of its meagre contents and washed every shelf before switching it off. Anything to take her mind off the impending situation.
Her clothes were washed, ironed and folded ready to be put in the suitcase. Before she could reach the large suitcase that she’d stored in the understairs cupboard the day she’d moved into the flat, she had to practically empty the cupboard of stuff she’d shoved in there – out of sight out of mind, for the most part: vacuum cleaner, ironing board, wellington boots, a small fan heater and a large cardboard storage box with a lid.
She’d found the box in the bottom of her mum’s wardrobe two years ago when she was emptying her house ready for sale. A brief look inside then had told Belinda it was just a collection of letters, photos, old passports, official letters and the odd keepsake from her childhood, so she’d put it to one side for when she had a moment to go through it. The moment had never arrived.
Pulling out the suitcase, she pushed the box to the back of the cupboard and replaced everything else in front of it, promising herself that she’d finally go through it all when she returned from Brittany.
Belinda placed the suitcase on the bed and began to systematically place things in it. BB whined and jumped up onto the bed and sat on the open lid, regarding her reproachfully. Picking him up, she cuddled him. ‘Don’t worry, darling BB, you’re coming with me.’ The dog licked her hand and didn’t protest when she set him down on the floor.
Two evenings before she left, Nigel and Molly joined her for dinner in the Dartmouth hotel, to introduce her to Alain Salvin, the campsite manager, via a video call. Despite her apprehension about the whole campsite business, Belinda couldn’t help but be curious about the man who would be her co-worker in Brittany.
‘What qualifications does this Alain Salvin have? Is he an experienced campsite manager?’
Nigel shrugged. ‘I didn’t ask. Our friends’ recommendation was enough for us.’
Belinda stared at him. That was most unlike Nigel.
‘He’s local, so he knows the area, he speaks some English and he’s a capable outdoor type, good in an emergency, according to them. You can ask him yourself later.’
But Belinda, determined to do just that, never had the chance.
Once dinner was over, tablets were produced, numbers tapped in and they waited for the French connection to join them.
Alain Salvin, when he appeared on the screen, was not the young man she’d been expecting. This man to whom Nigel was introducing her was in his late fifties with a certain roguish Gaelic look about him.
‘Hello, Alain. I’m looking forward to joining you in Camping dans La Fôret later this week,’ Belinda said, trying to strike the right note before she began questioning him.
‘Bonjour.’
With that, Alain disappeared from the screen and the connection was lost. Nigel swore under his breath and spent several moments trying to regain a connection before throwing his hands up in the air in disgust and muttering something rude about technology.
A frustrated Belinda could only sigh. At least she could now put a face to the name Alain Salvin. Finding out about him would have to keep until she was on site.
A day later, the last weekend in February, it was time to leave. But not before first dropping in on Chloe, Max and the twins. Belinda read several bedtime stories to the twins and kissed them goodnight after promising to bring them a present each back from France. She made her way downstairs and enjoyed an early supper with Chloe and Max before hugging them both and leaving to drive to Plymouth to catch the cross-Channel ferry for an overnight sailing to Roscoff.
Thankfully, the crossing was calm, but sleep eluded her and she tossed and turned the night away. Even knowing that she’d be returning for a week to help out over the Easter holiday when the hotels were busy didn’t help. She had to survive until then, first.
4
Sitting in her car the next morning waiting for the queue of cars in front of her to start leaving the ferry, Belinda set the satnav for ‘Camping dans La Fôret, Finistère’.
A feeble sun in the grey sky failed to break through to clear the early-morning mist that hung over the countryside as she left Roscoff behind her. Belinda took her time driving along, enjoying the surprisingly traffic-free roads taking her past field after field that would soon contain the artichokes