You Me Everything Page 24

  I tell myself that I’m staying until the end for William’s sake. And, despite everything, the fact that he is so dazzled by his father can only be a good thing. I really believe that now. Even if I have a tiny, niggling worry that Adam might return to his old ways at the end of the holiday. He still behaves more like a buddy than a parent.

  I become aware of voices outside and sit up, trying to work out if it’s Charlie and Chloe.

  I leap up to brush my teeth, wash my face and throw on a beach dress.

  Rehearsing fragments of a speech under my breath, I open the door and step out into the courtyard, full of determination. I follow the voices to the parking area behind Les Écuries, and as soon as I register the absence of Charlie’s car, I realize that all I’ve heard is the couple opposite who checked into one of the cottages yesterday with their toddler.

  I deflate, partly relieved, partly disappointed that I can’t get this talk over with until later today. I return to the courtyard, when I realize that Chloe’s red pool float, the one that was always propped up against the wall, melting in the sun, is gone. The flip-flops next to the door aren’t there. There are no beach towels draped over chairs or citronella candle from the night before.

  I slowly approach the building and press my hands against the glass, peering inside. The living area is empty. The cottage has been vacated, its guests gone.

  Chapter 66

  After all the drama, lying flat on my back and feeling the sun’s rays soak into my legs is a release. The sound of Becky and Seb’s boys bickering is the only impediment to complete peace until, in a bid to separate them, I suggest that William take Rufus to see if they can persuade any other kids to play a game of soccer. James stays behind to flick through Natasha’s copy of Glamour.

  I am about to top up my sun cream when the two boys trudge back. I try gently to quiz William to see if he’s being given a hard time again, but he shrugs and tells me his dad said he’d be coming out to have a dip with him soon. Adam arrives ten minutes later, and I deliberately avert my eyes as he strips off by the pool.

  “I wonder when Poldark is coming back on TV?” Natasha muses, pushing down her sunglasses to scrutinize Adam’s physique.

  Becky chuckles and pauses from wrestling a sun hat onto Poppy. “Whatever made you think of that?” she says, nudging me. “No wonder you had a nice time with him the other night, Jess.”

  I sink down into the sun lounger to focus on my paperback again, trying to stop myself from glancing above the pages.

  Then I wonder why I’m bothering. Why don’t I just allow myself to look at Adam, William and everything else in front of me? I lower my book and let my eyes drift to the ribbons of light sparkling on the pool. The damp-haired children in floaties, licking fluorescent ice lollies and pouring chlorinated water into teacups before presenting them to their mums. The sound of my son’s helpless laughter as Adam splashes him and William responds by dunking him under. A surreal sense of calm overcomes me, a feeling—no, a reminder—of how much good there is in my life; how much beauty and sunlight and laughter.

  “Aunty Natasha,” James pipes up, “you look really brown.”

  Natasha looks at her arms and leans in. “It’s fake tan, sweetheart, but don’t tell anyone.”

  “Can I have some?”

  “No,” Becky laughs.

  James frowns. “Did you have it when you were a little girl, Aunty Natasha?”

  “No, sweetheart. It hadn’t been invented when I was little.”

  He flicks over another page of her magazine. “What else didn’t they have in the olden days?”

  Natasha chokes on her Diet Coke.

  “Well, hello!” Josh is standing above us with a lighthouse grin, his polo shirt pulled tight across his belly.

  Natasha looks up and smiles. “Pull up a chair.” She pats the seat next to her, and he sinks in, spreading his knees as widely as possible.

  “You all look fabulous today,” he declares, and Becky widens her eyes at me.

  As Josh leans in to Natasha and they start talking, I notice Ben on the other side of the pool, cleaning the barbecue and looking over. The disappointment on his handsome face makes me glance at Joshua, wondering what it is that Natasha is trying to convince herself she sees in him.

  Becky leans in to me. “He can’t stop looking,” she whispers, popping a walnut into her mouth.

  “Ben? I know.”

  “Not Ben. Adam,” she mumbles.

  My head snaps to the pool, where he’s standing, his eyes on us. I glance away.

  “You know . . . you two were really good together once.”

  I fix a stern gaze upon her. “Becky, stop it.”

  I turn to Natasha and Joshua to try to join in on their conversation instead. “I know it’s all the rage these days, but why in public?” Joshua appears to be talking about breast-feeding. “I can’t stand all these do-gooders who argue that it’s a ‘normal human function.’ So is having a crap, but you don’t see me squatting down and doing that in front of everyone.”

  Becky pulls a face. “That’s hardly comparable with feeding a baby. Giving them a meal, you know.”

  “What’s wrong with bottles?” he argues. “Or at least going into a toilet cubicle to do it.”

  A debate ensues between Becky and Joshua, in which it’s clear he’s not going to back down until his views have been rammed so far down everyone’s throats they’re almost gagging. And it’s equally clear that Natasha wishes with all of her heart that he would shut his trap.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” I say, “but I’m going to head back.”

  Becky leaps on the opportunity. “Oh, I’ll come too.” Then she looks to the pool, where Seb is playing with Poppy and Rufus. “Seb, I’m making a move to have a shower before dinner. I’ll take the kids with me so you can have a swim if you like?”

  “No, it’s okay,” he replies. “I’ll bring these two back when they’re ready.”

  William stays with Adam, while Becky holds James’s hand and the three of us meander towards the woodland.

  “Interesting conversation with Joshua,” I murmur.

  She rolls her eyes. “That’s one way of describing it. He’s awful.”

  Then she glances back at Seb, as he throws Poppy up in the air and she howls with infectious laughter that makes both of us chuckle.

  I realize as we start walking again that Becky is smiling to herself.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “I picked a good one there, didn’t I?”

  I shake my head and laugh.

  “What?” she asks, bemused.

  “I went to all the trouble of babysitting to try and reignite your passion for your husband, when all it really needed was five minutes in Joshua’s company.”

  She laughs.

  “Surely you didn’t need to compare Seb to him to work out how fantastic your husband is?”

  “Don’t be silly,” she tuts, then flashes me a sideways grin. “It did help though.”

  Chapter 67

  The following day, William and I pack a rucksack full of sandwiches, roast chicken crisps and Day-Glo sweets before driving to the Vézère Valley for a hike with a tour group. Going with an official guide felt like a good way to get some exercise, without the risk that I’d get us both lost up a mountain. He’s lukewarm about the idea until we get there, when his newfound sense of adventure quickly gets the better of him. Soon, he’s scrambling into dank, glistening caves and crunching along stony mountain pathways where birdsong fills our ears and wildflowers peek out of the rocks.

  We take a rest at the top of a slope, perching on the crags in the hazy heat to rehydrate and give our legs a break. William finishes his apple and hands me the core. “Am I still going to be your personal walking bin when you’re twenty-one?” I rummage in my rucksack for a plastic bag.

&nb
sp; “Better than throwing litter.” He grins sheepishly.

  I wrap up the apple core and stuff it in the bag. “I was thinking: why don’t I come along to watch you play soccer tonight?”

  His expression is not filled with unbridled joy at this idea. “Then they’d just think I needed my mum to defend me.”

  “Okay, then I wouldn’t say anything. If I was simply there to watch, you know, with my badass face on . . . I bet things would be different.”

  He looks unsettled by my choice of language. “I’m not even that good at soccer anyway.”

  “Oh, come off it. You’ve become brilliant this holiday,” I argue, which I admit is pushing the point slightly.

  “Can we talk about something else?”

  I finish my chocolate and take out a tissue to wipe my hands. “Okay, what?”

  He thinks for a moment. “How about politics?”

  And so we embark on another conversation that’s so like a piece of Channel 4 News reportage that I feel ill-equipped to take part until I’ve got a proper 4G reception and Google to help.

  “I’ve decided what I want to be when I grow up,” he concludes, as we start heading down the mountain.

  “Oh, what?”

  “I’m going to work in refugee camps, to help people there. I might be a doctor.”

  I put my arm round his shoulders. “That would make me incredibly proud. But I’d be proud of you whatever you do.”

  “Yeah, of course. It might not happen anyway. I might become a model instead.”

  I start coughing, until he flashes me an indignant look and I thump my chest as if a piece of undigested apple is responsible. “Right.”

  “Dad says I’m good-looking enough,” he continues. “He said he wasn’t as handsome as me when he was my age, so I’d definitely be able to do it.”

  When we arrive back at the cottage an hour or so later, William’s first instinct as we walk through the door is to pick up the iPad. He’s stayed away since our blowout, presumably not wanting to draw attention to the threat of my six-decade-long ban.

  “Don’t go on that,” I tell him. “We’re eating at Becky’s tonight, so you need a shower before we head over.”

  “Okay, Mum. Just a minute.”

  I’m about to challenge him, when the door opens and Natasha walks in.

  “Hi there. Have you been out with Josh today?”

  She flashes me a glance. “No. I’m kind of avoiding him.”

  “Oh. You’ve gone off him then?”

  She nods despondently. “He ticked all the boxes apart from the one that said: ‘Must not act like an arsehole.’”

  “Sorry, Natasha.”

  “Oh, don’t be,” she says, dismissively. “He’s going home tomorrow, and London’s big enough for me to never see him again. At the end of the day, he was just some bloke who fancied himself rather too much.”

  “Why are my ears burning?” We look up and see Adam at the door.

  “Not you,” Natasha laughs. “Right, I’m going to grab my sweater and head to Becky’s. You coming?”

  “William needs a shower first. Don’t you, William?” I say pointedly.

  “Yes. Coming,” he mumbles, failing to move.

  As Natasha goes to the bedroom for her sweater, I realize Adam is looking at me. “Did Becky mention I can’t come tonight because I’ve got to drive over for a dinner meeting in Montignac?”

  “She did.”

  I glance over at our son. “William,” I say, through gritted teeth. He doesn’t answer. “WILLIAM!”

  “Just a minute, Mum.”

  I consider myself to be a reasonable person, but this is ridiculous. “I’ve already given you a minute. In fact, I’ve given you a lot more than a minute.” I march over, remove the iPad from his hand and switch it off.

  “Noooo!” he yells, reaching out his hand like Kate Winslet on that raft in the closing scenes of Titanic.

  “I’ve asked you at least five times. Don’t ruin the lovely day we’ve had.”

  “Okay! I’ve lost now,” he mutters.

  He stands up and goes to head to his bedroom.

  “William. Hang on a minute.” Adam’s voice is definitely Adam’s voice, but I can’t say I recognize it. William spins round. “Don’t talk to your mum like that.”

  My son’s cheeks bloom with red blotches, his eyes frozen with shock.

  “Nobody should have to ask you to do something that many times,” Adam continues. There’s the hint of unease in his voice, as if he’s not entirely sure he’s doing this right. “How would you feel about it if the rest of us did that with you?”

  William shrugs stiffly.

  “So don’t do it, okay?”

  A cornucopia of emotions fight for space on William’s face: first defiance, embarrassment, then quiet mortification and regret. “I’m sorry, Mum.”

  I nod. “Okay. Now go and jump in that shower.”

  Then I add, “Thank you,” as Adam leaves the room.

  Natasha touches my elbow before he can respond. “See you over there. Will you be long?”

  “Ten minutes,” I reply, and she heads to the door and shuts it behind her as I realize that Adam looks agitated.

  “Can we go outside for a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  We step out as the sun is low on the horizon, casting a golden glow on the ribbons of wildflowers in the field beyond. He sits down first, and I deliberately choose a chair that’s not next to his, for the simple reason that being in close proximity to him these days is too exquisite and unbearable.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about the future of this place. And, I don’t want to make any promises yet to William because I haven’t boxed everything off . . . plus there would be a lot to do before I could make it happen . . .”

  “Adam, what are you trying to say?”

  “I want to come back and live in the UK.” He fixes his dark eyes on me, awaiting my reaction. But I’m too stunned to reply, so he continues. “I think there’s a way I can make it happen. It won’t be straightforward, and it won’t be immediate, but it’s a solution.”

  I let the words sink in before my head bubbles with questions. “What about this place? And what would you do for a living?”

  A small laugh escapes from his lips, as if he doesn’t need reminding about these monumental issues. “I mentioned I’ve had someone interested in buying this place for some time now, but I’ve always said no. The business is successful, but I’m still in debt after all the work that’s been done over the years, and now was supposed to be the time when I started making some of that money back . . .” His voice trails off. “The point is, I started looking into it seriously, and the numbers sort of add up. Just. Or, kind of anyway. And even if they don’t, it doesn’t matter, because at least if I got a job back in Manchester again, I’d be near William and be able to help you. To do this together. Be a parent, I mean.”

  Thoughts begin colliding in my head, but I can’t turn them into words.

  “I’m not saying I expect anything from you, Jess,” he continues, his eyes flickering to the ground. “I respect what you’ve said about not wanting to be involved with me again . . . at least on that level.” Then he looks up, certainty etched on his expression. “But I want to be in William’s life. I want to go to the parents’ evenings and take him to his school clubs. And I’ll do anything I can to make that happen.”

  I realize how unfeasible this once would’ve felt.

  When I arrived in France, I was perpetually pissed off with Adam, challenging him to be a better father without ever believing he’d succeed. I wanted to do as Mum asked simply so I could tell her I’d done as she wished. I was going through the motions, convinced without saying as much that he’d fail. Only he hasn’t failed. He’s surpassed expectations. But I’m afraid he still doe
sn’t have a clue that he’s taking on a lot more than the school run.

  Chapter 68

  Reassured that the sky didn’t cave in last time, Becky again agrees to hand over her children to Natasha and me the following day.

  “Are Mum and Dad going on another date?” James asks.

  “Actually, they’re going to have a sleep,” Natasha replies.

  “Why would they want to do that? Sleep’s boring.”

  “They’ve both been awake since 5:45 a.m., so I think they’d disagree,” I tell him.

  Poppy protested her parents’ disappearance with a forceful burst of tears, which ceased the second they disappeared. Now, she sits with William and has completed four jigsaws, read two stories and hiccoughed with laughter at an episode of The Simpsons on the iPad, as if she has the faintest idea what’s going on.

  The older two boys are also in good form, though there’s some confusion when Rufus tries to fill us in on details of their visit to Domme yesterday.

  “Mummy had a crap,” he tells us earnestly.

  “No, she didn’t,” James snorts.

  “She did! She had a really big one and said she enjoyed it so much she wanted another one straightaway.”

  “You’re a liar,” James mutters.

  “I’m not! You had one too—with strawberry ice cream on it.”

  “Do you mean . . . a crepe?” Natasha deduces.

  “Yes. A crap. It was yummy.”

  After an hour, the brilliant blue of the sky and high sun tempts us to the pool. The heat is less oppressive than yesterday, the air crisper and clearer, and filled with the scent of the little lemon-colored flowers that tumble from the pots against the château walls.

  William, wearing permanently steamed-up goggles, plays in the water with Rufus and James. They amuse themselves by throwing in dive sticks, then scrambling after them.

  Natasha, meanwhile, lies on her front in a halter-neck bikini, her crimson-painted toes hanging over the sun lounger, as she has a tea party with Poppy with a mini watering can and a couple of tumblers.