Page 46 of The Bordeaux Book Club

They moved in the direction of Monica’s voice and found themselves in an airy room with impossibly high ceilings, in which almost everything was white – the sofas, the rug on the floor, the walls and the windows which were flung open to reveal a generous balcony.

George was already there, sitting rather awkwardly on the white sofa, and still wearing what were clearly his work boots. He stood up when they entered. ‘Hello ladies,’ he said. ‘Sorry about the state of me. Work’s gone mental and I didn’t have time…’ he gestured at his jeans. Then, ‘Are you sure it’s OK for me to…?’ he asked Monica, pointing at the sofa.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Monica said. ‘Honestly.’ She indicated her own, slightly baggy jeans. ‘I’m covered in baby sick half the time anyway.’

George sank back down, still looking rather uncertain. Leah saw Grace’s eyes flit to the tiny crumbs of dried mud he’d already shed and look just as doubtful. But she remained silent.

Leah took a place on the other sofa with Monica, and Grace sat on the opposite end of George’s sofa. ‘No Alfie tonight?’ Grace asked.

‘He’s on his way, apparently,’ Monica said. ‘Bringing a friend, too. His girlfriend, apparently.’

‘Oh!’ Grace said, looking a little perplexed. Leah wondered whether Alfie ought to have cleared it with Grace first. Although the group was ‘their’ group, it had been Grace who’d started it, and she was a person who liked to know exactly what was going on.

‘Wine?’ Monica asked, making her way to an ornate sideboard, again white, on which sat a tray of glasses and two bottles of red wine.

George looked anxious. ‘You haven’t got any white?’ he asked, the end of the sentence coming out in a bit of a squeak.

Monica laughed – she seemed a little more relaxed than when Leah had seen her before. Perhaps it was to do with her being in her own space. She was wearing an off-white, short sleeved blouse, that looked at odds with her un-ironed jeans. Her skin, smooth and nut brown, looked almost luminous, and her hair hung, glossy and perfectly well behaved, to her shoulders.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I was going to go out and get some white. Some beer too. But…’ she trailed off, a shadow flitting across her face. ‘It’s just hard with Bella. And…’ she trailed off.

‘I’m sure red will be delicious!’ said Grace, loudly, making Monica jump slightly.

‘Oh, yeah,’ George said. ‘It’s not that. Just… clumsy.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Monica said. ‘Everything’s new. I’m not attached to any of it.’ She shrugged as if it simply wouldn’t matter if they sprayed wine across the whole of the flat.

George baulked a little. ‘Well, just a smidge for me,’ he said, holding up his finger and thumb about an inch apart. ‘Just in case.’

Monica poured the wine into a large, crystal glass and handed it to him. He held it nervously, taking a tentative sip. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘Nice.’

‘You think?’ she said. ‘Peter’s favourite.’

‘It’s lovely,’ George confirmed with a nod.

‘And he is where?’ Grace asked, accepting her own glass.

‘Working,’ Monica said with a slight eyeroll. ‘He took on an extra shift so is out for a week longer than planned. I’m beginning to forget what he looks like!’ she gave a grin, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

‘Hello?’ a voice called nervously.

‘Come in!’ Monica called. ‘We’re all here – shut the front door behind you.’

Then Alfie was in the room, in baggy jeans and a hoodie, his hair in disarray. Behind him stood a beautiful woman, her veneer of perfection throwing his scruffiness into even stronger relief. She was dressed in a pair of tight, white jeans teamed with a blue top; her glossy, dark-brown hair was tied in a ponytail and her face was make-up free because why would you need it if you looked like that? Leah thought.

‘Hi,’ he said, smiling slightly awkwardly. ‘This is Camille.’

‘Hi,’ they all said, almost transfixed by the contrast between Alfie and his girlfriend. His messy, awkward style next to her beauty and apparent confidence. His Ed Sheeran to her Beyoncé.

‘Hello,’ she said, in a heavy French accent. ‘I hope you do not mind me joining you? I am trying to improve my English and I read the latest book. And Alfie, he say that you are very kind.’

They all nodded and murmured their welcome and accepted the compliment. Alfie and Camille sat down on separate chairs, brought into the living room for the occasion. Camille reached into a tiny handbag and pulled out a copy ofPride and Prejudice– it was a bit like watching Mary Poppins pull a lamp out of her bag, thought Leah. The neat, leather handbag looked far too small to have contained a book, and yet here it was.

Once they were all settled and armed with half-filled glasses, it was Grace who started them off. ‘Ah,Pride and Prejudice,’ she said, with a little glance at Camille. ‘Our archetypal English novel. Probably most people’s favourite Austen. So, what did we think?’

George sat forward. ‘I liked it,’ he said carefully, ‘but I dunno. I kind of felt sorry for Mrs Bennet.’

Leah looked at him in surprise: Mrs Bennet, the mother of the young women in the book, behaves in both a comedic and ridiculous way for most of the story. If anything, Leah found her borderline annoying – definitely not sympathetic.

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