Page 84 of The Bordeaux Book Club

‘I’m here, Mum,’ he said, going to her side. He sat on the small chair at the side of the bed and reached for her hand. ‘Is it the pain?’ he asked. ‘Are you thirsty?’

She shook her head, a small smile on her lips. ‘You’re a good boy,’ she told him. ‘The best boy.’

‘Only because of you,’ he told her. ‘Only because of everything you did.’

She shook her head again. ‘No, Alfie. Because ofyou.’

He squeezed her hand gently. ‘Can I get you anything?’

Another shake of the head. The small smile playing on her lips. ‘Just you,’ she said.

‘OK.’ He leaned back slightly in the chair to make himself more comfortable. He’d stay until she was sleeping.

‘You know, when I found out I was pregnant with you, I said the f-word,’ she said, quietly.

‘You did?’ he grinned. It was impossible to think of his Mum swearing. Had he ever heard her?

‘Yeah. I mean I was only eighteen, not much different from you now. And you know, I didn’t think I was ready.’

‘Oh, Mum,’ he said.

‘I was wrong,’ she said. ‘Your dad wasn’t ready. He soon scarpered. And my mum let me know exactly what she thought of it all. You know that. But I was ready. Or, you made me ready. When you were born, it was like everything else fell away. This little baby I had to take care of. And I swore to you then that I’d do everything in my power to keep you safe. To keep you from the life that I’d had. That your grandparents had.’

‘I know, Mum. And you did,’ he said.

‘They’re not good people, Alfie.’

‘I know, Mum.’

‘And we’ve been happy here, haven’t we?’ she said, one eyelid flickering. ‘All those summers by the river, that trip to Paris. It’s been good.’

‘It’s been—’ he said, feeling suddenly as if he couldn’t catch his breath. ‘Mum, it’s been wonderful. I’m… it’s still wonderful.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘About?’

‘Having to look after me. At your age. It isn’t right.’

He smiled. ‘Mum, you looked after me at the same age. And I’m willing to guess that was a lot harder.’

The smile on her lips broadened slightly. ‘You’re not wrong,’ she said. A little laugh or cough escaped her.

They fell into silence again. For a moment, he thought she’d fallen asleep. Then she opened her eyes slightly and looked at him. ‘Alfie?’ she said, and her voice was hesitant. A little like a child’s. Confessional, somehow.

‘Yes, Mum?’

‘I don’t think I’m going to make it, Alfie.’

He sat up. ‘You are, Mum,’ he said. ‘We’ve got the trial next month. And you know there’s been promising results from immunotherapy. And the doctor said?—’

But she was shaking her head.

And suddenly, he realised what she was saying. Realised it viscerally, in every cell of his body.

‘Oh,’ he said.

‘I’m so sorry, love,’ she said.

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