Page 87 of The Bordeaux Book Club

He tentatively reached for her. ‘Well, once we’ve sold our place and found something more… suitable. Less garden, more house. More central maybe. Whatever suits you. Both of you,’ he said, reaching an arm for Scarlett too. ‘You can do whatever you want to do.’

‘I’m not sure what that is,’ Leah said.

‘But you’ll have the space to figure it out, once I’m earning,’ he said. ‘Quit the copywriting. Help me with the paper if you want. Or do something completely different.’

‘I just don’t know,’ she said.

‘Oh.’

‘It’s fine. It’s good,’ she said, the start of a smile forming on her tired face. ‘I might not know what I want to do. But I definitely know what I don’t want.’

‘No more radishes?’

‘No more radishes.’

‘No more carrots.’

‘Enough with the bloody carrots.’

‘And no more Gollum?’

‘Definitely,’ Leah said, this time with real passion. ‘Definitely no more bloody Gollum!’

A passer-by on the street might have wondered what had made the family stop the car, put on the hazards, get out and stand as a trio on the pavement. What had prompted them to move together and disappear into a hug in the shadows on a road in Bordeaux at almost two in the morning.

But at that moment, in that random place, at a stupid time of the night, Leah felt that they were all exactly where they ought to be.

Moments later, with a slight screech, Grace pulled up next to them and got out of the car. ‘Is everything alright?’ she said, sounding breathless. Her hair was in disarray, her eyes looked slightly red. And she was wearing leggings. Leah had never seen Grace anything other than immaculately turned out. She must have rushed out of the house the minute she’d got the message.

‘Yes,’ she said, hearing a sob in her voice. ‘Yes. She’s… we’re fine. I was about to call.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ Grace said. ‘I’m just thankful you’re all OK.’

‘I’d better ring George.’

‘Leave it with me,’ Grace said, moving back towards her car.

‘Thank you, Grace. I really am grateful…’

‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘Honestly.’ She smiled. ‘But I’ll leave you to it now.’ Moments later, her car passed, as she moved off into the darkness towards home.

‘Was she looking for me too?’ Scarlett said. ‘That’s a bit embarrassing.’

‘No, it’s not,’ Leah said. ‘It’s actually quite wonderful.’

39

Leah climbed the three concrete steps and pushed open the glass door. Inside, the building was quiet – the hush that comes before a funeral. Music played from a small speaker in the corner – light, classical, unobtrusive. Nathan wrapped his hand around her back and gave her a little squeeze. ‘You alright?’ he said.

Another glass door off the entrance opened into a bright, light room with wooden chairs set out in neat rows either side of a carpeted aisle. Her eyes rested for a moment on the light, wooden coffin with its small, white, floral garland, then moved to the front row where Alfie – his hair newly cut, ears sticking out like a small boy’s – was standing, wearing an oversized black jacket, his shoulders hunched.

Camille was next to him, her hair shimmering down her back. She wore black jeans and a white shirt and, as the door sighed back into place behind Leah and Nathan, she looked around and gave them a small, tight smile.

On Alfie’s other side was Grace, shoulders back, hands by her sides, wearing a black shift dress. To her right, George, who’d managed somehow to find a pair of jeans that weren’t paint-splattered and had brushed some sort of gel through his hair.

Ten days ago, when Alfie’s mum had died, it was Grace he’d rung to ask for help the following morning. ‘I’m not sure what to do,’ he said. ‘Obviously, Camille’s here and being amazing, but I need…’

‘Of course,’ she’d said. ‘Of course.’

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