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  When Ben appears to clear away the glasses on our table, she looks up and smiles. They look almost shy in each other’s presence. It’s sweet and excruciating to watch: they’re both dying to say something.

  Thankfully, William jumps out of the water, splatters towards them and puts them out of their misery by breaking the silence.

  “Did you know that a parrot can see behind itself without even moving its head?”

  They both laugh. “I did know that,” Ben tells him.

  “You did a veterinary science degree, didn’t you?” I ask.

  “That’s right. I don’t remember knowing that sort of stuff at your age though, William.”

  “William’s very clever,” Natasha tells him. “He’s on a brilliant and talented list for maths.”

  “Gifted and talented,” I correct her, but neither of them is listening, and William is already plodding back to the pool. I pick up a teacup and ask Poppy if she could fill it up for me, leaving Natasha free to talk to Ben.

  “What are you up to for the rest of the week?” he asks.

  “We’re kind of out of ideas,” Natasha replies, tucking her legs underneath herself. “What do you do on your days off—anything you’d recommend?”

  “I usually drive over to Lac du Causse. You can water-ski there.”

  “Oh, I love waterskiing. I learned in the Caribbean a couple of years ago but haven’t done any since. I’m probably rusty now.”

  “I learned in South Wales. Far more glamorous.”

  They make small talk until it fizzles out and Ben simply looks at her and declares, “If you’re interested, I could take you there tomorrow. It’s my day off.”

  For a moment I’m convinced she’s going to say no, for all the reasons she gave me when we first got here. Because he’s too young, because he lives in France, because this simply can’t lead to the meaningful chapter in her life she’s looking for.

  But as the golden light of the sun rains down on his skin and a breeze twirls the smells of summer all around us, there’s too much magic in this place to listen to reason. “That’d be lovely.”

  His smile illuminates his entire face.

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at ten.”

  As he walks away, she sighs. “I’m my own worst enemy.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” I reply.

  “Well, I am. He’s lovely—but I’m hardly going to end up choosing Habitat crockery with him.”

  “When it’s your time to fall in love, you’ll find your Habitat crockery guy, Natasha. But you just can’t force these things. In the meantime, if I were you, I’d just enjoy waterskiing.”

  “Mummy!” Poppy exclaims, and we look up to see Becky and Seb heading towards us, his fingers threaded through hers.

  “I feel like a new woman.” Becky grins, bending down to give Poppy a kiss. “I had forgotten the sheer luxury of an afternoon nap.”

  “Really appreciate that, you two. It was a real treat. We were shattered,” Seb adds, as he pulls off his top to jump into the pool with the boys.

  As Becky’s features leak into a yawn, she lazily pulls up a lounger and has barely smothered her skin in her almond sun cream before she’s in such a deep sleep that her eyelids are twitching and fluttering with dreams.

  Natasha taps me on the thigh and leans in to whisper to me. “Becky’s out cold—do you think they might be lying that they spent that time having a nap?”

  I suppress a smile and whisper back: “I hope so.”

  Chapter 69

  My dad’s smile seems fainter every time I look at him these days.

  It used to fill his face when he laughed, which he did often. I miss that sound almost as much as my mother’s voice, a voice that once sang lullabies to me when I was a little girl, and soothed my son if he tripped and cut his knee.

  I am in Adam’s office, surrounded by papers, and talking on Skype to my dad, who is trying to reassure me that he’s keeping his chin up. Natasha is water-skiing, and William is off on a fishing trip to the lake with Seb and the other boys.

  “Gaynor came round earlier, so that was nice,” Dad says. Gaynor’s one of Mum’s oldest friends. They went to school together, and although she lives in Peterborough these days, she still makes the effort to visit every couple of months.

  “Oh, how is she?”

  “Very good. She and Barry have just come back from Kenya—they did a big safari with the whole family. They said it was wonderful.”

  “How fantastic.”

  His eyes drift for a moment, and I know what he’s thinking. Mum would’ve loved something like that.

  “I think Gaynor was shocked,” he says.

  “About . . . how Mum is these days?”

  Dad doesn’t answer at first but eventually manages to nod.

  Because he’s with her daily, the changes in Mum are nearly imperceptible to him. They’re so slow and creeping, it’s like watching a dying flower; you can’t see a thing happening when your eyes are fixed on it. It’s only when you step away and return that you can see the withered bloom in its place. And with Mum, there is nothing more unsettling than the devastated faces of friends who haven’t been around her in a while.

  I watch in bleak silence as Dad covers his mouth with a trembling hand, failing to hide his emotion from me, his determination to stay strong wilting under the pressure of all-consuming sadness.

  And it takes this to remind me that he’s not just my dad, and she’s not just my mum.

  They’re two people who’ve held each other up for thirty-five years. The glow of their love has shone through the bad times, the beautiful times and the times that would’ve broken other couples.

  Mum’s decline has been long and drawn out. And, while I know she’s showing no signs of leaving us yet, when it does happen, it will be sooner than any of us are ready to handle. I genuinely don’t know what he’ll do without her.

  “I’m going to come home, Dad,” I decide. “It’d only mean us missing the last week.” I’m saying it not just for her but for him. He can’t do this by himself. As one of the nurses walks past, distracting him, I change the subject before he tries to talk me out of my decision. “Oh, and Adam wants to come back to the UK.”

  Dad looks startled, straightening himself into shape. “Really?”

  “Yes, he wants to spend more time with William.”

  My dad’s fondness for Adam appears in the creases at the side of his eyes. This is about more than just making Mum happy; when the rest of us were furious with Adam, Dad never seemed capable of it.

  “Well, that’s great, Jess. It can only be a good thing, for you and William.”

  “Yes. Though the proof will be in the pudding.”

  Dad’s expression falls slightly. “Are you saying you don’t think Adam will be interested when he gets back?”

  “No, I’m not saying that . . .” But as my voice trails off, I’m still trying to work out what I do mean.

  Then I realize what it is. I’m holding back. I don’t want to believe that Adam is going to transform into Super Dad until I see it happen in real life. Not when we’re here just on an extended holiday.

  “William and I have been let down enough over the years by Adam to know that it might happen again. I hope it won’t, but I’ve got to be realistic.”

  “He won’t let you down, Jess.”

  I smile at him curiously. “I know you’ve always liked him, Dad, but it’s not as though he’s been reliable. Proving yourself as a parent is about more than a few weeks in the sun. He’s still the man who left me in the lurch to sleep with an ex-girlfriend when William was born.”

  Dad sits back. “You thought he was sleeping with an ex-girlfriend?”

  “I know he was sleeping with an ex-girlfriend.”

  Dad swallows. “Your mum said that too, but I’d though
t that was just her jumping to conclusions.”

  “Not at all. It was unforgivable.”

  “But . . . I thought you’d liked having your mum there when William was born.” I can’t help bristling at this conversation.

  “Well, I did, but I’d have preferred both of them,” I say, exasperated. “Adam was the father, after all!”

  He nods, his eyes flitting away. “I just . . . Things were different when you were a baby. Nobody batted an eyelid if the dad wasn’t there.”

  Then he lifts his chin, his chest tight as he stares at me, his mouth twitching anxiously.

  “What’s the matter, Dad?”

  “Jess, I need to tell you something.”

  Chapter 70

  The door next to my dad opens, and one of the nursing staff pops round her head. She’s about fifty and is wearing a name tag I can’t read, and given the fact that I don’t recognize her, I can only presume she’s new.

  “Your wife’s finished her bath now,” she tells Dad.

  “Oh. Right, okay.” He puts down his tablet to open the door. I am soon watching the blurred screen as Mum’s wheelchair is pushed to her room and two nurses proceed to get her onto the bed.

  By the time she’s settled and Dad’s holding up the screen so she can see me, her position doesn’t look even slightly comfortable; she’s stiff and twisted, her limbs like the gnarled branches of a tree.

  “I’ve got Jess on the line, love,” he tells her. “Did you want a chat?”

  She replies with the familiar sound that I know means yes. Aside from the fact that she’s lying down, she looks exactly the same as last time I saw her. Of course, the same as last time isn’t all that good.

  “How are you, Mum?”

  She rolls her head, not answering. “I’m . . .” But her voice trails off before she’s even started the sentence. I wait for a moment to see if she’s going to say something else, but she doesn’t.

  “Mum, I’m coming home early. Things have gone well with Adam and William, and . . . it just feels like I’ve been away too long,” I say. “I would’ve been home earlier, but William wanted to stay, so really, it was him who persuaded me. But I’m just going to have to speak to him again. I mean, he’s ten years old, and it’s not his decision. I needed to be home ages ago, and—”

  “No.” I stop talking as Mum twitches. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what? Come back early? But I want to, Mum.”

  She is silent for a moment, her head dropping, her mouth stretched open. My chest contracts as she tries to speak. But at first there is nothing but silence as my stomach twists helplessly and her mouth refuses to follow her wishes.

  Then she finally speaks, and it’s as hoarse and quiet as it always is these days, but I can make it out as clear as day.

  “Remember.”

  “What, Mum?”

  “Wha . . . I said.”

  Dad reaches out and rubs her arm with his hands, the pads of his fingers tenderly reassuring her. “What do you mean, love?”

  But memories are already bubbling up inside me. I know what she’s talking about. She doesn’t need to say another word.

  * * *

  —

  We celebrated Mum’s forty-eighth birthday on the Venice-Simplon Orient Express. It was only a day trip, but even that nearly bankrupted me—I could never have made it all the way to Venice short of a lottery win.

  It was worth every penny to see her in her favorite silk polka-dot dress as she stepped inside the glamorous vintage interior of that train. The experience was everything I’d hoped it would be: unforgettably luxurious, in surroundings that were the epitome of elegance; crisp damask curtains, opulent oak panels, tablecloths whiter than icing sugar. As the train sliced through the English countryside, we dined on finely dressed lobster and sipped champagne.

  Yes, her legs wobbled as she climbed up the steps, as if unable to hold her own weight. Yes, she twitched and lurched, and people stared as I transferred champagne from the vintage crystal flute into her plastic toddler cup.

  By then, she was already in the fierce grip of the disease—but that day, it didn’t matter.

  The staff was superb. I’d called before we left to let them know about her condition, and they did everything they could to make her day as special as possible.

  She loved every second. The train, the food, being with me.

  Yet there was a moment near the end when she had something she wanted to say, something she wanted me to always remember.

  “Make as many moments like this as you can for yourself, Jess,” she told me. “When life is tough, as it will be for all of us, you have a duty to yourself. To live without regrets.”

  Emotion rose in my chest, but she didn’t want me to say anything. Just listen. “You might think I should be full of regrets, Jess, but I don’t have any. I married a man I love, and I have a child and grandchild I adore, and I’m lucky enough to have spent many healthy years with all of them.” She reached over and clasped my hand. “I am not dying of Huntington’s disease.”

  I snapped up my head. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m living with it,” she said. “There’s a difference. I’m living life as though every day is my last. And until things get really tough, that’s what I intend to do. Think about all the good around me and not what lies ahead. Do all the things I enjoy, just for the hell of it. I’m going to swim in the sea. Bake cakes. Do more dancing.”

  She hesitated. “But you’ve got to remember today and what I’m telling you now. No matter how bad things get for me—no matter what happens to you—you’ve still got plenty of life to live. Remember that, Jess. If you want something, go and get it. Just do it.”

  * * *

  —

  Now, as I look through the screen, tears slip down my cheeks in hot, thick tracks, and I nod. “I remember, Mum.”

  I wait for her to smile, greedy for another moment of connection. But her head turns away, her eyes empty again, as my dad brushes the soft wisps of her hair away from her face and tenderly kisses her cheek.

  Chapter 71

  I am reeling when I step out of the château and grip the edge of the wrought iron door, its heat burning into my palm. It’s not only my mum’s words that force me to focus on what’s important right now, but something else too: what Dad said about Adam and the night of William’s birth.

  The bits I’d remembered—the hours that passed, the lipstick and booze on Adam’s shirt—I’m sure they all happened. But I’d filled in the gaps with my own version of events, imagining a hotel room, Adam’s hands in Georgina’s silken hair, long, drunken limbs entwining, while I was abandoned and vulnerable.

  I could think of only one explanation. Except now an alternative suspicion is growing inside me as I start running, breaking into a sprint across the grounds. I spot Madame Blanchard picking flowers by the edge of the woods and ask her breathlessly if she knows where Adam is. “Back to his cottage, Jess. But you must be quick—he goes to Bergerac soon.”

  By the time I arrive at the cottage, my heart is pounding. When Adam opens the door, he looks so concerned that it takes a moment to compose myself.

  “What’s happened? Not William again?”

  I shake my head. “No,” I pant, snatching breaths. “He’s fine.”

  “Do you need to sit down? You look like you’re about to keel over.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Listen, I’ve got to be at a meeting in Bergerac in an hour, so I need to get going.” He grabs a stack of papers from his dining table. “I’m really sorry, Jess, but can we make this quick?”

  He turns round to stuff the papers into his bag.

  “What really happened on the night of William’s birth?”

  He freezes momentarily, before continuing to organize the sheets, buying himself time. “We’ve had this conversation
two dozen times, Jess. Why would you want to have it again now?”

  “You were with Dad, weren’t you?”

  He doesn’t look up. “I need to get going. But we’ll have a chat later,” he says, stepping out of the door and inviting me outside before he closes it and clicks his car lock.

  “You were out in Manchester and you met Dad and something happened,” I continue. “That’s why you couldn’t get there in time.” But he refuses to engage with me, simply opening the car door.

  “Adam, I want the truth. I can deal with it. And it’s not fair . . . all these years if you’ve been carrying the burden of all this when—”

  “Stop, Jess,” he says firmly, holding up his hand. “I’ll talk to you about this, happily. But I have to go to Bergerac. I’m already late.”

  He steps into the car as my frustration tightens. I’m not going to stand here helplessly as he drives off and avoids an issue I’ve waited ten years to get to the bottom of. I open the car door and climb in. “I’ll come with you. You can tell me on the way.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Who’s looking after William, anyway?”

  “Seb. They’ve gone fishing.”

  He turns the ignition. “Please get out, Jess.”

  I pull the seat belt across me. “Not until you tell me what happened.”

  He looks at the windscreen as a bright blue petal drifts onto the glass. It skips away, dancing into the sunlight as he sighs and turns off the key. “Your dad would never forgive me.”

  “He would,” I reassure him. “In fact, he will—I promise. He nearly told me what happened himself until we were interrupted.”

  He shakes his head, a bead of sweat appearing above his brow. “This is not right. It’d be a betrayal.”

  “Adam, you’re not betraying anyone but yourself unless you tell me the truth.”

  His chest rises as he fills his lungs with air, closing his eyes before he eventually lets it go. Then he begins speaking, unraveling what really happened the night that for so long was central to everything that broke us.