Page 80 of The Bordeaux Book Club
He smiled. ‘I’m glad,’ he said. They were silent for a minute. ‘But I wanted to say: I feel that way too sometimes. Lonely, I mean. And too far away. More now that Bella’s here.’
‘You do?’
‘Yeah. I wish I could be here more. Be with you both.’
‘Oh, hon.’ She said, brushing his hair with a free hand. ‘Well, we do too. You know that.’
Monica shifted herself gently and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She stood up slowly and placed Bella into her cot. The baby murmured slightly and Monica stiffened, willing her not to cry, not to shatter the peace in the bedroom, not to break the moment.
Luckily, Bella acquiesced, settling into sleep once more.
Monica climbed back into the bed and snuggled into her husband.
‘I’ve asked if I can have a bit more time off,’ he said, stroking her hair. ‘For me as much as you.’
‘That’s brilliant,’ she said.
‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘It’s selfish, if anything. I need you guys.’
She smiled a little. ‘It would be nice to have you around more. Iamtrying. I think I’m getting there. With the book club. And that new mums’ group thing. But it hasn’t been easy. I’ve been…’ She paused, fixing her eyes on him.
‘What?’ he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
‘I wanted to wait until you were home. Until you were here in person. But I went to the doctor’s and, well, he reckons I’ve got a bit of PND.’
‘Postnatal depression? You should have told me!’
‘Iamtelling you,’ she said, smiling gently, feeling her lip wobble slightly. ‘I’ve only just found out. Just realised that maybe not everything I was feeling was quite… well, normal. Some of it – tiredness, hating my body… well, that’s par for the course sadly. But other things. Everything feeling too much, overwhelming. Feeling as if I’m failing.’
‘Oh, Monica,’ he shook his head. ‘You’re such a great mum. You are.’
‘I’m not,’ she said. ‘People say that a lot, don’t they? I’m not sure anyone’s “great” at this. But I’m starting to realise that maybe I’m enough. That I can do this. I started counselling. Last week.’
He raised himself up on his elbows. ‘God, Monica. I just didn’t realise. I’m so… And there was me thinking you just needed some friends. Recommending that book club – and you’re going through all that? I’m such an idiot. I should have seen?—’
She shook her head. ‘But you were right. The book club’s been amazing,’ she said. ‘And I do need friends. I think just getting out there and being with people… it was what helped me to see that I needed that extra support.’
He reached out and gathered her into his arms, kissing her cheek and squeezing her tightly. ‘You must tell me,’ he said. ‘I want to know these things. I guess I knew you weren’t… quite yourself. But…’
‘I know.’
‘And I should have asked.’
‘Maybe. But you know – we’re both new to this,’ she said.
They lay together, quietly, listening to the noise of people walking home, the odd voice talking too loudly. The sound of vehicles delivering for the day ahead. People winding up and going home, or stepping up and going out. Bordeaux was a quiet city compared to London, but still had that element of perpetual motion – it was quieter at night, but never completely still. Things moved and changed and evolved all the time.
The noises had once made Monica feel isolated – showing her a life she wasn’t part of. But now she was trying to see them as representing the possibilities outside her window – the people and projects and activities and life that were hers to join. And although she knew she had a long way to go, when she finally drifted off to sleep, she was smiling.
35
‘Come on, comeon,’ Nathan tapped at the steering wheel impatiently as he waited for the woman to cross the road. She seemed in no hurry. The moment the lights turned amber, he pressed his foot to the accelerator and they shot off.
The combination of dark streets and occasional unexpected pedestrians, who seemed more intent on their conversation than looking to see if cars were coming, made Leah feel nervous.
‘Careful,’ she said. ‘You don’t want to end up having an accident.’ She dialled Scarlett’s number for the tenth or eleventh time and waited again for the phone to ring out. ‘Scarlett!’ she said on the answerphone. ‘You’re not in trouble, but please can you call me? Or at least text to let us know you’re alright.’
There was no real reason to believe anything had happened to their daughter, she told herself. She’d gone for a walk, late at night. She might have got lost, perhaps, or waylaid. Or turned back. She might not be answering her phone because she was embarrassed, or angry. She was fourteen – she wouldn’t realise what all the fuss was about, probably.
