Page 17 of The Bordeaux Book Club
Shaking her head, Leah turned the car around and drove the ten minutes to home. Scarlett was, of course, just being an overdramatic teen. But what about her own behaviour? Turning the car like that, rushing back?
A month ago, if someone had suggested Nathan might be having an affair, she’d have laughed her head off. ‘What, with a local farmer?’ she’d have howled. ‘With one of his precious carrots?’ He’d spent most of his time digging over the land, or planting things, digging things up, sourcing manure (and unless he’d met a ravishing donkey owner who offered manure ‘with benefits’, she was pretty sure she was safe). He’d slobbed around in old jeans and tracksuits, causing her to complain that he could occasionally make more of an effort. He was the last person she’d ever suspect of having an illicit liaison.
But in the last little while, something had definitely shifted. He’d been spending more time on his personal grooming and less time at home. Those trips out. It was nothing, probably. But clearly if her actions in trying to chase him down and confront him outside thetabacwere to be believed, she was not feeling completely confident about things.
She pulled up in the drive, disappointed that the Scenic still hadn’t made an appearance – if Nathan had been home, it would have confirmed once and for all that Scarlett had been mistaken. In silence, they got out of the warm car into the freezing air, already tinged with a wash of grey as the light faded from the day.
‘You alright, Mum?’ Scarlett said.
‘Yes, why wouldn’t I be?’ she replied, probably a little sharply.
‘I dunno,’ came the response. Her teen had returned to normal service.
She unlocked the door and let Scarlett rush in ahead of her – finally accepting, at least inwardly, that a coat would have been a good idea. Then, despite the bitter air, Leah sank down onto the steps and sat, looking over the land that had started as a dream but had begun to feel like a curse.
Most of the rotavated runnels of soil lay barren, with no green shoots yet protruding through the mud to indicate what they’d planted beneath. In the far bed – the one that had started it all – green stalks and shoots stood defiant against the cold, ready to be pulled up. Each one, she’d found, was a little like a lucky dip. Sometimes the crop would be abundant (or at least comparatively abundant). Sometimes there would be a couple of small, apologetic carrots. Sometimes there would be nothing at all.
There was a crunch and the sudden glare of headlights as the Scenic carrying her – probably not errant – husband returned. Nathan got out of the car and looked slightly startled to see her sitting there.
‘Everything alright?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, just thinking.’
He moved to the back of the car and opened the boot, drawing out from its interior an ancient rake and a more modern strimmer. ‘Did well at thevide-maison,’ he said, excitedly.
And she felt herself smile at last.
7
MARCH
Grace had excelled herself.
As Leah entered the room for the first official meeting of ‘The Bordeaux Book Club’, she almost gasped at how lovely everything looked. Her friend had set out enormous glass goblets for the red wine, even a lace tablecloth for the low table in the centre. A corkscrew lay on the side – one of those old-fashioned ones with just a twist of metal and a wooden handle – and two bottles of red wine sat open and airing alongside.
The rest of them were already there: George, this time dressed in jeans and a generous woollen jumper; Monica, in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt; and Alfie with tracksuit bottoms, a hoodie and enormous, white trainers. Each clutched a copy ofGreat Expectations.
Leah sank gratefully into the armchair proffered by Grace and set her bag by its side. She felt exhausted; she’d been dreaming a lot recently and her sleep had been uncharacteristically fitful. It wasn’t even as if she was even dreaming about anything interesting. No deep-buried fantasies and hardly a nightmare. Last night’s instalment had featured her packing a picnic, but being unable to find the cool box. It was aboring, mundane, mum dream, yet she’d woken with her heart racing, covered in sweat.
‘Alright?’ George said, reaching for one of the bottles and pouring her a glass of wine. Leah glanced up at Grace and saw her friend’s face was fixed in a strained smile as she watched the audacious move.
‘Fine thanks. Cheers,’ she said, as she took the glass and sipped from it gratefully. The wine was rich, full-bodied, but more importantly, it slid down well and filled her body with warmth. She felt herself begin to relax. ‘Wow, Grace, this wine is lovely!’
‘Anyone else need a top-up?’ Grace, who’d recovered her equilibrium after George’s faux pas, reached for the second bottle. ‘It really is a gorgeous blend,’ she said. ‘Straight from the cellar inSaint-Émilion, and one of their finest, I think you’ll agree.’
There was a murmur of vague agreement from the rest of them, although it looked as if Alfie, who’d made his way through about three quarters of his, might nod off at any moment.
Leah had been looking forward to this evening – had even found the time to read the book twice. In all honesty, she’d forgotten how much she lovedGreat Expectations. Or perhaps it wasn’t that. Perhaps she hadn’t loved it as much in the past, but this present version of herself had found something new in the old pages. In the past, she’d rooted for Pip – the small boy who began the book as a poor orphan, cared for by his mean sister, then unexpectedly found himself offered a brand-new life by a mysterious benefactor. She’d loved visualising him go to London and mix with the upper classes. But this time, she’d seen the selfishness in his behaviour. How the moment his fortunes had changed, he’d been happy to reject the man who’d been a father to him and felt ashamed of his lowly roots.
She’d googled a few articles to try to find out how old Pip was meant to be at this point – the answer? Fourteen. It sounded about right. Peak rejection time. No wonder he’d seemed embarrassed of his past. Teenagers.
‘So!’ said Grace, perching herself on one of the upholstered, wooden chairs.
Leah felt momentarily guilty for sitting in one of the softer, lower armchairs and leaving her host to perch on something less comfortable. Then she realised of course that this was what Grace wanted. She sat tall, at least a couple of foot higher than the rest of them.
A silence settled over them.
‘What did we all think?’ Grace prompted.
