Chapter Three
Ginny
Ginny had ditched the suitcase after her first ever trip to Europe and swapped it for a bright blue backpack, easily visible on train carriages, and once hauled onto her back and fixed in place with the straps across her chest and others sitting comfortably on her hips, way more portable as she moved from place to place.
She leaned against the wall, taking in the night viewfrom the top-floor apartment on the Parisienne street in the 8th arrondissement, the twinkling lights of the skyline in this magical city. This was her last evening in Paris before she left tomorrow morning and she was meeting her best friend, Melanie, who’d married her Belgian fiancé, Jonas, in a lavish ceremony in Bruges a couple of weeks ago. They’d returned to Paris this morning and Melaniehad insisted she see Ginny before her friend headed back to the UK.
Ginny and Melanie had met at university when they were both studying midwifery. Since then Melanie had worked her way up the bands to become a midwifery sister in the UK before relocating here to Paris. Ginny on the other hand had given up the permanent position she’d held with an NHS hospital for four years and instead signedup to an agency who contracted her to work whenever a vacancy came up, wherever that might be, both in the public sector and private, meeting women from all walks of life. She loved the variety in her work – one day she might be advising a woman on her birth plan, the next she might be attending a straightforward delivery followed by a session counselling a woman through a particularly difficultlabour. She gave advice on breastfeeding, she took new recruits under her wing, and she loved interacting with mothers-to-be, anxious fathers, relatives who turned up to meet the newest addition to their family. The flexibility of the private sector and often increased rates of pay meant Ginny could travel wherever and whenever she liked – she’d been to Thailand, Australia, Japan and Toronto, she’dbeen through Europe more times than she could count – and the arrangement suited her just fine. Or at least it had for a long while. But recently she’d had niggling doubts that this was how she wanted to be long-term.
A glance at the clock took Ginny away from admiring the view of Paris out of the window and reminded her it was time to go. She checked her hair in the mirror, teasing the strandsuntil they fell just so around her face. All three of the Chamberlain sisters had had really dark hair when they were born but over the years they’d all evolved in their own way. Fern’s hair was still a deep glossy brown – it wouldn’t dare veer off course either – and Daisy’s was a rich chestnut. Ginny’s hair fell between the two shades into a caramel hue that lightened every summer. Their mumhad had the same colour when she was young, in her wedding photographs and right up until she was in her late fifties when gradually tiny slivers of grey had crept in until finally her whole head was a shade of grey that really suited her. And when Loretta put on her thick-framed black glasses to see her needle and thread, somehow it looked just right.
Ginny sighed. Seeing the world was one thingbut it wasn’t only the backpack on her back that sometimes made her tired, lately it was more than that. Somehow her whole way of life had begun to lose its allure. Perhaps some time at home might help to get some clarity. Although if she didn’t travel and wasn’t a midwife, what on earth was she going to do with the rest of her life?
At the restaurant, Ginny wasted no time ordering a bottle ofred wine even though Melanie hadn’t arrived yet. This was something else she’d got used to, eating alone, not needing to have someone else there. She’d probably got a little too used to it, sadly.
She hooked her bag over the rickety wooden chair at their table and let the low lighting and the murmur of foreign accents wash over her. Another holiday almost over, but it had been an eventful one.Ginny had been a bridesmaid at Melanie’s wedding in Bruges. The wedding had been a dream and Ginny had followed it up by extending her stay to absorb the delights of Bruges, the Belgian city that was every bit as captivating as everyone said it was. Ginny, or rather Melanie, had timed it rather well too with the start of the Winter Glow Festival in Bruges, which brought thousands of lights to hundredsof trees and bustling street markets. As she’d walked along enchanting cobbled streets, lit-up shop fronts had beckoned her into their cosy interiors. Reflections on the canals had depicted the magic of a fast-approaching Christmas, the scent of chocolate that filled the air year-round had been all the more intoxicating with the promise of the winter wonderland that would soon be upon thisEuropean city. She’d sent a postcard home to Butterbury, of course, the way she always did even if she were somewhere she’d already been and she always chose classy pictures on the front, knowing that Daisy would see it every day at work too. With her sister’s natural talent for photography, Ginny wondered more often than not why Daisy was still stuck in the shop, but it was the way it was, she couldn’tchange it.
Melanie arrived at the restaurant all smiles and kissed her friend on both cheeks, the Parisienne way, and the waiter reappeared from nowhere to take her coat.
‘Where’s Jonas?’ It seemed as though Melanie had come on her own.
Melanie nodded when the waiter swiftly returned to offer her a glass of red wine. ‘He said he’d leave it to us girls. Think he’s had enough of me.’
‘Two weeksof marriage and he’s already looking for a way out?’ Ginny winced. ‘I’d run now if I were you. Where’s the commitment?’ But she grinned above her menu. Those two were rock solid. Unlike any of Ginny’s relationships. The only one that had approached serious had been with Lucas Abney. They’d started dating in high school. Lucas with the soft caramel eyes, the dark blond hair and muscles that showedhe had never and would never be suited to working behind a desk. Plenty of couples had split up when they ventured off to university but Lucas and Ginny hadn’t. They’d had staying power, for a time, despite Ginny studying at university in the north of England and Lucas being at the opposite end of the country to study marine biology, a path his parents had insisted on him pursuing rather thanassuming he’d follow in their footsteps at Hawthorn Lane Farm, the Abney family’s fruit and vegetable business. Not long after Lucas graduated he was offered the opportunity of a lifetime to go to work in Florida.
Ginny couldn’t deny that things between her and Lucas hadn’t been the same since her dad died. Lucas had been there for her, of course, but she’d struggled to make sense of it all andsomehow they’d lost the easy relationship they’d always had. Lucas had ended it when the Florida opportunity came up and she’d been devastated at the time. Melanie had been the one to help Ginny pick up the pieces, to listen to her in lengthy telephone calls, and the only thing to make it easier had been knowing that Lucas had left Butterbury, that if she went home she wouldn’t have to worry aboutbumping into him.
But then he’d come back and he’d been living in Butterbury for some time. Ginny still wondered how he’d reached the decision to return, to take on a major role in the family business, the business he appeared to be happy to leave behind. But she’d never asked him because whenever she went home she made sure to avoid the road leading up to the farm, she kept her head down whenshe was out and about. And so far it had worked, largely because of her determination rather than good luck or perfect timing. What were you supposed to say to the man who left and took a piece of your heart with him? Maybe if she’d got serious with someone else it might be different, she’d be able to flash a ring at him, tell him she was starting a family, that she had everything she’d ever wanted,but she couldn’t claim any of those things.
‘I wish you weren’t leaving in the morning.’ Melanie poured the last of the red wine into Ginny’s glass after she finished her mouthful of steak. ‘It’s been great having you around again. Like old times. It’s a shame we have to grow up, isn’t it?’
‘Don’t let Jonas hear you say that.’ Ginny smiled.
‘I just mean that it’s nice having a good friend here.’
‘But you’re settling in, aren’t you?’
‘Of course.’
‘And when you have a baby there’ll be mother’s groups so you’ll make friends there.’ She sneaked a glance at her shellshocked friend. ‘That’s what you’re planning, right?’
‘Am I that transparent?’
‘I’d say you’re not pregnant yet because you had a good dose of wine, but you plan to be soon, hence not suggesting any cocktails like the lasttime you and I were together for your hen night.’
‘Correct on both counts. Not pregnant yet, but planning to do it soon.’ Her apple cheeks were already glowing as if pre-empting the change and with her ash blonde hair wound up into a chignon, Melanie couldn’t disguise the feeling of joy on her face at the thought of becoming a mother. The both of them had often talked about motherhood the wayyou did when it was such an enormous part of your job to watch families form in new ways, but since Ginny had forged a different path, she’d tried not to think about how she might like her own life to take shape one day.
‘I think it’s wonderful,’ Ginny complimented. ‘Now, come on, how about you show me a bit more of Paris one last time, a final farewell.’
They left enough cash on the silvertray to cover the bill plus a generous tip and Ginny handed it to the waiter before they pulled on their scarves and coats ready to face the cold.
‘How about you?’ Melanie asked as they left the restaurant and moved with the crowds as though it were still the middle of the day.
‘How about me what?’ Ginny linked an arm through Melanie’s as they headed towards the Avenue des Champs-Élysées wherewider pavements would cater for the seasonal crowd.
‘Are you ever going to settle down?’
She could play this one of two ways: pretend this nomadic lifestyle was still everything she’d ever dreamed of, or admit the truth. She went with the latter. ‘I’ve loved seeing a bit of the world. I never understood why Fern didn’t want to, why Daisy never did. All those photographs she could’ve taken, youknow how much she loved taking pictures.’
