Chapter 4
I t’s hot. I pull up at the gates to the mill, cut the engine and push open the door of my Fiat Panda.
The heat hits me like a wall. It might be Brittany, but even here in the north of France it’s a flaming hot June day.
My life looks very different since I first saw the mill, standing here with Pete.
But from what I can see, very little has changed here at the mill itself, except that there is more greenery on the trees.
I stare at the mill and my heart quickens as I see it again with fresh eyes because it’s mine.
With all the paperwork in place, this is what my small pension pot has bought me.
Far better than an extension to our house, or new conservatory furniture.
This is exciting. An opportunity. I clutch my basket to me with my baguette, goat’s cheese and tomatoes, then pull out my phone and take photographs to send to the family WhatsApp group and Annie. I snap away, picture after picture.
I’ve been dreaming of this place since we got home after our holiday.
While Pete wanted to plan our party, all I could think of was the mill.
I’ve always wanted to have a go at running a business, but Pete thought it was too risky.
But once I started baking in lockdown and went on through my treatment, this dream has been percolating, like coffee heating in the pot, aromatic and ready to drink, reviving.
And when I saw this place, that day, on our walk, it was like a whole new world opening up to me.
A new beginning. And now I’m here, looking at my dream business, I feel as if I’ve got a second chance.
But I’ve taken on a huge challenge. I mean, it’s just me, not like on Chateau DIY , where there’s usually two of them, encouraging each other.
Am I really going to be able to make it the business I have in my mind’s eye?
I send the pictures I’ve taken to the group, remembering it’s Jake’s partner Becky’s birthday today. Happy birthday, Becky! I type. I’m here! and attach some pictures of the mill.
We’re off to Spain! says Jake. Time to follow your advice and our hearts!
Good for you! I reply. Enjoy it! Maddie? How’s things?
So-so . Off for a weekend with a friend , she replies, and I wonder if this is still Heidi or maybe someone new.
Pete replies with another happy face, which makes me smile.
He’s a good man … just not my man any more.
But he’ll always be a big part of my life.
We’ve grown apart between shift work, me at the care home, him at the warehouse, having a family and then the illness.
He loves his golf and I felt I had sort of disappeared.
When the kids left home, I didn’t know who I was and then I became Jules with the illness.
But that’s in the past, I tell myself firmly.
I send the same pictures to Annie, who immediately sends back a picture of herself, giving me the thumbs-up. Despite her thin face and hair to match, she’s beaming.
Yay! You did it!!! she types. This has brightened my day right up! I love the stone work. And the single-storey building on the other side of the drive. It’s a lot of brambles to clear but, like you say, it could make a lovely g?te some day. Send more pictures!
I smile, my nose tingling. I rub it. I can’t wait for you and the family to come and see it!
It’s a promise! she replies.
I’m going to hold you to that!
And we both know it’s a big promise to make.
By Christmas! she replies.
I’d best get started on making rooms for guests!
Oh, yes! I want to see everything about this place that has stolen your heart and enjoy the journey with you!
You will , I say, and send a kiss. ‘You will,’ I say aloud.
The à vendre sign is still listing on the gate.
I step forward, untwist the wire holding it there and pull it off with a flourish.
Despite its neglected state, I can picture exactly what the mill will look like once it’s had the TLC it deserves.
This is what I imagine in the dark of night, when the dread creeps up on me.
I force myself to imagine this place when it’s finished, with the family here.
It’s kept me going over the last couple of months.
I leave the car at the gates and walk slowly down the overgrown grassy drive.
I breathe in the smell of warm soil and make a mental note to get the drive weeded and raked.
I’m listening to the birds and want to remember every bit of this moment.
To my right is the one-storey building that may have housed livestock, a piggery perhaps.
As I suggested to Pete, one day it will be a self-contained cottage for guests.
Maybe Pete will come. It feels strange being here without him to talk to and tell him what I’m thinking.
Although we’ve grown apart, we’ve still gone through all of life’s major milestones together.
But this is just me. It’s scary but good at the same time.
I take a picture of the piggery and send it to Annie, telling her my plans, and that I hope she’ll come as soon as I’m ready for guests and she’s fit enough.
She messages straight back, saying she hopes that too.
Then I look up at the mill. It’s built from big stones, with huge corner ones, covered with moss and lichen.
I plan to hire a jet wash from a builders’ merchant I’ve found on one of my recces – they need cleaning.
I’ve also found paint suppliers, cheap but cheerful baking equipment in the supermarket, and plenty of crockery and cutlery at the brocantes where I’ve spent hours searching for cups and saucers, napkins and cake forks.
They’re now boxed up in the boot of my car, ready to move into their new home.
I head for the slope by the side of the building. I’m planning to put steps in to make it easier for people to arrive at the front of the mill, facing the lake. By the time Annie gets here, it’ll be straightforward access.
I hold on to the cold stone wall, in the shade on this side of the house, running my hand along the damp mossy stones for stability as I pick my way up the overgrown uneven slope.
Thorny brambles run along the edge of the building, catching my bare legs, making me kick at them, and clinging to my dress, snagging it.
I take a big leap forward, pulling at my dress and yanking it free, then straighten to gaze at the view in front of me.
It’s mesmerising. The green grassy area in front of me needs a good cut, but I can picture it with tables and chairs, large umbrellas and bunting for my salon de thé .
People sitting and chatting, drinking tea on a Sunday afternoon from the china I’ve been collecting, eating my homemade cakes and sipping crisp, cold crémant .
I send the picture to Annie. She says she’s put the one of the lake as a screensaver on her iPad so she can dream about getting there.
It’s helping her through the treatment to have a happy place to focus on, she says.
And having Annie pushing me to live my best life is helping me to do it.
A flash of blue catches my eye as it darts across the lake, which is full of reeds and covered with lily pads.
It’s followed by another flash. The kingfishers are still here!
It’s like they’ve stayed to welcome me. I walk up to the water’s edge and stare out.
An open canoe is tucked into the bank at the corner of the lake, tied up, with two paddles in it.
It’s not that I’d ever get into it, but it adds to the charm of the place.
‘ Le moulin ,’ I say, as I face it, as if introducing myself to my mill, taking in the stone facade, with shadows from the weeping willows on one side of the water creating dappled patterns and shade.
I make a mental list of things to do: the shutters need repainting; the big green door in the arched stone frame needs washing and its brass handle needs polishing.
The door leads into the middle floor of the building.
The windows of the room on the third floor, at the top, look out over the lake, and on the other side of the property, where I can hear water trickling, the big wooden wheel on the far wall must once have turned but is silent and still in a dry concrete pit.
This is exactly where I want to be. This place and I will come back to life together. I reach into my bag and pull out the key. I put it into the lock and, with a little effort, push open the door, which squeaks and groans and, as it opens, throws light into the dark, cavernous room.
‘I’m home,’ I say, taking in the cream stone fireplace, with blackened walls from fires, the metal cogs and stone wheel standing in pride of place.
There are piles of junk, wooden boxes and even an old bicycle that all need clearing out, but I can see past all that.
Once again, my mind turns to how this will look with the cogs polished as authentic decoration, tables and chairs with white covers and glasses on them. ‘I’m home,’ I say again.