Page 70 of The Bordeaux Book Club
He nodded. ‘Yeah. I know. Sorry I didn’t say myself. It’s just… sometimes it’s nice to kind of… forget it a bit.’
They murmured and nodded their understanding.
‘It was just the brain fever thing; the idea of a woman taking to her bed,’ he said, looking at them all, unashamed now that his eyes were glittering with moisture. ‘Sounds stupid, doesn’t it? Mum doesn’t have… what even is brain fever? But… I dunno. Seeing her in bed every day. And not feeling…’ His voice seemed to falter. ‘Just feeling…’ He leaned forward and suddenly, Leah could see that his back was shaking with the force of the sobs that were trying to push their way out of his body. ‘They reckon she’s going to die,’ he managed to say at last, his voice muffled behind his hands and sounding tiny and boyish and scared. ‘And if she does, I’m finished.’
28
Leah stirred Alfie’s tea, added sugar, then carefully brought it to him in the living room, aware all the time of the very British reaction she’d had to his breakdown. But honestly, was there anything more reassuring than a cup of tea? She wondered, briefly, what French people traditionally consumed in these situations. Coffee seemed too stimulating. Perhaps they bypassed beverages altogether and went straight for the macrons. No, the mac-A-rons, she thought, as she entered the room, thinking of her recent faux pas.
The window Into the living room was still flung wide, but the air had become cooler in the time they’d spent talking as a group. Once in a while, a gentle gust would move the air, replacing the sticky heat of the day with something more comfortable and pleasant. It was nine o’clock, and although darkness was still a while away, the colour of the light had changed from white to golden – an altogether kinder light that bathed everything in a warm glow.
Alfie was still in his chair, but the rest of them had moved. Monica’s chair had been dragged next to Alfie’s and she was sitting with her arm around him. George and Grace hovered infront of him, Grace was bending slightly towards him, saying something. Camille’s arms were wrapped around him, her head lying gently on his shoulder. Alfie looked so small, so crumpled in his chair. It was as if he was a balloon, Leah thought, and someone had suddenly let the air out. His defence had been breached and they were suddenly seeing how he must have felt all along. Utterly bereft, scared and alone.
‘Anyway, they’re putting her on a drug trial,’ he was saying. ‘But that’s a last-ditch attempt, isn’t it? What if it doesn’t work?’ He wiped a hand across his face. ‘And I know we’re meant to try to be positive. And I do try. I try all the time.’ His voice cracked a little. ‘I can’t let her see me like this – I wouldn’t. But sometimes, well, trying is too much.’
‘Shh, shh,’ Monica said, rubbing his back as if he were a much younger child. ‘It’s OK, Alfie. You don’t have to pretend with us.’
He looked at her and gave a small, watery smile.
Leah hovered with the tea until Alfie noticed her and reached up gratefully. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I’ve ruined the evening.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said. ‘It’s not important. Really.’
He took a sip of tea then set it down on the small nest of tables next to his chair. Drawing in a shuddering breath, he seemed to somehow reinflate a little. ‘I know, people die all the time. And well, parents… you always know it’s going to happen one day,’ he said. ‘It’s just… Mum’s all I’ve got. All the family I’ve got. And if she… I don’t know what I’ll do. What am I going to do?’ The last words came out in a kind of small, desperate cry. He covered his eyes.
‘You’re wrong,’ Grace said, her voice sounding loud in the hushed atmosphere of the room.
They all looked at her.
‘What do you mean?’ Alfie said, in a small voice, looking up at her, his eyes somehow enormous. Leah was remindedof Scarlett, aged five or six, how she’d somehow ask the most grown-up, unfathomable questions about the universe, or time, or death and heaven and angels and ghosts and how she’d look at Leah with her eyes bright and full of confidence that her mum would be able to provide the answers.
And although, like all humans, Leah hadn’t had all of the answers to the questions, it had been nice to feel that she had the power to reassure Scarlett. To feel that Scarlett’s confidence and belief in her was unwavering.
It was natural that it had changed as Scarlett had grown. She’d expected scepticism. Arguments. Battles as her daughter turned from child to adult. But not this. This utter rejection. The looks of disdain that had replaced those enormous, adoring eyes.
‘Your mum, God bless her, let’s pray she pulls through,’ Grace said. ‘But she isn’t all you have. You have us.’ She walked forward and crouched in front of his chair, taking his hand. ‘Alfie, we’re your family now, too. We are.’
In the end, Monica offered to drive Alfie and Camille home. By then, he’d seemed brighter, and Grace had promised to ring in the morning. ‘I can pop round, too, if you like?’ she’d said. ‘If your mum wouldn’t mind?’
‘You can go too, if you want. It’s fine,’ Leah said to Grace and George, looking at the scattered glasses and plates. ‘I’ve got this. It’s not a lot.’
‘You know me,’ Grace said. ‘I can’t leave a mess in my wake.’ She smiled and mimed rolling up her sleeves. ‘Come on, let’s get this lot to the kitchen. George is fine to wait.’
‘Shall I help?’ George said, gesturing at the mess vaguely. ‘Or do you?—?’
Leah was just about to ask him what he meant, when Grace answered for them. ‘You wait there,’ she said. ‘You’ve been working all day. Put your feet up.’
He nodded, ‘Yes, boss,’ he said, with a grin.
The pair had arrived together, with George abstaining from all but a few sips of wine in order to give Grace the lift home she needed. ‘I told him it was out of his way, but he insisted,’ she’d told Leah, who’d raised an eyebrow.
‘You really don’t have to,’ Leah said as Grace began running water in the sink.
‘I do though,’ Grace said. ‘It’s an illness really. But I find washing up puts the world to rights.’
‘We have a…’
Grace added a drop of washing-up-liquid and swished her hand in the water to make bubbles. ‘Dishwasher? Don’t believe in them,’ she said, simply.
