Page 22 of The Bordeaux Book Club
‘Well, have you thought whether it’s France you’re not taking to, or all this “living the good life” stuff,’ she said. ‘Allotments can be hard taskmasters.’
‘True.’
‘I know I’m lucky,’ Grace said. ‘I’m retired now – have my teachers’ pension. It’s not a full one, but it does me, what with the settlement from Stephen. So I’ve got… well, things are more flexible for me. But I think I’d be here no matter what.’
Leah nodded.
There was a sound of car on gravel outside and they both instinctively rose to their feet.
‘Anyway, I forgot to ask,’ said Grace as Nathan knocked on the front door, ‘how’s that gorgeous daughter of yours?’
‘Oh she’s… fine,’ Leah said, fixing her face into a smile.
‘Glad to hear it.’
As they moved – silent now – towards the front door and Leah lifted her coat from the rack, she told herself it wasn’t exactly a lie. Scarlett was fine. She wasn’t ill. Nothing was demonstrably wrong. Her school grades were OK. She had friends.
It was her demeanour around the house, still angry, sullen, embarrassed at times. Plus, she’d also developed an air of sadness around her. As if she was carrying a secret, or thinking about a personal worry. Try as she might to get her to open up, Leah had got nowhere.
Maybe it was her. Maybe this was the anxiety that people talk about that comes during peri-menopause, she thought as she buttoned up the black, wool coat. Which was more likely? That both her husband and daughter had started being ‘off’ with her and keeping secrets, or that she had developed a mild case of paranoia and anxiety and was reading things into situations that simply weren’t there. She’d have to get her hormone levels checked at her next GP appointment.
Grace opened the door just as Nathan raised his hand to knock again and he almost punched her in the face. They laughed and Nathan looked at her with what seemed to be affection. ‘Grace,’ he said. ‘I take it you’ve been leading my wifeastray again!’ He was wearing his work trousers and an old coat, but he’d taken the time to slip off his wellies and sported a bright-white pair of trainers.
‘What can I say?’ Grace flirted. ‘She’s easily swayed.’
‘Or sway-ing?’ he joked. ‘Heard the red wine was delicious!’
Grace laughed. ‘Well, you know I have impeccable taste.’
The mood shifted as Leah and Nathan turned together to the car. To an outsider, it would be imperceptible, but Leah felt it from the turn of Nathan’s shoulder; the fact he walked ahead of her down the path.
‘Sorry love,’ she said as she followed him to the car. ‘I didn’t mean to make you come out.’
‘No problem. Next time, we’ll arrange lifts in advance, though. Save me driving the Clio on the ice,’ he said, still friendly but without the sparkle he’d had when talking to Grace. She sensed he was a bit annoyed at the unexpected journey.
‘Yeah, sorry,’ she said again.
‘No harm done.’ He led her to the little, white car and opened the door for her. ‘Madame,’ he said, giving a little bow. She laughed and slid into the seat gratefully. The car smelled, as usual, of spilled petrol and old crisp packets. She began to wind down the window, then thought better of it. Her nose would soon adjust but someone needed to send Mother Nature a memo, because – temperature wise – spring had definitely not yet sprung.
Nathan made his way around to the driver’s side, climbed into his seat, turned the key and moments later they disappeared into the darkness, Grace – still on her front step – waving them away.
9
Grace was freezing by the time she re-entered the hallway, her body shivering as she gratefully felt the warm air hit her. Hector appeared in the doorway of the living room, looking at her with his usual disdain. ‘What?’ she said to him. ‘Like you’d have said anything?’
He padded off into the kitchen and she followed, picking up a glass that somebody – probably George – had left on the hall table. He’d at least put it on her address book to spare the wood, but now there was glistening wine ring on the front of her beloved black leather. She’d clean it tomorrow.
In the kitchen, she opened the fridge and grabbed the can of cat food, filling up Hector’s bowl as he gratefully rubbed himself against her legs. ‘As men go, Hector, you’re not too bad,’ she told him, scratching him behind his ears in the way he loved.
Grace hadn’t thought much of it when she’d spied Nathan in a café in central Bordeaux the other day. He’d been sitting, chatting animatedly with a woman. She’d almost gone over and said hello, but had been in a hurry and – besides – the pair of them had seemed to be deep in conversation. She’d assumed the woman was a friend, a visitor, a sister, and that Leah wouldno doubt fill her in on the details when they next met. And for all she knew, the woman could have been someone entirely innocent. But having Leah share her doubts had made her look back and question her memory. Had they been a little too animated? Too close? Had their hands almost touched across the table? She couldn’t remember, but what she had noted was the woman was beautiful, young and was wearing an inadvisably short skirt, in her opinion at least.
She tutted to herself as she began to stack the glasses and plates carefully next to the sink; now she was left feeling as if she’d kept something from Leah. But if she’d mentioned it, in that moment when Leah was clearly feeling so vulnerable, her friend might have jumped to all the wrong conclusions. It was probably innocent. It was probably nothing.
She ran warm water into the larger of her two kitchen sinks and added washing up liquid, watching as it foamed in the moving flow. Then took her red-topped scourer – the one appropriate for delicate glass – and began to gently wash the first goblet.
She’d told herself it was nothing with Stephen too. When she’d begun to feel him pull away from her, six months after they’d embraced what was meant to be some sort of long-held dream. He’d been the force behind their move to France. It was he who had found the house, sold her on giving up work and finding a new way to make a living on the continent. And she’d bought into it – giving up her job as a primary teacher and, once they’d arrived, starting to put out feelers for tutoring.
His ‘dream’ had been to quit his role as head of finance for a corporation in the city, and instead spend time decorating their new home, before starting a business of his own. He hadn’t been entirely sure what he wanted to do, but had been in love with the possibilities. ‘Don’t you see?’ he’d told her when first raising the idea, ‘That’s the whole point. We can do anything we want!’
