You Me Everything Read online

  “No. Sorry. Is everything okay?”

  I rub my forehead with the ball of my hand. “Actually, I don’t know.”

  Chapter 62

  Natasha and I split up to look for William. We agree that I’ll try the château, while she heads to Adam’s place—and whatever happens we’ll meet back at the cottage in twenty minutes, because trying to communicate by phone is so unreliable.

  My feet pound along the woodland path as I call William’s name, but I’m rewarded only with silence and the erratic beat of my racing pulse. As I emerge from the trees and sprint to the château, Adam appears at the double doors and can instantly see that something’s wrong. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s William. We had a row, and he stormed off somewhere. Christ knows where he’s gone.”

  He pauses to process this information. “Look, don’t worry, he’s a sensible kid. I’ll come and look for him too. I’ll jump in the golf cart.”

  Adam starts on the opposite side of the grounds, while I take the other path, calling William’s name over and over again, stopping everyone I meet en route to ask if they’ve seen him.

  It’s only when I get back to the cottage and see Natasha standing outside that I hear myself whimper. I break into a faster run, desperate for news. “Don’t panic, Jess,” is all she can offer. “I’m certain he won’t be far.”

  Next we try the woodshed, Becky and Seb’s place and the other buildings near them. We eventually find ourselves back at Les Écuries, as I pace up and down, feeling the sweat cool on my back. A minute later, Adam has still not appeared. So we sit tight, feigning calm as I try to convince myself that he’ll drive round the corner with my son sitting next to him in the golf cart and all will be okay. Natasha looks up, and I follow her gaze to see Adam. Alone. I race towards him as he steps out.

  “No luck.” It’s not even a question.

  He shakes his head, and the expression on his face frightens me. He looks worried too. “I’ve looked everywhere I can in this thing. But he can’t have gone far.”

  “I hope to God he hasn’t done something stupid,” I say.

  “He won’t have,” Natasha insists.

  “You didn’t see how angry he was.”

  “Look, Natasha’s right,” Adam says convincingly. “He’ll have stormed off somewhere and gone to clear his head. I’m going to head to the château to get Ben to help look for him.” He turns to me, his eyes searching mine. “Please, don’t worry.” Then he reaches out, squeezes my fingers and for a small moment, things feel a tiny percentage better.

  “Right, let’s go. Why don’t you two try the woods over to the east that way—I’ll go in the opposite direction. I’ll meet you back here in thirty minutes.”

  “What if we haven’t found him by then?”

  Adam’s jaw clenches. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  * * *

  —

  Natasha is fitter than I am. I know this because she also does Grit classes but actually enjoys them. As far as I’m concerned, each class is like giving birth—so ugly and painful that it’s only when it’s over that you gradually forget how bad it was and consider repeating the experience.

  Despite this, she can barely keep up with me as we sprint through the woods, shouting William’s name.

  Eventually, she shrieks, “Jess!” and I spin round to find her bent double, her elbows on her thighs as she catches her breath. “Jess . . . we need . . . to get back.”

  I look at my watch and realize it’s time to check in with Adam and his search party. As we head back, I register that we’re slower this time, I’m slower, restrained by a wave of negativity. I’m not sure I can bear walking through the opening in that road and seeing Adam outside our front door with no William.

  We return before anyone else.

  “This could be a good sign.” I’m unsure of Natasha’s logic but nod to stop my jaw from trembling.

  Then Adam walks round the corner with another figure, and my stomach swoops. “He’s got him.”

  “Oh, thank Christ.”

  My head rushes with muddled prayers, thanks to God and promises that I’ll be a better person, before I look up and my hopes implode. The person Adam is with is wearing trousers, where William was wearing shorts. He’s too tall, too old, too . . .

  He’s with Ben. It’s not William at all.

  Chapter 63

  An hour and a half after William disappeared, I want to phone the police. As much as I’d like to believe that Adam’s right—he’ll be hiding somewhere in a sulk—this is completely unprecedented.

  Still, the fact that Adam is absolutely convinced William will be fine does help.

  I crave his certainty, asking him to repeat over and over again that this will turn out okay, that he’ll be back here as soon as his iPad withdrawal kicks in. But eventually even he agrees that we should decamp to the château to use a landline and make the call no parent wants to make.

  He has his hand on the door of his office, when Julien, one of the kitchen staff, walks past and says hi. “Est-ce que tout va bien?”

  Adam opens the door and goes to sit down at his desk. “Nous ne pouvons pas trouver William,” he says distractedly, as he begins hammering numbers into the phone.

  “William?” says Julien, turning to me. “I saw him by the lake just now. I went fishing before I started at work.”

  “What? My William?”

  “Yes, he was talking to a guy.”

  Adam slams down the handset. “Let’s go look.”

  We take the golf cart as far as we can before the terrain becomes too much for it. Then we abandon it and all three of us run—me, Natasha and Adam. I can’t remember how long it took us to walk to the lake with Charlie and Chloe that day, but I do know it was a good thirty minutes or more. This time, it seems to take forever.

  By the time we reach the bottom of the hill, I am nearly sick with fatigue. I gallop up the grassy slope, but not as fast as Adam, his legs and arms pumping like pistons until he’s there. I scramble next to him a couple of seconds later.

  And alone next to the lake is a small figure, skimming stones.

  I don’t call out his name; I’m panting too hard, and I feel mute anyway. Instead, Adam starts to stride down the hill. William looks back when we’re halfway down, sees us and turns to face the water again.

  When I finally reach him, I touch his shoulder, spinning him round and pressing him into me, squeezing his ribs against my chest.

  My head pounds with the blistering reminder that I would do anything for this boy.

  “What the hell are you playing at, William?” I can barely get the words out. “Your dad and I have been worried sick. I thought you’d run away. Or . . . or drowned or any number of terrible possibilities. Who was the man you were talking to?”

  He looks at me from under his eyelashes. “Just Charlie. He’d come for a walk with Chloe.”

  My chest contracts, and I force my shoulders to relax. My lip trembles as a tear slips fast down his cheek, then he looks away defiantly. “Sorry,” he fires at me, swiping it away.

  “Promise me you won’t ever do something like this again, okay?” I implore. “Never.” He ignores me, so I turn his chin to face me. “William, promise me.”

  “Okay!”

  My lungs feel as though they might explode. “William, I’m serious.”

  “I know!” he shrieks.

  “Well . . . well, you don’t sound like you know. You sound . . . completely unrepentant.”

  He goes to march away, but Adam touches his hand and stops him. Then I watch him put his big arms around our son, leaving me with the helpless feeling of being an outsider. William begins to cry into Adam’s chest while he strokes the soft tendrils of his hair. “It’s okay,” he whispers, kissing him on the head. “Nothing to worry about. We’re all going to
be fine.”

  Then William looks up at me, his eyes blazing. “No, we’re not, are we, Mum? We’re not going to be fine.”

  I swallow the sandpaper in my mouth. “If this is about going home . . .”

  “It’s not about going home.” He scowls. “It’s about you not being honest. You always said to be truthful. And talk about your problems. But you haven’t told anyone. And I know . . . I know.”

  Chapter 64

  Silently, I try to decipher the meaning behind William’s words. Could I have successfully hidden this secret from so many people except the one I really wanted to conceal it from?

  “Listen, we all need to calm down here,” Adam intervenes, turning to William. “Why don’t you and Natasha head back for a game of Ping-Pong or something while your mum and I have a chat? And no running off, okay?”

  He shakes his head. Natasha smiles tentatively. “I bet you’d be brilliant at Ping-Pong, William. I warn you though, I kick ass myself.”

  “If Ben’s still around, see if he’ll give you some tips, William. He’s the champion around here. Nobody’s beaten him since the start of the season.”

  He hesitates before trudging up the hill with her, clearly deciding that being around Natasha beats hanging out with me right now. Adam sits down and looks towards the lake. I sink onto the ground next to him as a white stork soars to the water, before swooping away. The air smells hot and sweet, the sky richly blue under a high sun and the grass soft as it tickles the back of my legs.

  “That was terrifying,” Adam says.

  Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he puts one arm round my shoulder, pulling me into his side. I let him do it because I can’t bring myself to stop him. It feels too good to be held, too safe and comforting. Nobody has had the ability to comfort me lately, and it’s an unfamiliar and wondrous feeling.

  I become aware that he’s looking at me, and I return his gaze, refusing to object when he leans in to kiss me, the touch of his lips so soft that it takes all my might to pull away.

  “Don’t tell me to stop again,” he says.

  “Well, you need to.”

  And the kisses do stop, but his eyes continue to burn into me. “I’ve fallen for you, Jess. Again. I don’t ever want to stop kissing you.”

  I shiver and focus on the mirrored surface of the lake. “You make it sound simple.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No.”

  Then he leans back on his hands and narrows his eyes. “So what’s this big secret William was going on about?”

  Again, I try to tell him. I know it’s the right thing to do, despite the fact that I don’t think either of us is ready for it. I open my mouth to speak as a warm breeze whispers through my hair and my skin tingles with the feel of the sunshine.

  And I can come up with a million excuses, but really it’s about this: in this beautiful place and time, I don’t want to talk about Huntington’s disease with Adam. I want to kiss him and pretend everything’s okay.

  So I lean in and press my lips against his, luxuriating in the heat from his body as my breasts brush against his warm chest. He sinks into my mouth, greedily returning the kiss, before pulling away. “Okay,” he whispers, brushing hair from my face. “Then if you’re not going to tell me, I return to my original point.”

  “What original point?”

  “That I’ve fallen for you.”

  A trail of breath escapes from my lips. “That’s very lovely, Adam,” I say flippantly, pulling back. “But you’re forgetting a few things. Such as the fact that you’ve ‘fallen for’ every living, breathing woman who’s crossed your path in the last ten years.”

  “Not true.”

  “And that, even if, for argument’s sake, I had feelings for you too—and I’m not saying that this is the case, you understand—”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then I’d be mad to just say, ‘Whoopee! Adam and I can get back together.’ The same Adam who was happy to skip off and enjoy himself when I was struggling with incontinence and cracked nipples.” He winces. “The same Adam who was busy shagging Georgina while I was in agony giving birth.”

  “I did not skip off to enjoy myself. And I didn’t shag Georgina. I’ve told you that.”

  “You moved in with her!” I protest.

  “I mean I didn’t sleep with her that night.”

  I don’t even argue with him. We’ve gone over this conversation too many times to go there again. He pulls away and sighs. “This is still a big thing for you, isn’t it? The fact that I wasn’t there for the birth.”

  “Of course, Adam. It always will be.”

  “It was a big thing for me too,” he insists. “A massive thing. You know I wanted to be there, but—”

  “But you were busy with Georgina.”

  “I was not with Georgina. Well, I mean, I was. I saw her that night, but I didn’t sleep with her or anyone else. I wish you could’ve just trusted me, Jess. Believed me when I said I was in the Northern Tap all night and tried to get back in time, but—”

  “Hang on,” I interrupt. “The Northern Tap?”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “You said it was the Bush Bar. You said you were there all night.”

  He holds his breath, his shoulders stiff with realization. “Did I?”

  “Yes, Adam. You did.”

  “Well . . . why does it even matter where I was? The point is I said I wasn’t sleeping with another woman, and that’s the truth. Why can’t you believe me?”

  “Because it’s completely obvious that you’re lying.”

  “Not about that.”

  “Hmm.”

  He looks away and runs his fingers through his hair, thinking hard. “I can’t win this one.”

  He’s right.

  “Look, it doesn’t even matter,” I continue. “It was a long time ago, water under the bridge. But the point is this: It would be a really bad idea for you and me to get tangled up with each other again, Adam. For a multitude of reasons, not least William.”

  “William would love it.”

  For a moment, I almost tell him the rest. The big reason. The killer reason. The reason that would take any argument he tried to throw at me and stamp on it until it was a bloody pulp. But again, the words stick in my mouth. “At the moment his life is simple. He has a mum and a dad, who aren’t together but who both love him. Why would we selfishly put him back on a roller coaster that could make him the happiest boy alive for a time, and then destroy him if we split up again?”

  His eyes don’t falter. “I’d make sure we wouldn’t.”

  “But Adam,” I argue, “I don’t think that’s a guarantee either of us could make.”

  Chapter 65

  I spend the rest of the evening trying to work out what’s going on behind William’s young eyes, or if his cryptic words just meant something innocuous.

  Finally, I ask him directly as I’m standing on the bottom rung of his bunk, tucking him into bed and steeling myself to have the talk I’ve been dreading since the day my own mother told me about Huntington’s disease. “You said something earlier about me not being honest. What did you mean?”

  He doesn’t look up, instead fixing his gaze on his dog-eared copy of The Maze Runner. “Nothing, Mum. I said it because I was angry. I’m really sorry about running away.”

  “I know, you’ve said. I’m sorry as well. I hate arguing with you. I don’t ever want that to happen again.”

  “Me neither.”

  Given that he’ll be a teenager in three years, I silently question the odds of this and smile to myself.

  “So are we still going home tomorrow?” he asks, pulling the sheet up to his chin.

  I hesitate. “No.”

  His eyes shine. “Not because you pulled a stunt like you did. I just decided we should stick i
t out until we were meant to leave.”

  He grins.

  “The thing is . . . you and I do need to talk at some point though,” I say.

  “What about?” When he looks up at me, the expression on his face makes me stop in my tracks. I ask myself if now, really, is the right time—when he’s got nearly two weeks left of his holiday to enjoy? Am I really going to raise the prospect of my son ending up like his grandma, when he was meant to spend the next seven days relaxing and swimming in the sunshine? I feel as though I’ve had enough drama on this holiday already.

  “I wondered if you had any more questions from your facts-of-life book?” I ask, improvising.

  He develops a studious look on his face. “Not at the moment.”

  Thank God for that. “So did you win at Ping-Pong when you played with Natasha?”

  “Yeah, we got Ben to join in like Dad suggested. He’s amazing at it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, but he kept letting Aunty Natasha win, for some reason. I think they like each other. She should be his girlfriend.”

  “Oh, you think so?”

  “Yep.” He nods, clearly quite proud of his powers of perception. “Or is that other guy—the old one—her boyfriend these days?”

  “Joshua is not that old.”

  “Isn’t he? Ben’s more fun anyway.”

  “All right, Cupid. Time to get some sleep.” He snuggles into bed. “I love you,” I say.

  “I love you more.”

  Then I close the door and promise myself: as soon as we get back, I’ll tell him.

  * * *

  —

  My room is filled with a hazy light the following morning, as I lie listening to the soft whir of the ceiling fan. The end of the holiday is both hurtling towards me and feels forever away.

  Being around Adam is agonizingly bittersweet, my longing for him alloyed with the knowledge that I could have him only under a false pretense. He thinks I’m the same woman I was when we were first together, young, bright-eyed, with a long, healthy future ahead.