Page 20 of The Bordeaux Book Club
‘So, let me know if you have any problems sourcing the book,’ Grace told them, as if they were children and she the teacher in charge.
It had been Monica’s choice. She’d told them she’d been debating all week between a modern murder story that had soared up the charts, and one of her favourites, a pioneering yet classic Gothic novel. ‘I think I’ve decided onWutheringHeights,’ she’d said, ‘if that’s not too old fashioned for anyone.’ She’d blushed a little and tucked a strand of silky hair behind her ear.
They’d assured her that of course it was fine, and it would actually be a lot easier to source than something new – especially if they wanted to pick up a second-hand copy. Grace – of course – already had two copies of the text on her shelf. She’d pulled one free, almost sending a pile of badly stacked texts tumbling, and gave it to Alfie. ‘Save you the trouble,’ she’d said with a smile and he’d taken it gratefully. A couple of books hit the floor and instead of picking them up, Grace had simply kicked them towards the bottom shelf and beamed as Alfie flicked through the text.
‘What’s it about?’ he’d asked, looking at the brooding painting of a black-haired man on the cover.
‘It’s a love story,’ Leah had said. ‘One of the most celebrated love stories in literature.’
‘OK,’ he’d said. ‘Sounds like my Mum would like it.’
It was hard to know whether he’d meant this as a slight.
There was the sound of a motor and a white van arrived to pick up George. The bloke driving looked to be about twenty and gave them an enthusiastic wave. They waved back dutifully. Monica was next, getting into a taxi she’d booked on an app. Finally, an old Citroen pulled up and a beautiful young woman with long, brown hair got out. She was wearing skinny jeans and a jumper that while suited to the weather at the top, was cut off entirely to expose her midriff. ‘Allez!’ she said to Alfie with a smile. He grinned, said his goodbyes and disappeared into the passenger seat.
‘Wow,’ Grace muttered just loud enough for Leah to hear. ‘Do you think that’s his girlfriend?’
Leah looked as the pair gave each other a quick peck in the front seat. ‘Maybe,’ she said.
‘Wonders will never cease,’ said her friend, her smile fixed as they waved the little car off.
Then it was just Leah and Grace, shivering on the front porch in the icy air.
8
Back inside Grace’s living room, they began to clear the glasses and bring them carefully to the kitchen. ‘I’m really sorry,’ Leah said, ‘Nathan reckons he’ll be here in a bit.’
‘It’s not a problem,’ smiled Grace.
Grace stacked everything expertly next to the sink. ‘I’ll get to it all tomorrow,’ she said, although Leah suspected the minute she left, Grace would be shining her glass and returning it to her immaculate dresser. She wondered whether Grace was simply being kind – not wanting her guest to put herself out. Or whether, in reality, she simply didn’t trust Leah to handle her expensive goblets without smashing the lot.
Grace was houseproud to say the least. But with good reason – she’d shown Leah pictures of what it had been like when she’d first arrived, and how over the decade and a half since, she’d brought the old house back to life on her own. And it was truly beautiful – home interiors magazine levels of beautiful. Leah loved it, but always felt it threw her own living situation into sharp relief – made her realise just how scruffy their house was.
Leah scrolled through her phone. When she’d called Nathan, he’d said he’d be able to come and get her ‘in a bit’ but hadn’tbeen specific about how long that might be. ‘I’ll text you when I set off,’ he’d told her, his voice registering a little annoyance.
She understood. Tomorrow, they’d have to drive back again to collect the car – and really, she should have thought about it before she filled herself with wine. She could have arranged the lift in advance, or booked a taxi home, so it was inconvenient. But Nathan wasn’t usually one to mind that sort of thing. Perhaps he was tired, she thought, checking her WhatsApp again and finding it empty of anything new.
‘Everything alright?’ Grace asked, setting down a cup of mint tea in front of her.
‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘yes, it’s all fine. I think Nathan’s just… well, a bit busy at the moment.’
Grace seemed to have a similar skill in eyebrow communication as her husband, Leah noted, as her friend’s left brow shot up at least an inch into the furrows of her forehead. ‘Husbands, eh,’ she said, clearly hoping that Leah was going to spill the tea. Metaphorically, at least.
Leah wondered suddenly why she was holding back. Sure, Grace knew everyone, spoke to everyone. But as far as Leah knew, she wasn’t a gossip. Only she’d never really spoken about their relationship before to her friend – just superficially, or in a light-hearted way. Perhaps she’d been scared of Grace’s judgement. Grace was so fiercely independent that Leah sometimes wondered whether her friend saw giving part of yourself to someone else as a sign of weakness.
‘Uh, it’s just I think he might be a bit cross with me right now,’ she admitted, raising the tea to her lips before realising on impact that it was still too hot for consumption. She set the cup down into its saucer with a clatter.
‘Cross?’ Grace prompted.
‘Well, maybe. Or something like that.’ She explained the carrot catastrophe, told her friend how Nathan seemed to wantto spend time on his own more than he had in the past. That he kept popping out, mysteriously, and at short notice. She stopped short of mentioning the outfits, the aftershave, the sense that he wasn’t being completely honest with her. It was too clichéd, somehow.
In the two weeks that had passed since thevide-maison, Nathan had ‘popped out’ four more times. Which wasn’t much at all. But each time, he’d showered first, emerged in stiff jeans or chinos, a neatly ironed T-shirt. And each time, he’d made an excuse as to why Leah shouldn’t join him. ‘I’m just going for a wander,’ he’d say. ‘You’d hate it.’ Or, ‘I’m off to the DIY store – not really your cup of tea.’
He’d been as gentle and affectionate was as usual, but there was a kind of distance about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It was possible it was all in her mind – brought on perhaps by Scarlett’s ‘sighting’ of him with some woman. It was possible that she was tired, worried about their finances and rapidly draining savings, or that she felt down because spring was dragging its feet and the weather remained mostly gloomy and wet.
She trusted Nathan, she really did. And if he’d only properly fill in the ‘gaps’ – answer the questions about what exactly he was up to – she’d feel better. But his vague reassurances were making her paranoid.
‘He’s probably sulking,’ Grace concluded. ‘You know how men are.’
