if I have to keep rehashing it?’

‘I suppose.’ Poppy bites her lip. ‘Do you want me to say something to them?’

‘God no, I’m okay, Poppy, honestly I am. Please don’t worry about me,’ I implore her.

The thing is, I’ve probably even thought some of the comments myself. Some people seem to think that anyone who ends up on reality TV knew what they were signing up for and deserves whatever they get, regardless of how vile it is. If you’re on television you’ve agreed to be public property, entertainment with no holds barred.

I never signed up to be vilified and hounded out of my life, home and business. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t have a frickin’ clue what I was doing. I signed a piece of paper allowing a production company to use my café in a new upcoming reality show. It would be great PR for my business, they said. I wouldn’t have to be in it at all if I didn’t want to be.

And yes, I read the contract. Twice. I didn’t understand it all though. My dad read the contract too, but he is a painter and decorator, he doesn’t speak legalese.

I was so naive.

Stupid might be a better word.

We both read it another time, together, and still declared ourselves baffled. The people seemed nice enough and they said the contract was standard so …

Like I said, I was stupid and I’ve paid for that signature a million times over. I had misgivings when the working title of the show was changed to Sex in Suburbia. I was determined to stay out of it. I didn’t want to be famous, I just wanted to cook and make my café as successful as possible.

Then I met Aiden. Gorgeous, charming Aiden who was so bloody sexy I would’ve done anything for him. I can see now that he manipulated me. At the time though I was operating in a haze of powerful hormones and mesmerised by Aiden’s charisma.

I was stupid and flattered and I fell in love. It was all too easy to say yes to a date with Aiden and agree to let it be filmed. When he asked me out he was so charming. He charmed the pants off me.

Literally.

Unfortunately, he also charmed the pants off of Sally, my best friend and waitress at The Sticky Bun. I found out while being filmed watching the episode in which I told Aiden I loved him. God it makes me cringe to remember that. I actually told him I loved him, and his response had been ‘I know’. As sozzled as I was on hormones and lust, I knew that wasn’t a good sign.

While I was watching that episode, he and Sally ‘popped by’, as though anyone ever does anything spontaneous on reality TV, and simply had to tell me what they’d done because they felt so terrible about it. They didn’t want to hurt me, but they were in love. I think Sally said something about destiny but I’d kind of blanked out by then.

They didn’t feel terrible enough to tell me in private first though.

If only Aiden could’ve let me lick my wounds in private after that. I could accept that what had been love for me was only sex for him, but I couldn’t accept what he did next. As soon as the media lost interest and ratings began to drop, he made sure a video he’d secretly shot of us having sex found its way onto the internet. It was … explicit. I’ve never been one for sex under the covers with the lights off, though if I ever have sex again I might change my mind about that. Somehow, I think insisting all electronic devices be left in another room might spoil the mood or display a lack of trust or something.

To add insult to injury they had the right to keep on filming in the café because I’d signed that bloody piece of paper.

Stupid.

‘You’re really okay?’ Poppy’s voice breaks into my thoughts.

‘Yes, sorry, I’m a bit tired. I’m off to bed once I’ve finished my chocolate and finished clearing up.’

I stroke Barney’s soft ears and find it therapeutic. I have so much here in St Quentin sur Aude that I love. This is my new life. I’m not doing any ‘Joanna Grant, one year on’ special shows. I can’t believe they had the nerve to doorstep my parents about it. Good old Dad, telling them where to go.

When the press found me last year, I considered doing an interview to get them off my back but in the end one European royal’s love life became more interesting. I got a reprieve, thank God, because I couldn’t bear it if I had to leave St Quentin.

Annabel’s right, I need to think about selling the café because my life is here now. Barney’s contented sigh pulls me out of my head, and I focus on stroking his soft furry head and caressing his big floppy ear. Only one of his ears flops; the other sticks up for reasons best known to himself and his mixed-breed gene pool. I love him and all the animals here. Things could be much worse.

‘You know that it’s this weekend the chef friend of Leo’s is coming, yes?’ Poppy scoops the two Chihuahuas up onto her lap and finds room for Pickwick on her shoulder while scratching Barney’s other ear. She says having multiple dogs has made her good at multitasking.

‘No.’ I frown. ‘What chef friend of Leo’s? I didn’t even know he had a chef friend. He’s coming for the weekend or for longer?’

I am extremely fond of Poppy but sometimes her vague attitude to details can be a tad … challenging.

‘Didn’t I say? Sorry.’ She pulls a face. ‘He’s coming for a few months, having some time out in the South of France. But the big news is he’s going to help us get The Barn off the ground. He has a good reputation apparently so his influence will be really useful.’

‘I thought we’d decided it wasn’t doable to get the restaurant up and running for this season with all the delays we’ve had with the renovations and paperwork, so we were going to leave it until autumn?’

‘Maybe you weren’t there when Leo was talking about it?’ Poppy asks. ‘No, it’s no good, I can’t remember when we talked about it. The thing is this friend of Leo’s can come now so it makes sense to use him. Leo met him during his time in Paris. I guess if you weren’t there when Leo and I talked about it I was probably supposed to tell you. Sorry.’

I bite back my irritation. Poppy is rubbing her forehead and I can see how tired she is.

‘So, this chef friend, he’s staying here in Les Coquelicots then?’ I ask, as calmly as I can.

When the idea of turning the large barn behind the guesthouse into a restaurant was first suggested I was dubious but then we went on field trip visits to similar ventures, mostly on farms that had taken the initiative to diversify. Some barn restaurants were so rustic they didn’t even have electricity, all the food being brought through from the farmhouse kitchen. Others were more sophisticated with white linen tablecloths and crystal glassware but one thing they all had in common was great food made from local, fresh ingredients. It made sense to capitalise on the extra visitors to the Château’s art gallery and wine tasting tours. I’ve been excited about having a new project to manage.

I was really looking forward to working on the menu and getting the restaurant up and running but with all the delays from the builders time has been running out and I’m crazy busy now we are entering the main season for the guesthouse. I don’t have time and I need help but even so … I feel a bit like I’m being sidelined.

‘Yes, we’ve got space for the first week. I checked and blocked it out on the calendar. I thought maybe after that he could have my room for a bit? I can always stay at Leo’s if we’re strapped for space.’ Poppy grimaces. ‘I’m really sorry this is the first you’ve heard about it. We’re not trying to take anything away from you. We thought you could use some help. You already do so much.’

‘I suppose it would be too much on my own,’ I admit. ‘It’s just a bit of a mental adjustment, his coming and being in the house. You know how anti-social I am.’

‘I don’t know, you seem to be getting more sociable. You even came to the village party.’

‘I suppose.’ It’s true. I have gradually been testing the waters, dipping my toe in, paddling in the shallows. I’ve even made friends with Sophie, who works in the notaire’s office, and Angeline, who is Leo’s partner in the vet practice. Though they were Poppy’s friends first really.

‘Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s very nice.’

‘Of course.’ I roll my eyes. ‘Chefs are known for being good-natured and friendly.’

I smile to soften the sarcasm but I’m already uneasy … My world is cosy and safe and I don’t want anyone upsetting the balance. It would be great to have the opportunity to learn from a professional chef but what if he’s a misogynist who has no interest in the ideas of a female amateur chef? What, horror of horrors, if he tries to take over my kitchen as well as the Barn project?

‘You never know, you might hit it off, after you’ve both worked in the same industry.’ There’s a glint in Poppy’s eye as she smiles. Her comment is so predictable. She’s been trying to pair me off with virtually every single male we come across from the widowed farmer in the next village to the author with a holiday home in St Quentin. Anyone in close proximity of marriageable age basically, the bar isn’t set particularly high.

‘Noooo. No way. Stop right there, Poppy. I’m okay single. Maybe one day I’ll meet someone great and start dating again but there’s no rush and I’m not looking yet. I don’t need a man in my life to be happy.’

Pickwick lets out a high-pitched woof.

‘Sorry, Pickwick,’ I add. ‘Male canines excepted.’ I get up and head back to the dishwasher to finish the last bits of clearing up.

‘It could be great. He likes cooking, you like cooking …’

‘And we’re going to have to work together, at least for a while.’ I pause, biting my lip. ‘I’ve already had one relationship ruin my workplace. You know I had to leave my café behind. I love what I have here and would never do anything that might jeopardise that.’

Poppy gives me a sceptical look but doesn’t say the obvious. That I’d be scared to date again. Getting close to anyone again is going to be scary. That’s true but I really do mean what I say about not letting a relationship ruin something I care about again. Annabel’s email about the café is weighing heavy on my mind.

Starting a relationship again would be hard enough without it having the capacity to affect my work too. I’ll always remember that gut-wrenching moment when I realised Aiden and Sally had betrayed me. It was like being in a lift that suddenly plunged downwards: there was a physical, inward lurch and then emotional free-fall …

Climbing back up again has taken so long. If, and it’s a big if, I meet someone I think is worth the risk I’ll be a lot more careful with my heart.

I sigh and shove the cutlery down into the tray with a loud clunk. I feel the need to make amends with Poppy. My desire to protect the status quo is a selfish one. She just wants to make sure The Barn is a success. I do too.

‘It’s an exciting project. I loved that trendy barn restaurant you took me to up in the Black Mountains. It would be great if we can create something similar.’ I try to inject enthusiasm into my voice and to swallow my emotions back under control. ‘Anyway what do you know about him, this chef? He’s French, yes?’

‘He was working in Paris when he and Leo met but he’s not French. I think Leo said he’d been in London for the past few years. He’s called Callum something. Callum O’Connor, that’s it.’

I stop, dropping a plate into place in the dishwasher rack with a loud thunk.

‘Not the Callum O’Connor. The celebrity chef? Haven’t you heard of Callum O’Connor’s Cook Off? Or his Kitchen Cook Off show?’ I stare at her blank expression incredulously.

‘Hmm, dunno, I’ve never heard of the show or of him. Leo might have said he was on television, I can’t remember,’ Poppy replies distractedly while texting on her phone. I’ve lost her.

‘Honestly, Poppy.’ I sigh, trying to rein in my growing agitation.

‘What?’ Poppy looks up from her phone, expression blank.

I take a deep breath. I’m tempted to ask how on earth she hasn’t heard of one of the most famous TV shows in the UK but then we are talking about Poppy. I was living with her for months before she found out who I was and even then it was only because somebody told her.

‘Never mind. Why on earth would he want to come here? I don’t understand.’

‘Why, what’s wrong with here?’ Poppy raises an eyebrow. ‘I seem to remember he wanted some peace and quiet. Leo said he was taking some time out. You can ask him when he gets here.’

She doesn’t say what we’re both thinking, that I came here for some peace and quiet, to get away from scandal. I’m sure Callum isn’t coming here for the same reasons as me though; I haven’t seen any scandalous news about him online. Not that I really keep up with the news now I’m here. I’ve been too busy.

‘Hmm.’ I finish stacking the dishwasher and set it going, trying to hide my agitation.

‘What’s wrong?’ Poppy asks gently. It seems after all this time of living together I can’t hide my feelings from her.

‘He’ll know who I am.’ I wrap my arms around my body and lean back against the kitchen counter. A French male chef was going to be bad enough but an Irish celebrity chef from London is much, much worse. Even worse, he’s a celebrity chef I’ve always liked and respected. I care about his opinion.

Poppy’s forehead crinkles. ‘I thought you were feeling much better nowadays, about meeting new people I mean?’

I don’t know how to explain that although I’m feeling better and happier about socialising, having my home disrupted by someone from the very world I ran away from feels way out of my comfort zone. I doubt I’m even on his radar … Regardless, I can’t say what I’m feeling because Poppy will worry.

‘It’s a bit different, Poppy, but don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll work out fine.’ I shrug. ‘It’s just whenever I meet someone new, well … I can’t help wondering if they’ve seen the sex tape.’

I wonder if Callum O’ Connor has seen it. Uncomfortable emotions prickle at my skin. Embarrassment tinged with shame.

I know Poppy hasn’t watched it. If she had she might understand why ditching the bland, oversized T-shirts and leggings I hid in last year is such a big deal. Wearing clothes that are pretty, colourful or revealing, anything that might draw somebody’s eye to me, is taking a lot of courage. I might be ready to engage fully with my new life here, to start being JoJo again, but that doesn’t mean I assume it’s going to be easy.

Considering that when the sex tape video hit the internet I took to my room and hid under my duvet, I know I’ve come a long way. I remember Mum saying quite tartly that it was a bit too late to be covering myself up now, wasn’t it? Like locking the stable door after the horse has bolted.

There’s nothing like a bit of support from family.

‘You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.’ Poppy places a hand on my elbow. For her distractedness she can be very perceptive sometimes. ‘You know if anyone ever gives you any grief we’ll set the dogs on them, celebrity chef or not.’

I look down at the two tiny Chihuahuas, one miniature Yorkie and the blind ex-hunting dog who happens to be a total softy. My mouth quirks involuntarily into a smile at the idea of them defending me, though I’m sure they’d all give it a good go. The Chihuahuas in particular are utterly fearless. Barney is the only one who might be capable of actually defending me but all anyone has to do is give him a biscuit, scratch him behind his ears and he’ll roll over to have his tummy tickled.

‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Poppy.’ I smile. ‘Actually I’ve always wanted to learn from a professional chef so you’re right, this could be a good thing.’

I turn my back to her to put our mugs into the sink and decide I’ll make sure it’s a good thing. It’s supposed to be healthy to step out of your comfort zone and I’ve got to get used to facing the outside world again. Les Coquelicots has been my refuge and while I’m worried about Callum O’Connor rocking my lifeboat I have to admit I’m the teensiest bit excited about meeting him. Okay, maybe more than a teeny, tiny bit excited.

I’ve always liked cookery shows from the how-to variety to competition and reality shows. I used to watch them with Gran, cup of tea and piece of freshly baked cake in hand. Of all the celebrity chefs Callum O’Connor is undoubtedly the hottest.

But that has nothing to do with why I’m starting to feel a little bit excited about meeting him. That’ll be because I’m interested to learn from a professional chef. It has nothing to do with his piercing blue eyes and alpha male personality.

Honest.

Last time I worked alongside a fanciable celeb it ended in emotional carnage. I’ve been there, done that and got the sex tape to show for it. I won’t make the same mistake again.

Chapter 2

‘I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start over all over again’

F. Scott Fitzgerald

From sallyvickers89@gmail.com

To joannagrant@thestickybun.co.uk

Subject: Time to Move On

Come on JoJo, you can’t ignore me for ever. Can’t we be grown up about what happened and put it all behind us? I understand you’re jealous that I was the one who got to be with Aiden in the end, but we all need to move on.

I would like the three of us to meet up, to sit down and have a civilised chat, like adults. Talking of which you need to tell your sister Annabel to grow up and stop yelling insults at us. It’s very undignified and her language is atrocious.

All the best,

Sally

From annabelgrant@thestickybun.co.uk

To joannagrant@thestickybun.co.uk

Subject: Miss you

I miss you lovely. Are you ever coming home? Dad said to let you know there’s been an offer on the café and will you get in touch with him? I hope you will. He misses you too, you know, and I think you’re going to have to get some documents witnessed, to do with the sale?

Maybe I’ll have to come over to France to see you if you haven’t got time to come to me. I could bring the papers with me. Your very own personal courier!

Lots of love and xxxx

Annabel

I’ve read Sally’s email five times and I’m still boiling inside. She wants me to be grown up about it? Why can’t they just leave me alone? I’m so angry I want to throw something or yell, but I can’t without Poppy hearing, and she’d be upset for me. It’s like she actually feels what I’m feeling and then I end up having to comfort her and it’s all messed up frankly.

I wish I could go for a run – that usually helps me cope with overwhelming emotions – but I haven’t time. Callum O’Connor is arriving any minute now and this really isn’t the emotional state I want to be in when he does. Why do Aiden and Sally want to see me? It can’t really be because they want to have an ‘adult’ conversation. As if. With anyone else I’d think they want my forgiveness to make themselves feel better. Maybe Sally does, a bit. I’d like to think there’s a little bit of guilt or regret in there given we were friends, we saw each other every day, danced together, drank together and cried together. I can imagine how Aiden manipulated her. He’s good at that.

He certainly doesn’t care about my forgiveness. He’s completely amoral. When the empathy gene was being handed out he didn’t get in the queue. I really think he believes life is one big Aiden show, and everyone around him is just a bit-part actor in the drama of his life.

I think it’s much more likely they want to create more drama out of this somehow. I always used to joke that Sally was a drama queen. Hearing her exaggerated tales used to be funny. Until I became a victim of her rewriting of events. Well, she can send as many emails as she likes, I’m not going back to talk to them or do some stupid spin-off show. Joanna Grant, One Year On.

I look in the mirror and stare at the beautiful turquoise sundress Poppy bought me from the market at Mirepoix. I smooth the fabric down over my hips. I love it. It’s knee-length so not too revealing but it’s pretty figure-hugging. Having larger than average breasts can make some dresses look almost indecent. I don’t think I’ve got a vest top that would go underneath it though. Most of my wardrobe is still in England at my parents’ house. I stare critically at the cleavage-hugging bodice and try to tug it up a bit. Sod it, I’m wearing it. I can’t meet Callum O’Connor in ripped denim shorts and a T-shirt. He practically oozes Gaelic charm from every pore and he’s pretty damned sexy.

But that’s not the reason I’m determined to look nice. It’s for my own benefit. I shouldn’t have to hide under baggy clothes. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.

So there. I address my reflection in the mirror.

At least I think I know my motives. It’s so confusing being me nowadays. I overthink stuff, I know I do. It comes from spending too much time alone and not really sharing things with anyone, except Poppy. I’m not sure I recognise the woman looking back at me in the mirror. My face is thinner and tanned and my long, light blonde hair has turned a shade of white blonde in the sunshine. I’ve regained the weight I lost in the early months. That’s the effect of French patisserie combined with weak will power for you. I look healthy though, just different from the old me.

Maybe if I don’t recognise myself then Callum O’Connor won’t either. I’m ‘Just Joanna’ who helps in the guesthouse. No one special. Move along, nothing to see here and all that.

I run a hand over the beautiful turquoise cotton fabric that skims the curve of my hips and an unwanted image of the sex tape video comes to my mind. It’s forever burned into the hard disk of my memory banks, the image replay of me putting on a show for Aiden. He used to like watching me strip and touching myself. It’s why it looks like I’m staring right into the video camera. It’s why most people think I was complicit. That I did it to extend my fifteen minutes of fame.

It’s why most people seem to think I got exactly what I deserved.

I was, in fact, staring directly at Aiden who was leaning back against his desk, just to the right of his open laptop. The laptop that was recording footage of me. I didn’t think anything of the laptop at the time. I mean, who would? It was always on his desk and usually open.

I know, because I’ve been told, that it goes on to show me enthusiastically giving my narcissistic boyfriend a blow job and then getting fucked by him, doggy style. He always did have a high opinion of his bottom.

I say I’ve been told because I couldn’t bring myself to watch the rest of it. Annabel watched it for me and told me what was in it. I had to know. Quite why I’m a slut for having sex with my boyfriend in the privacy of a bedroom I don’t know. Maybe my ‘sin’ was to enjoy it. I like sex and I miss it but the humiliation was far too high a price to pay for a sex life.

It’s why, despite wanting to look attractive today, I don’t have any designs on Callum. Dating someone you’re working with is never a good idea but dating someone whose celebrity would put me straight back into the firing line would just be suicidal.

I won’t ever let myself be humiliated like that again.

I try again to hike up the neckline of the dress but to no avail. It’s like the dress is saying, ‘You have boobs. Live with it!’

Fine, the dress wins the argument. I have boobs and I refuse to be ashamed of them. I head downstairs, Pickwick, Peanut and Treacle following at my heels like my own personal entourage. I feel slightly sick. I’m excited to meet Callum but I’m also nervous. I’ve built myself a safe life here. I don’t want anyone upsetting the balance just as I’m finding my feet again.

By the time I get outside Leo’s jeep is pulling up, back from the airport, and both Leo and Callum are getting out of the car. The dogs desert me instantly and converge on Callum, mutt-mobbing him. Even Barney trots out of the kitchen and heads towards the group, picking up on the excited woofs of the others. Callum picks up Pickwick and is cuddling him. He certainly gets full marks so far. Poppy really ought to get a sign made for the guesthouse: ‘Must love dogs’. It’s a bit of a house rule around here.

‘I’m glad you changed your mind and decided to come after all.’ Poppy greets Callum by kissing both his cheeks, French style, while Leo grabs Callum’s bags from the boot. ‘I think you’ll like it here.’

I hadn’t realised that Callum coming was ever under any doubt. I wish I didn’t have mixed feelings about him being here, but I suppose it’s natural. I just need to rise above them and be brave, new life and all that.

‘Cal, this is Joanna,’ Leo introduces me. I fold my arms across my chest, suddenly self-conscious about the amount of cleavage my extrovert dress is showing.

‘Yes, I know, I recognise you from Sex in the Suburbs. My twin sister is a fan of the show. I thought you normally preferred to be called JoJo, or was that just on TV?’ Callum is smiling politely and he looks friendly but there’s something cool in the way he’s appraising me that unnerves me.

I know he can be tough, I’ve been watching downloads of Callum O’Connor’s Kitchen Cook Off on my iPad ever since Poppy said he was coming. In that series he goes into restaurants and tells the head chef everything they’re getting wrong. To be fair he does then help them to make improvements before they go on to compete with other restaurants, but he can be pretty … intense. It didn’t help any anxiety I felt about cooking this evening. I thought maybe it was hyped up for the camera, to create conflict, but there’s something in his expression now that unnerves me.

‘You can call me JoJo if you like.’ I smile at him, hoping to encourage a thaw. ‘Should I call you Cal?’

I instantly feel like I’ve been over-friendly, like I’m coming across as a fan girl he needs to fend off. The brief pause before he answers surely confirms it. Or it’s even worse, maybe he’s seen the sex tape. I hug my arms even tighter around me and do my best to avoid direct eye contact. He really does have the most piercing blue eyes; the camera didn’t lie about that. He also has the kind of penetrating gaze that makes me feel like he can see absolutely everything.

‘Sure, no problem.’ Cal flashes me the same polite smile as we make our way into the kitchen and then he turns to greet Poppy. I can’t help noticing she gets treated to a genuine, wide smile that makes his eyes crinkle just a little bit.

Hmm.

‘We’re going up to the Château to see my parents before dinner,’ Leo says. ‘Would you like to join us?’

‘No, I’ll stay with the dogs,’ I say quickly, even though we all know Barney is happy to snooze in his basket and the little ones are always welcome up at the Château.

‘I think I’ll stay here too, Leo, in case Joanna needs a hand with dinner.’ Poppy stands close to me. I know she’s worried about me from the frown lines on her forehead. ‘We’ll see you later, okay?’

Once Callum and Leo have gone I let out a sigh. I hadn’t even realised I was holding my breath, nor how tense I was. It’s the first time I’ve met anyone from the celeb scene since I moved here. The fact he says he’s seen Sex in the Suburbs makes it so much worse. He probably watched my life implode. I was naive to hope he might arrive without any preconceived ideas or prejudice about me.

I bite my lip and try to swallow down my irritation. Then I turn to Poppy and make sure there’s a smile on my face for her benefit.

‘You’re going to help with dinner?’ I ask, raising an eyebrow. Poppy isn’t exactly known for her culinary skills and is basically happy to leave the kitchen as my domain.

‘Well, I can make you a cup of tea if you’d like one?’ Poppy asks. ‘I just didn’t feel right about going off and leaving you on your own.’

‘I’m fine, Poppy, honestly, you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll have that tea though, thanks,’ I say, sitting down at the table and getting out my phone so I can run through my checklist for dinner. I’m determined it will be perfect.

‘And maybe a tiny bit of chocolate?’ Poppy heads for the kettle. ‘After all our mothers aren’t here to tell us we’ll ruin our dinner.’

I think my consumption of chocolate is probably low down on my mother’s list of the things she worries about with me. I’ve heard plenty about Poppy’s mother though and can appreciate Poppy might have had to move to another country to escape the constant criticism, or at least keep it at a distance.

‘Go on then. I’m always happy to be plied with tea and chocolate. You’re very good to me. Can I marry you?’ I ask and smile when Poppy giggles.

‘I would but I’m already marrying Leo.’ She turns from the kettle, leaning back against the counter while it boils, and faces me. ‘Should I be calling you JoJo? Is that what you prefer to be called?’

I look up from my list, considering my answer.

‘I don’t know. My family and friends call me JoJo but I’ve got used to being called Joanna. Honestly I don’t mind. You can call me what you like, it’s no biggie.’

I left JoJo behind in England and thought I was happy to see the back of her, to reinvent myself. But I’m in a better place now so maybe I could be JoJo again. Odd that Callum ‘Cal’ O’Connor should be the one to reintroduce my nickname.

‘Did it go okay, do you think?’ I frown down at my list. Have I played it too safe? Maybe I should be trying something more complicated for dinner but I’d rather cook something I’m confident about and do it well. I’m feeding Cal, not trying to win his approval.

Yeah right. I grimace inwardly.

‘Of course. It was fine, nothing to worry about,’ Poppy says firmly.

‘I wasn’t a bit … you know?’

‘Absolutely not.’ She places a bag of Maltesers next to my phone.

She must’ve got them in specially, which is so sweet of her. She knows they’re my favourite.

‘And you look gorgeous in that dress,’ she adds.

‘Hmm.’ I glance down at my cleavage. ‘Maybe I’ll go and get changed.’

‘Absolutely not.’ Poppy snatches the bag of Maltesers and holds it out of my reach. ‘And anyway, if you change now it will look like you dressed up specially to meet him.’

‘Which I did.’ I roll my eyes. ‘You made me.’

I don’t add that I didn’t need too much persuading. I was hardly going to meet the cool celebrity chef wearing my old leggings and bobbly cardigan.

‘Yes, but you don’t want him to know you dressed up for him. Play it cool.’

‘Poppy, I’m not playing it any way. I told you I’m not interested in a relationship, I’m just interested to meet a professional chef.’ My cheeks heat up as I remember Cal’s intense blue eyes and that penetrating gaze. If anyone is playing it cool it’s him, only I suspect he’s not pretending. I’m a little bit disappointed about how meeting him went. He thinks I’m just another fan girl, which I kind of am, a little bit, but that’s as far as it goes. ‘So, no attempts at matchmaking, okay?’

‘I s’pose.’ Poppy nervously chews her lip as she places two mugs of tea on the table and lets me have the chocolate back. ‘Actually, there is something else I wanted to talk to you about, while Leo isn’t around.’

‘Oh?’ I pop a Malteser in my mouth.

‘You know I want another dog?’

Ah, so that’s it. She’s clearly been looking at rescue websites again.

‘You always want another dog.’ I laugh, relaxing as I realise the subject is moving on from Cal.

‘Well, I could do with some help, to, you know, support my position.’ Her eyes are wide and hopeful. ‘I’m not asking much, just a little discreet lobbying perhaps.’

‘In other words, you want me to help you gang up on Leo to persuade him to give in?’

‘Something like that.’ Poppy chews her lip again. ‘You see, there’s this puppy.’

Her grin is half pleading, half rueful and I can’t help grinning back.

‘And I suppose this puppy is exceptionally cute? Yes, of course, ask a silly question.’ I roll my eyes. ‘What’s his story then?’

‘He was abandoned when he was only four months old, poor little thing.’ Poppy’s eyes flash with uncharacteristic anger.

‘You really think Leo will say no?’ I ask. ‘You could dig your heels in. Say there’s always room for a little one … ask for him to be your wedding present?’

‘I can try. I mean we’ll be a five dog household once we’re living together full time and six isn’t really that much more than five.’ Poppy shrugs. ‘I can’t bear to leave him in rescue, he’s a sweet little thing. I can’t stop thinking about him. Maybe if I can’t, you could possibly …’

‘You know I would love to but … well, it doesn’t seem fair to the dog, given I don’t know when I’ll have my own home again or where I’ll end up. Say I had to get a full-time job somewhere and had to leave the dog at home or try to afford dog day care. It doesn’t seem right when I’m not settled.’

‘You’ve got a home, here with me.’ Poppy uses her no-nonsense tone. ‘It’s your home for as long as you want it to be. And I promise there will always be a job for you here. With The Barn opening we’re going to have more work than ever.’

I wish I could be sure of her words, but I don’t even know where Poppy and Leo are going to be living after their wedding. I don’t think they even know yet. The last time I asked Poppy she replied vaguely that they hadn’t talked about it yet. They’re not going to want me hanging around if they choose to live here instead of in Leo’s barn conversion. And there’s the fact they’ve brought Callum O’Connor in. Who knows how he’s going to upset the status quo? I have a feeling I can’t shake that things are going to change now he’s here.

Thinking about what all the changes might mean for me makes my stomach clench. Until I arrived in France and found St Quentin sur Aude I didn’t even know I wanted this. No one in my family has ever lived abroad but now I’ve got a taste for life in France I can’t imagine going back to England. Despite what I said to Poppy this does feel like home. The truth is, now I’ve got a lovely home with people I care about and a job I really enjoy in this sunny corner of rural France, I’m terrified of losing it.

I think about all the things I’ve come to love – my early morning runs around the lake, drinking wine on the terrace, watching the sun set behind the mountains, putting dance music on and dancing with Poppy and the Chihuahuas, shopping at the markets and cycling past field after field of sunflowers in the summer, revelling in the feel of warm sunshine and fresh country air on my skin.

Not to mention that the French really couldn’t care less who I am, something I’m wholeheartedly appreciative of.

‘Thanks, Poppy. What you said means a lot to me.’ I force a smile. I know she means it now, but things change and maybe Leo won’t want me around once they’re married. Has she even asked him? Knowing Poppy, probably not. I don’t want Leo to feel like I come as part of a job lot with the house, like a resident elderly aunt no one can face putting in a home.

‘I really do mean it, you know.’ She stares at me thoughtfully in the uncanny way she has sometimes of seeming to read my mind. ‘You know you can trust me, don’t you?’

‘What’s not to trust?’ I reply honestly. Poppy has well and truly earned my trust over the past year. Her total lack of interest in all things celebrity has been pretty refreshing too.

Pickwick is tapping determinedly at my leg again, asking for a cuddle. I reach down to scoop him up, easily forgiving him for succumbing to Callum O’Connor’s charm. His little pink tongue is sticking out as usual and he’s looking particularly cute. I plant a soft kiss on the top of his head. I love him but at the back of my mind there’s the reminder that he isn’t really my dog, he’s Poppy’s. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a bond with my own dog too? The seed Poppy has planted has already taken root and I think she knows it. I’m already wondering about the puppy and worrying that he might be feeling sad in the dogs’ home, wondering why his humans have disappeared.

Arghh, she’s got me, well and truly hooked me.

I try to focus on making sure dinner is as perfect as I can get it. I haven’t planned anything pretentious or showy because I didn’t want it to look like I was out to impress the celebrity chef. Even though I kind of do. Who wouldn’t? Hopefully my grilled goat’s cheese and cherry tomatoes on brioche French toast, spinach and ricotta risotto and individual strawberry tarts will do the trick.

We eat out on the terrace. It’s a beautiful temperature for outdoor dining. Poppy and I have decorated the table with wild flowers from the meadow and Leo provides the wine from the Château cellar. I’m hoping Cal will comment on the food but as we eat he and Leo spend the time catching up about their time together in Paris. Cal entertains us with stories about harsh training conditions with verbal abuse often reinforced by a bit of physical abuse in the form of flying saucepans or fists.

‘So why are chefs seen as so bad-tempered?’ Poppy asks.

‘It’s a high-pressured environment. It’s the chef’s reputation at stake so if an underling messes something up or isn’t mindful of presentation they are effectively ruining the reputation of the chef. Also, most chefs really care about producing good food that will be appreciated and take pride in it. I know I do.’ Cal’s eyes gleam and he leans forward towards Poppy. There’s something of the animation, the passion he displays in his television shows, evident in his features and hand gestures. ‘If you’ve busted a gut in a hot kitchen getting a dish perfect and then someone lets it get cold or drops it you can imagine why tempers flare.’

‘Yes, it would be like someone smudging one of my illustrations.’ Poppy nods thoughtfully.

I can’t help wondering, with all this talk about producing food that will be appreciated, if he might say something about my risotto but beyond a polite thank you when I served him he hasn’t said a word directly to me. I wasn’t imagining the slight coolness to his attitude towards me. It’s not there when he talks to Poppy and I can’t help feeling miffed. I should be used to being prejudged by people, but it still annoys me just as much as it ever did. I might be ready to start over and face the world again but I’m not sure the world is necessarily amenable to giving me the fresh start I want.

I wish I could say that I don’t care what Cal thinks, that his opinion doesn’t matter, but the fact is I do care. I serve the dessert, trying my best to keep my feelings undetectable. Poppy obviously picks something up because she gives me a big thumbs-up and raves about the strawberry tartlet. If she’s hoping Cal might take the hint and praise me it doesn’t work but I do appreciate her making the effort.

Pickwick is under the table, rubbing himself against my legs like he thinks he’s a cat. I’m sure it’s his way of offering support, not just him making his presence known in case there’s any spare food going.

Feeling awkward I decide to turn the conversation away from food.

‘How is Only Dogs and Donkeys at Christmas coming along?’ I turn to Poppy and try to give her all my attention but a part of me is still hyper-aware of Cal. I’m wearing another of the sundresses Poppy found for me at the market in Mirepoix. It’s red with a tiny floral print, feminine but also a little bit sexy.

Now I feel like the girl who tried too hard which is doubly annoying because I’m not out to snare Cal but to learn from him, something I hoped would develop naturally and easily given we’re going to be working together.

Hmm. That fantasy is dissolving fast, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth that no amount of strawberry tartlet can fix. I guess my hope that the labels I was given last year had worn off was a vain one. It’s like Cal has already decided I’m not worth getting to know, like he decided that before he even met me.

You don’t know me.

I feel like interrupting his conversation with Leo to tell him so but just about manage to restrain myself, clearing the plates and heading inside to make coffee instead. Quite how people come to the conclusion they know who I am from the heavily edited highlights on Sex in the Suburbs or a sex tape filmed without my consent, I don’t know. I deposit the plates in the dishwasher rather more heavily than I should but the thunk of crockery and clatter of cutlery is strangely satisfying and one way of expressing my irritation without mortally offending Leo’s friend.

‘He obviously hated my cooking.’ I frown morosely at the clearing up waiting to be done, the dishes that need soaking before they can go in the dishwasher and the few obstinate items that insist on remaining in a previous century and want to be washed up by hand.

‘Why on earth do you think he hated it?’ Poppy helps with loading the dishwasher.

‘When I asked him if everything was okay he said the meal was “fine, thanks”.’ I scowl at the detritus in the kitchen, and all the effort it represents. All that work dismissed in one sentence and by someone who knows what he’s talking about, that’s what really bites.

‘You’re upset because he said the meal was fine?’ Poppy laughs. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yes, seriously.’ I sigh. ‘He didn’t even do me the courtesy of a proper critique. I’d rather be told what was wrong than be dismissed and damned with faint praise.’

‘So, you’re annoyed he didn’t praise you and you’re also annoyed he didn’t criticise you?’ Poppy frowns and stares at me, biting her lip thoughtfully.

‘I know it sounds a bit loopy when you put it like that, but you haven’t seen his programmes.’ I squirt washing-up liquid into the sink and turn the hot tap. I prefer to get all cleared up before I sit down to relax in the evening. Leo and Cal are still outside, lingering over the coffee. I can’t escape the nagging sensation that they are talking about me but that’s pure paranoia and I try to ignore it. ‘In his programmes he comes down quite hard on the amateur chefs, and he’s even more forceful about it in the shows where he’s going into restaurants. The point is it’s always constructive criticism, aimed at helping them to be better chefs. The fact he didn’t bother with me makes me feel … well, not great. But it’s okay, really. I’ll get over it.’

I swallow down my disappointment and try to hide just how upset I am from Poppy. She’d only want to fix things and that could be truly excruciating. I imagine Cal’s disdain if he was forced to take my cooking seriously and my jaw tightens. I know I’m just an amateur but so are all the people on his shows. Poppy’s passion is her art; my creativity has always been channelled into cooking and baking.

‘Perhaps when he’s not working he just keeps his opinions to himself?’ Poppy suggests. ‘He could just be trying to be polite.’

‘Because his real opinion would offend me so much?’ I ask.

Poppy looks stricken. ‘I didn’t mean that … I …’

‘You’re okay, Poppy, I know you’re just trying to cheer me up,’ I say. ‘Anyway, enough about Callum O’Connor. How about we have hot chocolate once we’re cleared up?’

‘If you do your white hot chocolate with salted caramel swirls I’ll do the rest of this clearing up,’ Poppy offers.

‘Okay, it’s a deal. Shall I do a dog count? They’ve been in and out begging all evening. Shall I make sure everyone’s back in?’ I offer.

‘Good idea, remember to check the cushion covers.’

Treacle took to using the cushion covers as sleeping bags last winter, climbing in and sleeping on top of the cushions. As he is so tiny he’s not actually visible once in place and, as Poppy discovered one particularly fraught night when she woke me to tell me he was missing, you actually have to pat all the cushions to find him.

Pickwick and Treacle are on the sofa in the living room together and Maxi and Barney are both squashed onto one dog bed in the kitchen. Peanut, however, is missing. She’s got into the habit of playing hide and seek lately, only she doesn’t ask us if we want to play first, which can be a cause of anxiety. I don’t tell Poppy as she’ll only stress, I’ll look in all her favourite hiding places first. At just over two kilograms she’s the smallest dog in the pack, the tiniest dog I’ve ever seen, in fact, and that means she can hide in the smallest of places.

I check under the sofas, one of her favourite haunts, and a place to hide treats from the other dogs who can’t fit underneath. I’m determined to let go of my bad mood. So what if Cal doesn’t take me seriously? We are going to have to work together and I’m determined he’ll come to appreciate my worth. I’ll just have to prove myself. I know I shouldn’t have to and I don’t have to but I’m determined to get praise from Cal’s lips if it bloomin’ well kills me.

I check the log pile, another of the dogs’ favourite places to play. I hear the faint tinkle of metal dog tags in a bush over by the terrace, approach quietly and kneel down to peer into the gap beneath the foliage. Cal and Leo are talking so I don’t want to call for Peanut and have to engage in conversation with Cal again. In my current odd mood, I might embarrass myself by insisting he tell me what was wrong with my risotto.

Peanut’s eyes gleam in the darkness. I stretch out but can’t actually reach her. Without equipment to cut away the branches or a way of shrinking myself, Alice in Wonderland style, I’m going to have to rely on her deciding to cooperate with me.

I tap the ground in front of me, frowning at her. She stares back, implacable. I try to look friendly instead of cross and tap my lap instead, the signal all the dogs know as an offer for a cuddle.

She remains unmoved. ‘Is that all you’ve got?’ her expression seems to say. It’s half battle of wills and half game.

‘What’s this?’ I whisper very quietly, pretending to fiddle with my pocket, as though just about to fish out one of her favourite duck treats.

She tilts her head, contemptuous of my bluff, the insult to her intelligence. It always works with Pickwick but then he is very stomach-orientated.

There’s a root digging into my bare knee and I am tempted to speak a little more sharply to her but then Leo and Cal would come and find me hiding in a hedge like a stalker.

That’s not going to happen.

I swivel round and turn my back on Peanut, pretending to ignore her. She’s bound to crack first. She loves her comforts, particularly going under Poppy’s duvet at night with her favourite weasel toy. She’ll crack first.

Or I’ll be spending tonight under the stars.

I find myself tuning into Leo and Cal’s conversation.

‘She represents everything I hate about celebrity culture, everything I came to France to get away from,’ Cal says.

Is he … is he talking about me? My heart pounds and I feel very hot all of a sudden. Everything he hates? But he doesn’t even know me.

‘JoJo really isn’t like that,’ Leo protests. ‘She’s a total star. Poppy wouldn’t know what to do without her. Without JoJo she really would’ve struggled to get Les Coquelicots up and running.’

‘Really. That surprises me,’ Cal says and adds something in a lower tone I can’t make out.

‘God no, there’s no way she knew she was being filmed. She’s really not like that. She’s not some fame-seeking celebrity-chaser, you’re perfectly safe …’ Leo defends me. ‘Do you really think I’d saddle you with someone like that? When you get to know her properly, you’ll see I’m right about her. At least give her a chance.’

There’s a pause. My fingers dig into my legs and I burn with humiliation and anger. My chest is painfully tight until I remember to breathe. Peanut has crawled out of her hole and climbed onto my lap, snuggling into me. I know she senses I’m upset, she always does. For all her cheekiness she’s an affectionate, sensitive little creature.

‘I suppose I trust your judgement,’ Cal says, breaking the silence. ‘You can’t blame me for being careful. JoJo got famous dating a celebrity. I told you about the problems I had with Daria, my last girlfriend?’

‘What happened?’

‘All she cared about was going to parties and clubs where there’d be photo ops and she could see other famous people and be seen.’ Cal’s voice is scornful, but I can’t help wondering if he’s more hurt than he’s letting on. After all I’ve dated someone like that myself. ‘She really had me fooled and she’s part of the reason I wanted to take some time out. I need some time away from that scene, so I can work out what I really want from life.’

‘Well, it’s good news for us you’re taking that time here. Any help you can give us we’re very grateful for and of course you can stay as long as you like.’

My jaw clenches and I grind my teeth a little, seething silently. As long as he likes?

Peanut tilts her head back and looks up at me, her serious little eyes seeming to communicate vast depths of wisdom and knowledge. That or she’s telling me it’s past her bedtime and asking me why we’re faffing about.

‘It’s probably just as well things are over with Daria,’ Cal muses. ‘Given I’m not sure exactly how long I’m going to be here. In my experience long-distance relationships don’t work, it just ends up being an incredibly slow and drawn-out break-up. Well, I’ve got other things on my mind at the moment, more important things. Did I tell you my twin sister Caitlin is pregnant? I can’t believe I’m going to be an uncle.’

Leo and Cal lapse into a lament for the days of their youth and are now talking about a mutual friend from their time in Paris together. I tune out. My heart is pounding and I realise just how awful it would be to be found eavesdropping, especially after that conversation, and decide to creep away while the going is good. My knee throbs painfully where I’ve been kneeling on the root and I bite my lip to prevent any vocalisation of the pain giving me away. There are plenty of other things I’d like to vocalise to Cal’s face. I have a hundred scathing but poised retorts swirling around in my head, as well as some not so poised insults. So Cal is worried I might be after him? Or rather after the reflected glory of his fame?

As if.

After all I’m ‘everything he came to the south of France to get away from’. After that remark I’m not even sure I can be polite to him, never mind wanting to be intimately involved with him.

You don’t know me.

How many times has that thought echoed in my mind over the past year? Enough that it stirs me up, disturbing the emotional silt I’ve been successfully keeping well below the surface since I moved here.

What about the fact that I came here to get away from the world Cal belongs to? He is the one disturbing my peace, not the other way round.

I was here first.

That childish argument almost makes me smile at my own belligerence but I’m too upset. I had hopes of a professional working relationship with a man I admire and want to learn from. I set out this evening to impress him and I failed. Big time.

Suddenly I’m really, really tired. I feel a familiar pressure behind my eyelids and squeeze my eyes tight shut. I refuse to let that man make me cry. He doesn’t know me, so his opinions mean nothing.

But still they niggle and prick at me to the extent that I have to lie to Poppy and tell her I have a migraine.

I can’t tell her what I overheard. She’d fret and it might cause problems between her and Leo. After all he’s Leo’s friend and I’m her friend. Maybe this will seem less terrible after a good night’s sleep. Most things do.

Except I don’t get a good night’s sleep. I get a terrible one, unable to switch off the repeated conversation going around and around in my mind. I think of all the things I’d like to say and that leads me to older feelings, to the anger I never expressed to Aiden and Sally. I swallowed it all down then, like I’m trying to do now, and my body isn’t happy.

I’m still feeling grumpy when I’m unloading the dishwasher the next morning. Cal, on the other hand, is making an effort and I really wish he wouldn’t. It’s too late now I know what he thinks of me. He’s rolling round on the floor with Barney in a way I would have found adorable only yesterday. In a way I’m glad I overheard him because now, if I feel my hormones fluttering and quivering in response to his very manly pheromones, all I have to do is recall what he said about me and the temptation is easy to turn down.

‘He’s a great dog.’ Cal gets up off the floor and sits at the kitchen table. ‘They all are, super cute.’

Humph. I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously, feeling like channelling my inner Miss Piggy. She wouldn’t have put up with any nonsense from Cal.

He rubs the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. ‘Do you know where I can get a razor around here? I left mine at home.’

‘There’s a supermarket outside Mirepoix,’ I say. Yesterday I would have offered to drive him, but I really wouldn’t want to inflict my company on him.

Never mind my inner Miss Piggy, my inner bitch is out and dealing with the situation just fine.

‘You know, Barney’s old owners were going to have him put down because he’s getting on a bit and has gone blind,’ I add and reach down to stroke his huge floppy ears when he ambles over in response to hearing his name. ‘But you know, he’s the happiest dog I’ve ever met. Just goes to show you shouldn’t make assumptions, doesn’t it? It’s why labelling people … or dogs … isn’t very kind. Don’t you agree?’

I don’t meet Cal’s eyes. I’m not interested in confronting him for Leo and Poppy’s sake. I focus on Barney instead, stroking him and appearing casual.

‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ Cal replies at last and I glance over at him. He’s studying me quizzically. The coolness of yesterday isn’t there in his eyes. He’s looking at me, not through me. Maybe he decided to give me a chance after Leo stood up for me. That’s all good except I’m not sure I want one any more.

My good manners battle with my bruised pride and sleep-deprived mind and reluctantly I relent.

‘I’m going to the supermarket later. I can pick up a razor for you if you tell me what brand you want. Or you could come with me, but I’ve got an awful lot to get and you’d be hanging around for ages so …’

‘I don’t mind hanging around.’ Cal smiles and I’m sure there’s a glimmer of humour in his eyes; they sort of crinkle at the edges, like he’s someone who smiles and laughs a lot. Like he’s taking pleasure in disconcerting me.

Okay, so the truth is he is so bloody sexy my hormones are swooning all over the place. I fancy him but I’d rather die than admit that now. No way am I going to give Cal the satisfaction of saying he was right, that I’m some kind of career celebrity girlfriend, looking for my next meal ticket.

Our eyes lock and my cheeks feel warm.

I do my best to ignore the flipping sensation in my stomach. He came to France to get away from ‘people like me’. I have to remember that; I can’t get swept away. And I came to France to get away from people who think they know me, who make judgements based on lies and prejudice, so this … this cheek-burning, stomach-churning hormone-induced head-fuckery is going to have to stop.

I bite my lip and Cal’s gaze fixes on my slightly parted lips. Time seems to slow down, neither of us speaking. Even the dogs are silent, watching us solemnly.

Then the kitchen door opens and Leo and Poppy arrive, dispelling the weird tension between Cal and me, plunging me into confusion.

Later I’m throwing Pickwick’s ball for him in the garden while the Chihuahuas and Barney sunbathe. The grass is long and needs cutting but I haven’t had time to get round to it yet. As a result Pickwick is bouncing along like he’s on springs, for reasons best known to himself, and he does look very cute, which is why I can’t resist him when he brings the ball back to me and looks adorably hopeful again and again and again …

‘You’ll be doing that all day.’ Poppy joins us and flops down onto the grass next to Barney. ‘He’s got you wrapped around his paw.’

Pickwick then drops the ball at Poppy’s feet and proceeds to take it in turns who he gives it to.

‘He’s got both of us wrapped around his paw,’ I comment.

‘True. Well, they love you like you’re one of the pack, so until you get your own dog you know you’re welcome to borrow my little horrors any time you want, yes?’ Poppy says, watching the Chihuahuas mutt-mobbing me, her lips quirking into a smile. ‘In fact, I’m kind of counting on it given the gallery work, finishing my next book and arranging a wedding … I’m not sure how I’m going to get everything done. My to-do list is humongous and it never seems to shrink.’

I’m amazed she’s left it a full twenty-four hours before bringing the subject of me rescuing a dog up again.

‘That’s why I’m here. I’m your spare pair of hands,’ I say. I’ve been selfish, focusing on how unsettled I feel by Callum O’Connor’s presence in the house. It’s time to stop thinking about myself and be what Poppy needs me to be. ‘Why don’t we relabel it and call it your “do it” list? Much more positive. We could use an app to sync the list to our phones and split the tasks between us. If we’re sharing the list, it means we both stay accountable.’

We both know I mean she stays accountable and I’m being kind in not saying it. Creative and lovely Poppy may be but organised and practical she isn’t.

‘Thanks, you’re a star.’ Poppy gives me a quick squeeze of a hug and turns abruptly away, bending down to pick up Pickwick’s ball.

I swear I see unshed tears in her eyes. I thought she was taking on too much and I’ve tried to say so but Poppy was adamant she could do it all. I’m not sure she would’ve listened to me or Leo, however we approached it, she’s been so fired up about her new projects.

After she’s thrown the ball again for Pickwick and he’s gone bounding off she turns back to me.

‘You really are a star, you know,’ she says seriously, a tiny frown line in between her eyes. ‘And I don’t think I’m the only person around here who thinks so – you know, there was a definite frisson in the kitchen earlier. I’m sure he fancies you. We didn’t interrupt anything, did we?’

‘No, he definitely doesn’t fancy me and no, you absolutely didn’t interrupt anything.’ I snort. ‘Trust me, you’re way off base there. Besides we only just met.’

I wrap my arms protectively around my body. I’ve had no end of people who think they know me because they’ve seen me on television or, worse, online. The ones who feel the need to tell me about it usually either hate me or think they’re in love with me, rarely anything in between. The ones who supposedly ‘love’ me have seen my naked emotion on the TV show or my naked body in the sex tape, or both, and imagine themselves in love with a version of me that only exists in their head.

‘Really? That’s odd. Hmmm,’ she muses. ‘You know, I’m rarely wrong when it comes to picking up those kinds of vibes between other people. I read about this scientific study that says it only takes us three seconds before we decide if we’re attracted to someone. So the length of time you’ve known each other really doesn’t mean anything—’

‘Stop,’ I cut her off before she has me and Cal married in her head. ‘I mean no, don’t go there, please, Poppy. I really think you’re wrong in this case.’

I think about what Poppy said, the three-second factoid. If I were a pre-Aiden version of JoJo, meeting Cal for the first time, would I or wouldn’t I? The answer is obvious: of course I would. He is exactly my type. Which is exactly why I’m not going there.

I’m sure Poppy thinks I’m protesting too much and secretly I’m dying for a man to come along and sweep me off my feet, but she couldn’t be more wrong. The whole sweeping thing is overrated. I’d rather keep both my feet firmly planted on the ground.

I’m never going to let a man unbalance me like that again.

Poppy bites her lip and then drops down onto the grass next to the Chihuahuas. I sit down next to her, recognising the look on her face. There’s something she wants to talk about. I do my best to ignore the flutter of alarm deep inside me.

‘You know, I’ve been thinking …’

‘Uh huh?’ I eye her with wary caution, wondering if we’re still on Callum, or me adopting a dog, or whether she has a brand new topic on her mind.

‘I’ve been thinking about how you can move on,’ she says.

Move on? The flutter is instantly upgraded and my stomach twists in a sharp response. I try to control my breathing.

‘But I thought you said this was my home … Have you spoken to Leo since we talked, is that it?’ I keep my voice as calm as I can but even so all the dogs stop what they’re doing and watch me, ears pricked and eyes curious.

Poppy frowns, her face a mask of incomprehension.

‘Of course this is your home.’ She pats me on the arm. ‘What’s wrong, why are you upset?’

‘You said move on … like you want me to leave here.’

‘I meant metaphorically, of course,’ Poppy says, looking at me like I’m nuts for misunderstanding her.

‘So …?’ I steady my breathing again, reassured I’m not about to be turfed out with nowhere to go except the one place I can’t.

‘I was thinking maybe you should look up what other people who’ve been victims of sex tapes have done, how they’ve moved on,’ she suggests, her tone becoming more confident as she gets going. ‘I’m sure some of them must have found it empowering, eventually.’

I hate to burst her bubble and I know she’s only trying to help but I have to be honest with her. Nothing else will stop her once she’s got an idea in her head.

‘The thing is, Poppy, except for those who’ve actually made the tape themselves and sold it for cash, it seems to pretty much universally lead to a desire to die.’

Peanut must hear the catch in my voice because she gets up from where she’s sunbathing and comes over to me, hopping back onto my lap and rubbing her head against my chest like she’s a cat. Actually, all of Poppy’s dogs seem to think they’re other species. They also do good impressions of parrots, meerkats and even baby kangaroos.

I stroke Peanut’s head. She’s the tiniest fully grown dog I’ve ever seen but she has the biggest heart.

‘Seriously?’ Poppy deflates and frowns, scooping Treacle up onto her lap, absentmindedly stroking him and not noticing that Pickwick has come back and has dropped his ball by her feet.

‘Yep, I tried researching it a while back to see if anyone else’s story gave me hope.’ I sigh. ‘Apart from a few celebrities who went on to put it behind them and become even more successful it was pretty much doom and gloom. After the fourth suicide I stopped reading.’

‘Oh, Joanna.’ Poppy plops Treacle onto my lap, clearly deciding that this is a two-Chihuahua kind of situation.

Pickwick also brings me his ball, so I’m inundated with cute.

As if sweet pupsters can make things better. Though actually they kind of do. There’s plenty of room on my lap for both the Chihuahuas and they stare up at me, concern shining in their big eyes as I stroke them both, trying to reassure them that I’m okay, it’s okay, everything’s okay.

They’ve both got a history of abuse in their past and they can get anxious, Treacle in particular. I stroke his head and he settles down contentedly next to Peanut, a big smile on his face. He’s one of the few dogs I’ve met who really does smile.

‘Even the celebs who went on to recover admitted there were times when they wanted to die too,’ I say quietly, looking down at Treacle and Peanut as I stroke them and not meeting Poppy’s eye.

‘But you’re … okay, yes? You know you can always talk to me if … well …’

‘Yes, I know, thanks, and I’m fine,’ I say.

‘Because for all the people who couldn’t cope there must have been plenty of others who have coped. It’s just that you’re not going to find those stories online.’ Poppy eyes me hopefully.

‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right.’ I tell her what she needs to hear.

It’s partly true. Though I can’t imagine anyone taking it completely in their stride. They might look okay on the outside but I’m sure they’ve had their moments. I’ve long abandoned the myth that most people are coasting along the surface of life. I’ve been under water and I’ve seen the frantic thrashing. A lot of people have ‘stuff’ that they just don’t talk about.

I am fine though, certainly getting there. There are lots of days when I can almost forget anything bad happened, when the sun is shining and I’m browsing in the market with no one recognising me. I love cooking here and doing up the accommodation, and helping Poppy set the guesthouse up has been a lot of fun. Having a project to occupy my mind really helped. Poppy is always saying how much I’ve helped her. She really doesn’t get just how much she’s helped me.

I’m not going to mention all the nights I woke at two or three in the morning and lay awake until the first note of birdsong provided a soundtrack to the soft light of dawn. On those days I would get up and go for a run as soon as there was enough light.

Running has helped. I’ll never tire of watching the sunrise reflected in the surface of the lake, or marvelling at how still the world is at dawn. There can be movement all around me from nature but there’s a particular type of stillness that the absence of other humans creates and I love it.

In the early days here in France it was the only way to stop the anxiety from eating me up. Running takes me out of my head somehow, away from the thoughts that do me no good at all and could drive me mad if I let them. Poppy loathes running and has made it plain she thinks I’m nuts for being a runner, but then she always loses herself in her artwork when she’s stressed. I guess we all have our way of coping with things.

‘You’re okay really?’ Poppy breaks into my thoughts, her gaze searching.

‘Yes, I am. Maybe not all the time but I’m certainly getting there,’ I reply more truthfully.

Pickwick has given up trying to get Poppy’s attention. When actually putting his ball on her foot doesn’t work, he brings it to me again instead. I can’t resist his hopeful little face and throw the ball for him, watching him bouncing through the grass undaunted, his optimism undiminished by the fact he’s lost the ball. I know he’ll keep looking until he finds it too.

I wish I had that kind of bounce. People talk about bouncing back, and hey, you know, that sounds fantastic to me, but they hardly ever talk about how you do it.

‘Didn’t your friends in England help you at all?’ she asks.

‘Well, Sally was my best friend. We were in each other’s pockets ever since the first year of primary school. Maybe that was partly the problem: we were friends simply because we were put together and we both liked the colour pink.’ I shrug. ‘I can’t help feeling we can never really know someone else, not really. We might think we do but … Anyway, I don’t want to talk about Sally.’

We both watch Pickwick trotting around, leaving no clump of grass unexamined until he finally finds his ball and seizes it triumphantly. I turn my face up to the sun and wish life could be as simple as this all the time. Poppy, the dogs, the garden … But Poppy is getting married, Callum O’Connor is in residence and I don’t know what happens next.

‘What about your other friends?’ Poppy sounds hopeful and I hate to disappoint her.

‘You remember that thing I said about not really knowing people? Ex-boyfriends and friends sold their stories about me and their photos of me. Most of the stories weren’t true and I honestly didn’t see that coming either.’

I stare down at Treacle where my fingers are buried in his sandy, soft fur. Peanut has turned to rest her tiny muzzle on my chest, her eyes tiny pools of concern. I manage to give her a small reassuring smile, albeit wobbly. Poppy and I don’t usually talk about this kind of stuff but I don’t mind opening up now. Not to Poppy anyway.

Those months after the first blow last year felt like a rapidly growing snowball, gathering up one betrayal after another as it hurtled out of control and became an avalanche, capable of sweeping my whole life away.

Okay, maybe not my whole life. I don’t want to be overly dramatic about it and I know some people lose absolutely everything in life in terrible ways, including losing the roofs over their heads. I wasn’t homeless and I had food. Also, my family remained reliable. They couldn’t look me in the eye, but they stood by me all the same. To be fair, my sister Annabel was great about it all and she understood when I just had to get away. I think she would’ve come with me except I needed her to cover for me at the café. At the time it was ‘just until things blow over’. Except that moment never seemed to arrive.

‘They can’t have been very good friends then.’ Poppy wrinkles her nose as though unable to comprehend selling out a friend for cash. It’s one of the many reasons I love her.

‘I suppose not.’ I shrug and meet Poppy’s eye, trying to give her the same reassuring smile I gave Peanut. ‘I’m okay, Poppy, honestly. It’s behind me now. I’ve got a new life here and new friends, both human and furry. I’m happy being single too. The absolute last thing I want is for you to matchmake for me. I know that’s hard for you to understand in your current loved-up state.’

She has the zeal of a new believer since she fell in love with Leo. Her matchmaking is probably just a symptom of getting engaged. It seems wedding planning has only increased her desire to see everybody paired off and as happy as she is. I overheard her asking Leo about Angeline’s love life the other day.

Or maybe she’s feeling it too, that the wedding will mark the end of the time we’ve spent together, just the two of us. Our safe little hideaway where we both licked our respective wounds, painted walls and drank hot chocolate is changing. Maybe she’s worried about me. That seems much more like her than an assumption that a man is all we need to make everything better.

She doesn’t reply and I glance over at her. She’s staring into the distance and hasn’t seen Pickwick drop his ball at her feet again.

‘Sorry, Poppy, I didn’t mean it. I appreciate you trying to help, really I do.’

I shift up next to her on the grass and rest my head on her shoulder, awkwardly giving her a half hug. Only awkward because the Chihuahuas insist on being in the middle of it and the logistics are difficult.

‘Is it too early for a drink, do you suppose?’ Poppy asks, finally noticing Pickwick and throwing his ball for him again.

‘Definitely not too early but I’ll have to wait until later, I’ve got a supermarket shop to do.’ I rub at my temples.

‘Have you still not got rid of your migraine from last night?’ Poppy asks, solicitously. ‘I can do the supermarket shop today if you like?’

‘Have you got time? I might be all right if I take more meds.’ My offer is half-hearted though. I am starting to get familiar stabbing pains behind one of my eyes. I don’t mention I’m supposed to be giving Cal a lift. I really wasn’t looking forward to having to make polite conversation for the duration, pretending I don’t know what he really thinks of me. Holding my tongue for Poppy and Leo’s sake is going to be hard but I’ll try. I owe them that much.

It’s all my own fault that I really do have a migraine coming on now, karma for saying I had one last night, or maybe it’s my body giving me an out. I throw the ball that has just landed on my foot.

‘Don’t be silly, it’s fine,’ Poppy says, as I knew she would. ‘Why don’t you go and take your meds and lie down? If you’re okay this evening we’ll have that drink.’

‘Okay.’ My sleep-deprived mind readily accepts. We get to our feet, both watching Pickwick as he heads off into the grass that’s taller than he is in places, utterly undaunted and relentlessly optimistic. Bounce, bounce, bounce …

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