Page 85 of The Bordeaux Book Club
He wanted to say that sheshouldbe sorry. That she shouldn’t be talking like this. That she should fight. Sit up in bed! Eat something. Call the doctor. That she couldn’t possibly leave him, because what on earth would he do without her?
Instead, he said, ‘It’s OK, Mum. It really is. I’ll be OK.’
‘My good boy,’ she said.
‘I love you, Mum.’
‘I know, Alfie. I know.’ Her hand moved towards him and he took it in his. Her skin was soft, cold. Her hand small and fragile.
Please, he wanted to say. But he managed to hold it back. Because he knew that if there was a way for her to stay, then there was no way she would leave him. She’d suffered so much pain, fought so hard for so long. Instead, he found himself saying a gentle ‘shhh’ the way she had to him as a small child, when she’d sat by his bed on the nights he couldn’t sleep. ‘Shh, it’s OK.’
Her breathing gradually slowed, her fingers relaxed slightly in his. She gave a breathy sigh – the air escaping from deepinside her tiny frame – and he sensed her relief. That she’d given herself permission to escape from the body that had let her down, that hadn’t been as strong as her spirit.
He’d known, minutes later and without checking, that she was no longer with him.
38
Nathan approached his wife and daughter gently, as if he was worried they would both disappear. ‘It’s not what you think,’ he said.
Leah looked up at him from over Scarlett’s shoulder and shook her head gently. ‘Enough, Nathan,’ she said. ‘I think it’s pretty obvious exactly what it is.’
‘No,’ he said, his voice coming out more loudly. ‘No! It’s not.’
‘Look, I think we should just go home,’ Leah said, suddenly bone-weary. ‘We can talk more in the morning.’
‘No,’ he said again. ‘It has to be now. Please. Hear me out.’ He gestured to a bench, as if saying they could all take the weight off and talk it out. His face was illuminated on and off in the flash from the car’s hazard lights. He looked like a villain in a film, just about to be arrested, thought Leah. The game was up now, surely.
‘We’ll stand, thanks,’ she said, feeling a heady mixture that came with having the bottom fall out of her world, yet have Scarlett in her arms – something she’d longed for.
He shook his head. ‘OK,’ he said, lifting his hands up and then letting them fall to his sides in a gesture of defeat. ‘OK.Scarlett’s right. I’m not happy. Haven’t been happy for a while, actually.’
This was not quite how Leah had expected the conversation to start. She took in a little, startled breath.
‘But not with us. Not with our family. Not with… anything.’
‘I swear,’ Leah said. ‘If you say, “it’s not you, it’s me”, we’re out of here.’
‘I’m not saying that!’ he said. ‘Although, actually itisn’tyou. Itisme. Scarlett’s right.’
At her side, Scarlett gave a little gasp.
‘But it’s not what you think,’ Nathan continued. ‘I… look, I hate the garden, alright? I hate the vegetables. I hate bloody radishes. Digging. Being covered in mud. I hate the chickens – I’d eat the lot of them, but the bastards would probably give me food poisoning. I hate the creaky old house, hate fucking soup for lunch every day?—’
‘Oh,’ said Leah.
‘And I miss working,’ he said. ‘Miss being good at what I do, instead of feeling like a failure all the time. I miss putting on nice clothes and bringing home… well, the bacon rather than twelve pathetic, unusable potatoes!’
Aha!Leah’s mind – which had a tendency to wander a little when stressed – cried.So he didn’t think it was a good crop of potatoes after all? Gotcha!She said nothing.
‘But I know you love it here. And I do too. I love France. I love the culture, the way of life,’ he said, rubbing his face with his hand. ‘I think Scarlett… I think you’re doing brilliantly, Scarlett. When I hear you speaking French… that accent! It takes my breath away, I’m so proud.’
‘Shut up, Dad,’ Scarlett retorted. But her voice was softer than usual.
‘Sorry. But it’s true,’ he said. ‘And I wanted to tell you, of course I did. I wanted to say that I thought I’d made thisenormous bloody mistake thinking I could be bloody Tom – Richard Briers – whatever. With my fork and my bountiful harvests. And being happy all the time. Even when things don’t go as you planned.’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Scarlett.
‘It was a sitcom,’ Leah said softly, ‘from the seventies. CalledThe Good Life.’
