You Me Everything Page 28

He shrugs. “Optimism.”

  My chest tightens, but I refuse to let the tears out. I refuse to do anything but hold myself together. Keep the floodgates shut, Jess. Don’t let them open.

  “I really don’t think you need to worry, Mum,” William continues, so brightly that I’m not sure I can bear to look at his shining eyes and the soft, young skin on his cheeks. “Scientists are working on a cure. They’re bound to find something soon. There’s been research in San Diego and in London where they’ve tested drugs on mice. That must really suck if you’re a mouse, obviously. But in some cases they’ve made the sick animals better. So if that ends up working in humans too, it’ll be worth it.” I’m unable to release the air from my lungs, so I just nod. “I might become a scientist when I’m older so I can find a cure for it, if they haven’t already.”

  “That would be great, William.”

  “I might still want to be a model though,” he adds, as if to say, So don’t get your hopes up.

  Adam catches my eye.

  “I’m not scared, Mum,” William continues. I don’t know if he instinctively knows what I need to hear, but he does.

  “Good. I’m not either,” I reply, so forcefully that for the small moment before the waiter appears with our meals, I actually believe it. “But what I am is absolutely starving.”

  I pick up my knife and fork and start cutting into my duck breast, concentrating on the contents of my plate, rather than Adam. I know he’s silently imploding as he listens to this, his son and me, discussing our curse in the starkest terms. My fate is already sealed. Between us, we can only pray it’s kinder to William.

  “Anyway, Dad,” he continues. “You didn’t tell us what facts you know.”

  Adam snaps out of his trance. “Oh. Oh yeah, you’re right. Okay.” He thinks for a moment. “I know that the line ‘I have a bad feeling about this’ is said in every Star Wars movie.”

  William looks impressed. “I know that puffins mate for life.” He scrunches up his nose, now less impressed.

  “And I know . . .” Adam falters, then looks up at me. “I know that you and your mum are the two best people in the world.”

  Chapter 78

  “MUMUMMMMMYMMUMMY!”

  I step outside the cottage to see Becky hobbling towards us, Poppy clutching her leg and sobbing. Eventually, Becky pauses and picks her up to carry her, wrapping her daughter’s little legs round her waist.

  “It’s Pink Bunny,” Becky explains, kissing Poppy on the forehead but entirely failing to quell her distress. “I was starting to actually feel relaxed on this holiday, but losing Pink Bunny is a catastrophe I hadn’t prepared for. Did we leave it here?”

  “I don’t think so,” I say sympathetically, which prompts Poppy to start wailing. Becky sits her down on a chair, before marching round the side of the cottage, then back again. She looks under the bench, inside the door, under the cushions of our sofa, then back outside behind the door.

  “Somebody looking for this?” Natasha appears at the threshold, holding Poppy’s beloved toy.

  “BUNNY!” Poppy scrambles off the chair and dives towards her.

  “You left her at the table over breakfast. I was going to bring her over to you.”

  Tension visibly drains away from Becky, and she wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’m forever indebted.”

  “No problem. She was just on a little holiday, wasn’t she, Poppy?”

  “You’re a good girl, Aunty Natasha,” Poppy declares, and Natasha looks surprisingly chuffed with this praise.

  “Hi, everyone.”

  We look up as Ben crunches across the courtyard, sun glistening in his salty hair, the smell of citrus clinging to him as he approaches. “I wondered if you fancied a walk, Natasha?”

  “That’d be lovely.” She smiles.

  Natasha and Ben head towards the woodland looking like two shy teenagers as Becky’s eyes follow. “It’s a shame those two are a nonstarter.”

  “Hmm. He’s apparently moving back to London but didn’t tell her.”

  “Really?” She looks as surprised as I was.

  I nod. “I can’t really work that one out, can you? I kept thinking about it after I found out.”

  I glance at the table and realize a text has arrived on my phone.

  “Oh God,” I groan, opening it up. “It’s from Charlie.”

  “What does it say?” Becky asks.

  I scan the words and smile as I hand it over to show her.

  Sorry I didn’t say good-bye, but we made an impromptu decision to go and stay with friends in Carcassonne for a few days before heading home. I enjoyed meeting you, Jess. Enjoy the rest of your stay, Charlie x (p.s. I’ve ditched my cardigan!)

  She passes it back to me, her hand over her mouth, while I simply cringe.

  * * *

  —

  Later that evening, William skips ahead as Natasha and I walk through the woods towards Becky and Seb’s place. He’s carrying a large bag of sweets, while I have a bottle of champagne I picked up earlier in the supermarket. I’ve even dressed up slightly for our final night, but only because Natasha spotted my pretty yellow dress on top of my luggage and insisted I wear it.

  Since then, she hasn’t stopped talking.

  “Ben had been worried about telling me he’s moving to London,” she beams, unable to hide her delight. “He’d been avoiding the issue because he was actually concerned that I’d think he was some kind of stalker, that I’d think he’d decided to follow me after our fling.”

  “From what Adam says, he’d always been planning to move there after the end of the season. I take it you’ve arranged to get together when you get back?”

  “We’re meeting for a drink, yes.” A quiet smile spreads across her face. “Oh, I still think he’s too young—”

  “But you like him, and he likes you.”

  “Well, yes,” she says tentatively.

  “Natasha, I know you’re looking for Habitat Crockery Man, but you and Ben have chemistry, age gap or not. And you never know . . . maybe one day you will be buying plates together.”

  “One step at a time, Jess.”

  I suppress a smile. “I’m sure that’s meant to be my line.”

  We’re having a barbecue for our final evening. It feels like a fitting end to the summer, a low-key dinner, like so many of those we’ve had for the last few weeks. One in which the kids play Frisbee, the adults play cards and we can all relax in the company of good friends. Friends who are loyal, funny, who might squabble, but whom I love regardless.

  We arrive to find the air filled with the smoky scent of the barbecue, its glowing embers radiating heat onto Seb’s face as he chats with Ben.

  “Oh damn, I forgot the sausages,” I realize, slapping my forehead.

  Becky grabs me by the arm before I can turn back. “You don’t need sausages.”

  “But they’re artisan,” I protest.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does—they cost a bomb. I’m convinced they’re from the most privileged pigs in France.”

  Natasha scoops her arm through my elbow. “You don’t need sausages, or supermarket champagne, or anything else. Not where you’re going.”

  “What do you mean?” I frown.

  “You’re leaving,” she replies.

  “I’m not.”

  “I’m afraid you are.”

  Then suddenly Adam is in front of me, car keys in his hand. He is dressed in a black shirt, top button open, with slim charcoal trousers that sit low on his hips, his hair still slightly tousled from the shower. He’s the kind of handsome that makes your breath hover in your throat.

  “What is going on? Is this some sort of a conspiracy?”

  “Yes!” William exclaims, and I realize I really don’t stand a chance.

  * * *
>
  —

  As I sit in the passenger seat of Adam’s car, I’m not really contemplating where we’re going or why. I can only think about how he’ll always have the ability to dazzle me, surprise me, set my heart alight.

  “I give in: where are you taking me?”

  He glances across. “We’re going caving.”

  “I hope you are sodding joking,” I reply.

  His face breaks into a luminescent smile. “I am sodding joking.”

  I laugh. “Good.”

  As Adam’s car sweeps through the countryside, I turn off the air-conditioning and open the window, closing my eyes as the breeze caresses my skin.

  “You okay?” Adam asks. He goes to touch my hand, then stops and withdraws.

  “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “We’re here now,” he replies, as he turns the car down a sweeping driveway.

  Chapter 79

  A neat signpost reading “Château La Pradoux” greets us, along with the voluptuous scent of thyme and wisteria.

  We creep along the graveled drive towards two high iron gates, as a rosy sky glows through their swirling filigree patterns. Beyond them, the château rises from the green hills, perched high upon a smooth terraced lawn.

  Adam steps out of the car to open the door for me and walks round as I’m fumbling with my handbag. “Isn’t this place your competition?” I ask.

  “More like our inspiration. Though there are no kids here, and they’ve got a Michelin star. As good as Ben’s burgers are when he’s on barbecue duty, I think we’re some way from that.”

  “So why are we here?”

  “I thought it’d be good to talk about stuff. There’s obviously a lot to discuss, and—”

  “Adam, let’s not. I don’t want to talk about that anymore.”

  His shoulders relax. “Good, because I was lying. I just wanted an amazing dinner on our final evening. And I’ve heard they do a mean lamb shank.”

  He offers me his arm. I link it, smiling to myself at the thought that we look straight out of Downton Abbey.

  A waiter greets Adam by name and shows us inside. Every element of the Renaissance architecture has been masterfully and lavishly preserved. We step across a polished floor, through a sumptuous reception room with tall crystal vases of blousy peonies and blossoming lilies. We’re led up a stone staircase towards a restaurant that is candlelit and quiet, with only a smattering of diners. When we reach the door to the terrace, Adam takes me by the hand, threading his fingers through mine.

  We’re shown to a table on the edge of the terrace, overlooking the clipped gardens and rambling vines, the perfect spot to watch the sun sinking beneath the hills.

  “I’ve got to hand it to you, Adam: you know all the best places.”

  He allows a flicker of a smile as the waiter reappears with a wine list. I watch as Adam scans it, his eyes intense as they read downwards, then he catches me looking at him. The corner of his mouth turns up, and I glance away.

  The prices on the menu are notable for their absence, a sure sign that this is the stuff of a second mortgage. Adam translates, and I’m happy to let him order as the light in the sky starts to fade to a blackberry hue.

  “You look absolutely beautiful,” Adam says, taking me by surprise. “Sorry. I had to let you know.”

  I take a sip of wine to hide the warmth in my cheeks and remind myself to thank Natasha for insisting on the yellow dress later.

  The food is sublime, and although we don’t drink a lot, I feel drunk on the night—on the surroundings, the reminiscing, being here with him. And the strange and lovely feeling of security; the certain knowledge that I can rely on this man when it comes to William.

  And we have some serious laughs. About the neighbor who lived below us in Manchester who used to dry his underpants out of the bedroom window. About the time we came in from a night out and he—romantically—tried to carry me up the stairs but banged my head on the ceiling and nearly gave me a concussion.

  “Do you remember the first time I told you I loved you?” he asks.

  I stiffen at the question, reminding me that we were once so much more than we can be now. “It was after Patrick Goldsmith’s party,” he says, as I twist the napkin under the table.

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “We’d got caught in the rain on the way home and had to make a run for it. By the time we got back you had mascara down to your chin, your hair was plastered on your face and your nose was blue.”

  “I’m glad you remember all the best details.”

  He laughs. “I do. Because I remember still thinking you were gorgeous. And I just had to say it. That I loved you.”

  I squirm. “You don’t need to remind me of that, Adam. I’ll be okay, you know. I’ll cope with all this,” I tell him, because if I say it enough, perhaps I’ll eventually believe it.

  “I know that. That wasn’t what I was talking about.”

  I swallow. “What were you talking about?”

  He inhales and then starts talking. “When I knelt, semi-naked on the bed, and asked you to marry me—”

  “You were naked,” I correct him. “Not semi-naked. Naked.”

  “Whatever. It was a crap proposal. I knew even as I was saying it that you deserved better. I had to tell you how I felt. And the point I’m trying to make is this: the fact that you’ll one day have Huntington’s disease doesn’t change anything.”

  My chest tightens.

  “Not a single thing,” he continues. “I’d love you if you lived a long and healthy life or a shorter, more challenging one. You’re still going to be the same woman I fell for years ago.”

  My head rushes with blood until I realize that Adam is speaking and all of a sudden he’s on one knee and the bloke behind us has almost choked on his filet de rouget.

  “Jess. Will you marry me?”

  I cannot speak.

  “Oh. Forgot something,” he continues, reaching into his pocket, pulling out his hand, then starting to pat both sides down as a look of panic engulfs him. The couple on the next table is enraptured. Even the pianist is faltering, missing the odd key.

  “Oh my God, I’ve lost it!” he mutters.

  Then he pauses as if he’s remembered something and reaches into the top pocket of his shirt. I can feel my heart thrumming against my breastbone. “I put it there so I wouldn’t forget where it was.”

  “That worked.”

  I’m quipping because I can’t think of any words. Real words. Only he holds it out: a diamond ring, radiant in the candlelight. It’s gorgeous. I try not to look at it too much, because I know I can’t let myself get swept along with all this because of the ring . . . But for the record, it’s incredible. I’m not talking big, or flashy, just beautiful—platinum, I think, with a single diamond cut into the shape of an almond.

  But this is not about the ring. It’s not about the tremble in his hand and the luster on his inky brown eyes. It’s not even about the fact that I want to say yes. It’s about something bigger.

  “Adam . . . we can’t do this,” I say.

  Both of us become uncomfortably aware that the whole restaurant is looking. “Why don’t you get up?”

  He glances around self-consciously and edges back into his seat.

  He looks mortified.

  I hate myself for that, but I also know I’ve got no choice.

  Chapter 80

  “Adam, you don’t realize what you’re asking.”

  He waits for me to elaborate.

  “If you’d seen the state my mum was in these days, you couldn’t possibly sit here . . . kneel here . . . and ask me to marry you.” I feel my teeth clenching hard, before I find the strength to continue. “She can’t speak properly, Adam. She can’t walk, she can’t eat, she can’t go to the toilet anymore. She can’t even sit most of the time�
��she’s mainly in bed these days. And my poor dad has to watch this, powerless to do anything to stop her deterioration. Being unable to live the life either of them imagined for themselves.”

  He looks down at a napkin, twisting it around his fingers before he answers. “Tell me this, Jess: why do you think your dad is still around?”

  “What do you mean? Why hasn’t he left my mum, you mean?”

  “Yeah. Because some relationships wouldn’t survive it, would they?”

  I don’t answer him. I’ve never even thought about it before; I’ve just assumed my dad would always be there. “Do you think it’s because he feels sorry for her?” I wince at the idea. “Or because he feels it’s his duty? Or is it for your sake—because you’d be upset if they split up?”

  My face starts tingling with rising tears. “Probably all of those things.”

  “Bullshit, Jess. He’s there every day, by her side, because he loves her.”

  I swallow silently.

  “He might hate the disease. He might hate what it’s done to her. But he loves your mum. To him, she’s worth everything he’s going through. And I happen to feel the same about you.”

  My hands are trembling as I touch the edge of the tablecloth.

  “Jess, listen to me. I’ve spent every spare minute since you told me reading about it, watching videos of people who have it, including the ones in the very late stages. I’ve read the reports, the Huntington’s Disease Association guidelines, the blogs and forums. I know exactly what it does to people. I didn’t ask you to marry me without knowing.” He pauses before continuing. “And here’s the thing, Jess: I realize things are going to be very, very difficult for you. For us. But you’re not there yet. You’re nowhere near there. You’re healthy. Right at this moment, as you sit here in this restaurant looking like the most beautiful woman I have ever set eyes on, you don’t have Huntington’s disease. So you need to stop worrying about your future and live. Preferably with me as your husband.”

  I shake my head, sniffing back tears as I manage to meet his eyes. “But Adam . . . how could anyone want this?”