Page 79 of The Bordeaux Book Club

But was she brave?she thought, pulling the shutters together and blocking out the moonlight. Was it really brave to shut yourself down? Or was Leah right? Had she been hiding?

She thought about Leah and Nathan – how her friend might be heading for a break-up. How devastating and life-shattering it could be. How, when you put your trust in someone, allowed yourself to love them, you exposed yourself to potential pain.

But George, sensitive soul that he’d turned out to be, was taking a risk too, wasn’t he in getting closer to her? He’d clearly been hurt in the past, but it hadn’t stopped him trying again. And there was something about him. His easy smile, his humour. The way he was naturally curious about things – about the literature they’d read, but also about the various clubs and organisations Grace ran. Stephen had turned his nose up at getting involved, even in his short time in the country, and the one time they’d visited a local gallery had loudly compared it, unfavourably, to the ones he frequented in London.

Anyway, it was only a few shelves, and a drink together in the pub she’d agreed to, she told herself firmly. Not a proposal. A drop in the ocean.

Still, she felt in that moment, as she gave Hector a final stroke and made her way to her bedroom, that somehow, saying yes to an evening with George was more than that. That the tiny stone dropped in water would have ripples that spread out further than she could imagine. That somehow, in saying yes, she’d opened herself up to the possibility of a different kind of future.

33

Perhaps they should have split up – each taken a car. But in the moment, it had seemed sensible to leap into the same vehicle and drive the streets as quickly as they could. ‘Any idea what she was wearing?’ Nathan asked.

Leah shook her head. ‘I don’t think I’ve even seen her today,’ she admitted. ‘Have you?’

He shook his head once.

‘I mean, it’s normal for teenagers to spend a lot of time in their rooms, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I… I think it’s OK that we’ve been giving her a bit of space, isn’t it?’ She thought of the times in recent weeks when she’d considered calling Scarlett down, asking her to give her a hand, then decided against it. She hadn’t wanted to face Scarlett’s distain or complaints or obvious annoyance at being asked.

When Scarlett had first started to pull away from them, Leah had tried hard to involve her. Encouraging her to still help in the garden, to come shopping. Calling her down to the kitchen so they could peel carrots (if there were any available) and chat. And Scarlett had been reluctant, foot-dragging, almost impossible to engage in proper conversation. She’d made Leahfeel rejected, annoying, and made her attempts at conversation feel pathetic.

Leah thought back to herself at fourteen. She remembered clashing with her own mother at times. But she didn’t remember being as prickly, as resentful as Scarlett seemed. And all she remembered about the time her Mum still referred to as ‘that horrible year,’ wasn’t the rebellious exterior her mum had had to face, but how she’d felt on the inside. Not hating people around her as much as hating herself, the new body that she didn’t know what to do with or how to dress, the spots that kept coming and making her feel ugly and disgusting. She remembered how nobody had seemed to understand, that everyone simply judged her and shouted at her.

Had Scarlett been feeling that way on the inside?

She wasn’t sure. And she hadn’t asked. Had stopped asking.

Leah knew in that moment that she’d made a mistake. Because she’d focused too much on how Scarlett madeherfeel – how bereftshewas without the little girl who’d loved her unequivocally, and how dismayedshewas at the older version of her daughter who seemed to sneer at everything she did.

She’d thought about her own feelings when she should have been thinking about Scarlett’s.

Had she actually been neglecting her daughter?

She blinked away her threatened tears. This wasn’t the time for self-pity or recriminations. They had to find Scarlett. Then, well, they could worry about the rest after that.

An idea came to her and she pulled up a blank message on her phone.

‘Who’re you texting?’ Nathan said, signalling and turning out of the driveway.

‘The group,’ she said.

‘Your book group?’ he seemed incredulous.

‘Yes. They’re my friends. And we need all the help we can get.’

34

Monica lay propped up on pillows as Bella – full and satisfied – slept curled on her chest. Peter, lying at her side, smiled at the two of them. She knew what he was thinking – what everyone thought: how idyllic, how timeless. The image of mother and child. He hadn’t seen her on other nights practically tearing her hair out, or bursting into tears over the smallest thing.

‘So, you’re home for…?’ she asked him.

‘Just a couple of days. Got someone to cover,’ he said. ‘Maybe longer, though.’

‘Longer?’

He shrugged, rolling onto his back, hands behind his head. ‘I was thinking about what you said,’ he told her. ‘About being lonely.’

She felt herself flush slightly. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to make you feel… I’m OK, you know?’ she said. ‘It’s OK.’

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