Free Sense and French Ability by Ros Rendle

the business park a short walk from her home. She studied and trained hard, she passed all the Financial Planning Certificates. Subsequently, passing all the exams for her Advanced Diploma and starting post-grad studies, becoming a fully-fledged and competent Senior Financial Adviser. She managed the accounts of the top clients. She often earned herself excellent bonuses.
    “Oh my darling girl, I am so proud of you,” Mum used to say.
    “OK but living at home, my expenses were modest and I liked to go out and party with the best of them when we were in our late teens and early twenties. You remember, Jo. I was gregarious and, to be fair, Mum encouraged me.” Fliss tried to justify her life choices.
    “‘Go on, Fliss,’ she would say. ‘You go and enjoy yourself. You’re only young once. Tell me all about it when you get home.’” Fliss smiled at the memories.
    “Fair enough but now it’s time for you to follow your own dream,” Jo reiterated.
    “You’re right. Before this recent trip, I’ve thought about what I should do next. I could take up gardening, good works or grumbling. In years to come, I could join one of those adopt-a-granny schemes,” she said facetiously. “I’ll be depressed, drunk even, and embarrass and bore the arse off of everyone, but I need to kick start my life and get on with it.”
    “Yep, aim for the moon: even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars,” Jo quoted.
    “Exactly!”
    By the time they said their goodbyes the tonic of Jo’s bright personality was working its old magic and Fliss felt so much better. Her excitement returned, and she went home with renewed enthusiasm.
    *
    Fliss walked back up the path to the front door of the bungalow that was now hers alone. She saw with appreciation the froth of primroses, the daffodil leaves pushing their swords through the earth and the buds on the bushes bursting with a mist of bright greenness.
    She let herself in through the front door, pushed it shut and leaned against the inside for a moment before kicking off her shoes and heading for the bedroom to discard her jacket. Her head was spinning with possibilities, as it hadn’t done for a long time.
    While making a cup of tea she glanced up at the wall where her own painting hung. Not for the first time, warm memories of that fortnight in France sprang into her mind.
    It had been very enjoyable but somewhat of a ‘singles-hunt-a-partner’ session. After a couple of days, Fliss had teamed up with a married couple and an elderly gentleman and spent glorious relaxing days in the warm and sunny Auvergne countryside. The blueness of the sky that melted into the hazy purples of the distant, amazing, twisted, thrusting formations of the volcanic hills stayed with her, and would forever. The meadows full of wild flowers smelled wonderful, and the wooded hillsides, dotted with stone houses that had blue painted windows reflecting the cerulean sky, seemed like Utopia, she remembered. In the evenings the food was superb, simple yet delicious. She came home with two passable paintings, one of which stared back at her now, and quite a lot of regrets for days gone. It had been a time of great peace and happiness that remained with her during the long solitary hours of being a night carer for her terminally ill mother.
    Fliss sat at the end of the sofa and curled her legs under herself. She cradled her hot mug and left the television buttons alone as she stared at the empty fire grate. Her bank held quite a sum of money in savings from bonuses unspent. Now she also owned the bungalow that she and her mum had shared.
    ‘What if. . ? What if I were to sell this place and give up my job? That would give me the where-with-all to move to France, wouldn’t it? Who knows who I might meet and what adventures I might have?’
    Her thoughts strayed back to that holiday in the Auvergne.
    ‘A holiday is not living in reality is it? The emotions a remembered holiday invoke are not representative of