Page 26 of The Bordeaux Book Club

‘You too,’ he said, leaning in and giving her a soft kiss on the lips. Then he straightened up, grimacing again. ‘Going to try for some potatoes,’ he said, picking up his fork and looking at her, his eyes suddenly uncertain.

She felt a frisson of unexpected anxiety. ‘That’s lovely,’ she said. ‘I can make frittatas.’

‘Yum.’

‘Or, as they’ll probably be sma— um,new,’ she added carefully, ‘maybe with a bit of salad?’

‘Perfect.’ He turned to walk towards the potato bed.

‘But,’ she gabbled, ‘you know, if there aren’t many. Or well,any, it really doesn’t matter. I can… well, I’m enjoying omelettes so much. They seem to suit the weather, don’t you think?’

He mumbled something, but continued to walk purposefully to the back of the garden where the large, green leaves protruding from the earth had doubled in size in the past fortnight. In all honesty, Leah was keen to leave them longer – to ensure sufficient growth. But Nathan had a penchant for new potatoes and was probably hoping to find a crop of small, white, fresh specimens to steam and have with butter.

She watched him, her heart racing (who knew digging up potatoes could be such a white-knuckle experience?) before turning and carrying the eggs carefully up the garden and into the kitchen. She set the basket on the side and looked at the straw and poo-flecked eggs. You weren’t meant to wash them until just before use – it removed some sort of protective coating and let bacteria in, according to Google – but she failed to see how much protection a bit of poop on the shell could give.

She boiled the kettle and picked up her discarded copy ofWuthering Heights. Strange, how she’d loved the hero, Heathcliff, so much first time round. She’d remembered him as dark, brooding, lovelorn and passionate. ‘But he’s a bully,’ she said to herself turning the page and feeling almost sick at his threats against the girl he’d married, Isabella. How she’d found anything attractive about this strange man-baby with his endless quest for revenge and power, she wasn’t quite sure.

‘How can you fall for that man?’ she thought as she read Cathy’s words. ‘How can?—’

At that moment, Nathan came into the kitchen, brandishing a huge bunch of potato stalks. At their end wobbled ten or twelve tiny potatoes. ‘Look!’ he said. ‘Looks like we’ll be dining in style after all.’

It was so great that he was developing more of a sense of humour about it. She’d been quite worried when the whole carrot-astrophe had happened. It was par for the course, as far as she understood, for early potato crops to be rather meagre. And meagre was the word, she thought, looking at the potatoes still being held aloft by her grinning husband.

‘Oh love,’ she said, laughing. ‘You know what they say, size doesn’t matter, eh!’

‘What?’ he said, his face registering confusion at what was a fairly obvious joke.

‘Don’t worry, we can always freeze some if there are leftovers!’ she quipped again.

He looked at the dangling potatoes as if she was making a serious point. ‘I don’t think…’ he began.

‘Do you mind if I take a pic?’ she said, picking up her phone and abandoning the devilish Heathcliff next to the cutlery drawer. ‘It’ll be hilarious on Facebook.’

Nathan’s face went rather pale.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked, snapping the picture quickly then moving to take the bunch of potatoes from him. She’d make a little potato salad or something. They could show Scarlett and have a good giggle about it. Then next time, hopefully, the crop would be bigger.

It was their third year of growing and they’d had a few triumphs. But more often and not, their crops had been on the sparse side. They’d learned a lot about when to water and when not to. About hosepipe bans and water butts. Aboutnatural fertiliser and the sort of plants that just won’t grow in their clay-rich soil. Yet still, they were not close to anything resembling self-sufficiency. Sometimes she’d wake up, her heart thundering, wondering what they’d do if they never managed to nail the gardening thing.

So it was nice to laugh, to take a break from worry and turn disaster on its head.

As she reached for the bunch, Nathan moved his arm higher, pulling them out of reach.

‘Nathan!’ she laughed. ‘Come on! I’m going to have to work like a trojan to get those all prepped for lunch!’

Her husband looked at her, the potatoes still out of reach.

‘Do you think we should invite the neighbours to help us finish it all?’ she added, jumping a little, because obviously he was playing some sort of game. Her hand grazed the side of the stalks but she failed to grab one. ‘Nathan! Come on. Stop being an idiot.’

In a sudden move that made her jump, Nathan slammed the potatoes down on the breakfast bar, scattering crumbs of earth and leaves and crushing one of the tiny potatoes in the process. ‘That’s what you think I am, isn’t it?’ he said, in a dark tone that made her look at him with surprise.

‘What?’ she said, uncertain now.

‘You think I’m an idiot.’

‘Don’t be silly – I was just. You were holding them… so…’ she said, unable to read his facial expression and slightly confused.

‘Not that,’ he snapped. ‘Taking the piss out of me, my potatoes.’

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