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  “Lovely, except for my puffed-up feet. Look at these—they could belong to a hobbit.” She thrusts one of her Michael Kors wedges in front of me, and I laugh, even though she’s exaggerating. “I can’t complain though. Two hours and a G&T after takeoff, I was here.”

  “None of this sounds half as much fun as the relentless vomiting I had to endure.”

  She tuts. “Poor William.” Then she stops and looks at me. “How’s your mum? And how are you?”

  “Mum’s not great. But I’m fine. Honestly.”

  She narrows her eyes, but I head towards the parking machine before she presses me for more. I slide my ticket in, and she gently pushes me aside to pay. “So have you got used to being around Adam yet? Is he bearable?”

  “I wouldn’t have come here if I’d thought he wouldn’t be. Even with you and Becky as backup.”

  “You deserve a medal. Most people would find it impossible to be in the same room as their ex,” she says, as we head towards the multistory and wait for a lift to arrive. “I once saw Stuart in Sainsbury’s and virtually commando crawled through the wine aisle so I didn’t have to say hello.”

  I haven’t dated many people seriously apart from Adam. There was Carl from uni, if you can count him, then a guy called Toby, who I went out with for a year when William was six. He was nice by all accounts, and there really wasn’t anything wrong with him. But, while I’ve never had to fall to the floor of my local supermarket to avoid him, I know what Natasha is saying. I wouldn’t go out of my way to see him again. Unfortunately, with Adam, I don’t have the luxury of steering clear.

  “That is the problem when you have a child with someone,” I tell her. “You might want to stay a million miles away from them, but you’re stuck together forever. Whether you like it or not.”

  * * *

  —

  I met Natasha when I was nearly six months pregnant at a Christmas ball thrown by the chairman of Adam’s company. I felt totally out of place at the party, which was held in a marquee in the grounds of a Cheshire mansion on a crisp, snowy evening. It was attended by the firm’s biggest clients and key staff—a glitzy affair, all champagne cocktails and shoptalk. I was only drafted in to be there because someone on Adam’s table had dropped out at the last minute.

  Considering he hated his job, Adam obediently fell in with the other young hotshots, schmoozing with customers and senior managers until they were eating out of his hand. In fact, he was so good at it that it made his ill-concealed misery about staying put in the UK because of the baby even more frustrating. I, meanwhile, trailed around behind him, feeling thoroughly tired and fat and unable to contribute anything meaningful to the conversation beyond “how many months gone” I was.

  I’d seen Natasha at the start of the evening, chatting to the chairman himself. She was model thin, in an elegant midnight blue silk gown with fine copper-colored hair piled loosely into a bun. Her blunt nose and straight eyebrows gave her a studious and single-minded air, until she heard something she considered funny, when her face would break into greedy, uninhibited peals of laughter.

  After dinner, when people were mingling, she slid into the chair next to me.

  “This must be mind-numbing for you,” she whispered.

  “Oh, not at all!” I protested politely.

  “You’re sure? Because I work for these people and actually enjoy talking about the global oil prices . . . but I’m aware that normal people don’t share my passion.”

  I laughed.

  “You must be Jess.” She grinned, and we shook hands. She had a grip like a sergeant major. “I’ve heard loads about you from Adam. I can’t believe he never mentioned you were having a baby though.”

  Natasha and I should have had nothing in common. Ambition and ability shone from her, while I was convinced the bump of my twenty-two-year-old belly gave the impression that I was either incapable or uninterested in a career.

  When other people that evening had made an effort to talk to me, it felt as though they were humoring the pregnant lady when they’d rather be sucking up to clients. But Natasha wasn’t like that at all. Natasha was warm, easy to be around and, frankly, hilarious.

  We sat chatting at the table over everything from swimming—which she loved and I’d taken up recently—to the fact that she’d once dumped someone for eating Pringles in bed. “I’m not usually that shallow, but there’s only so many times you can find a barbecue potato snack in your pants before you have to take action.”

  Then the DJ cranked up the music and she gestured to the dance floor. “Come on, I’m up for it if you are.”

  I glanced at Adam, but he was deep in conversation with the woman next to him. So we simply headed to the center of the room and danced like no one was watching, which I’m fairly sure Adam soon started wishing was the case.

  Afterwards, Natasha and I ended up going swimming together three nights a week, all through the Christmas season and right until the day before I gave birth. Those evenings were bliss. Not just the feeling of weightlessness in my heavy limbs as I slipped through the water. But simply being around her. At a time when I was increasingly anxious about my relationship with Adam, having Natasha to talk to made everything feel about 500 percent easier.

  Now, as she slides into the passenger seat of my car and I switch on the engine, one thing strikes me: I desperately hope she has the same effect here.

  Chapter 18

  The countryside is bathed in honeyed light as we arrive back at Château de Roussignol. We drop off Natasha’s luggage at Les Écuries, then head straight to the pool, where a family barbecue evening is planned.

  The unfeasibly large grill is commandeered by Ben (or Young Ben, as he’s inexplicably known, despite being the same age as most of the staff around here). A small number of children, ranging from four years old to twelve, gather around the volleyball net, where Simone is organizing them into teams. On the stretch of adjacent grass, William finishes setting up an obstacle course with Adam, before heading over to join Simone’s game.

  “This place is incredible,” Natasha says, clearly surprised. She’d seen the pictures and the website, of course, and read all the reviews, but up close the château is something else entirely.

  “It’s not Barbados though.” I smile, as this is where she went last year, on a singles holiday.

  “Bah, Barbados is overrated.”

  “Really?”

  She sighs. “Well, no. Not really.”

  Natasha still works for the same company as when I met her—but these days she’s their new business director and based in London, where she lives in a small, central apartment with designer taps and a cream carpet. When she first moved in, it looked like the kind of flat in a film adaptation of a spy novel, except Natasha never quite mastered the minimalist look, so she soon crammed every corner with books and travel knickknacks.

  “Where’s my favorite eight-year-old?” she asks.

  “If you mean William, he’s there playing volleyball. And he’s ten.”

  She draws a sharp breath. “When did that happen?”

  “March.”

  “Damn. I bet that means he’s grown out of Bob the Builder?” She grins.

  As we head to the pitch, Natasha waves to try to gain William’s attention, oblivious to the fact that attention is the last thing a boy his age wants. When he doesn’t respond, she steps onto the sand, just as the ball hurtles in her direction.

  Without hesitating, she leaps up and smashes it out of sight as the other players, whose average age is seven, stand openmouthed.

  She looks almost as surprised as everyone else. “Huh. I’ve still got it.” She chuckles. “High five, William!”

  He gives her palm a limp slap, before slumping self-consciously so it looks as though he’s trying to hide his own head in the gap between his rib cage. “Hi, Aunty Natasha.” He smiles awkwardly as Si
mone walks over, looking cross.

  “This is an under-twelves’ match,” she says stiffly.

  “Sorry.” Natasha grins, not looking at all sorry as she heads back to me.

  “He’s such a sweetheart, Jess. Now, how about some vin blanc? Or vin rouge. Or vin anything. I’ve been detoxing for a month and fell off the wagon during the flight, so I might as well continue.”

  William waits until Natasha is at the bar before jogging over to me. “Mum, can I do something with Dad tomorrow?”

  “Has he said that’s okay?”

  “Yes, he said we could go rafting in the morning.”

  “Oh, okay. I’ll see if Natasha fancies it. I’m sure she will—she likes that kind of thing. We can take a packed lunch.”

  But he shakes his head. “I meant just him and me. We want a boys’ day.” I clearly wasn’t born with the correct appendage to join in this type of fun. “Is that okay? Please, Mum.”

  I suddenly feel as though he’s asking me to leave him in the care of Charlie Sheen. But the excitement in his eyes forces me to swallow my concerns. At least now Natasha’s here I’ll be able to distract myself from visions of him drowning while Adam’s snuck off for a cigarette.

  “It’ll keep you off my iPad, I suppose.” I smile.

  “Yes! Thanks, Mum. I love you.”

  “Yes, you always do when you manage to get your own way.” I smirk as he starts heading back to the game. “Oh, and where is my iPad, anyway?”

  He frowns. “Er . . . I think I left it in Dad’s office.”

  “You think?”

  “I’m pretty sure. I’ll get it after this game,” he replies.

  * * *

  —

  Natasha returns with a bottle of red and two glasses, and I can’t help noticing that Ben is looking over, concentrating more on my friend than on the burgers.

  “You’re getting some attention from there.” I gesture over.

  When she looks up, his face breaks into a shy smile, and there is a glimmer of recognition in her eyes. But it’s momentary, a reflex action, before she lifts up the bottle and starts to pour. “Unquestionably gorgeous. But I’m actively avoiding hot young things at the moment.”

  I scrunch up my nose. “Why?”

  “I’ve had too many flings in the last few years, Jess. I’m after something a bit more . . . meaningful.”

  “Oh . . . good.”

  “It’s easier said than done though. And Tinder doesn’t help.”

  “Really? Last time we spoke you were quite enthusiastic about it.”

  “That was before I started to get messages like this.” She pulls out her phone and shows me her latest exchange.

  Hi, Im very shy, but I don’t mind saying Id like to bang you senseless right now. Your so HOT.

  A laugh bursts from my lips as I scroll down to her response.

  *You’re. Thanks but go away.

  “Natasha!” Adam is walking towards us, in combat shorts and a plain white T-shirt that clings to his chest. He bends down to give her a kiss. She looks initially pleased to see him, before stopping herself and straightening her mouth. Then she smiles again. It can’t be easy when a man has given you a free holiday, but loyalty to me prevents her from being too enthusiastic about him. “Hello, Adam. How are you?”

  “Really good,” he replies. “It’s great to have Jess and William here.”

  “Life’s obviously been kind to you here, Adam. You look amazing.” She catches herself and glances at me again. “Considering you’re so much older now.”

  He laughs. “Yes, getting on a bit—thirty-three these days. Is work still keeping you busy?”

  “Yes, but only in a good way. I’m looking forward to getting some sun though—and spending time with Jess and William. Which I believe you’re keen to do too . . .”

  “Definitely.” He turns to me. “Has William asked if he can come rafting with me?”

  “He has, and yes, that’s fine. He’s ridiculously excited about it.”

  “Good.” He looks surprised and pleased. “We went canyoning yesterday,” he tells Natasha. “Jess is a massive fan.”

  “He’s being funny,” I drawl.

  “To be absolutely fair to you, Jess, the weather was not ideal. Next time I take you I’ll make sure it’s sunny so your nose doesn’t turn blue.”

  “In case it isn’t completely clear, there won’t be a next time.”

  Natasha laughs.

  “Well, I was proud of you for having a go,” Adam says.

  The statement feels odd somehow; how can he be proud of me when I’ve nothing to do with him anymore?

  I divert my gaze to William on the volleyball court, in time to see Simone looking over. Adam notices her too and responds by shifting a foot away from me, giving the ludicrous impression that he’s trying to hide something.

  “Have you had a look at your cottage?” he asks Natasha.

  “Adam, it’s gorgeous. Thanks for putting us in such a nice one.”

  “Natasha’s used to luxury villas in the Maldives,” I tell him. “It’s a tough act to follow.”

  “Oh, Jess, stop it. I’m not some spoiled princess. Besides, if I get fed up of you two I’m having one of those four-poster bedrooms in the château I saw on the Internet.”

  “I’ll get a butler on standby for you,” Adam says. “Right—I just wanted to say hello, but I’ve got a few things I need to do before I can sit down and relax. Oh, and Jess, I’ve left your iPad at reception—William’s probably wondering where it is. He’d left it outside.”

  I tut. “Glad he’s looking after it then.”

  He goes to leave. “It’s lovely to have you here, Natasha.”

  When he disappears, she looks at me. “How does he do that?”

  “What?”

  “Make it impossible to hate him.”

  “I don’t want people to hate Adam,” I tell her. “He’s William’s dad. And yes, stuff happened between us, but that was a long time ago, and now we’ve all moved on.”

  Natasha glances up at Simone, who’s looking over again. “I think somebody’s certainly hoping so.”

  Chapter 19

  William bounces into my room the following morning like it’s Christmas Day.

  “Mum, what time is it?”

  I blearily look at my phone. “Ugh . . . seven,” I croak as he disappears back into the kitchen.

  I’m about to call after him and ask why he’s up so early, before I remember all by myself. The rafting trip had almost slipped my mind until I went to tuck him in last night and discovered he’d gone to bed wearing his swimming trunks. His eyes flickered open briefly, and he explained that it’d save time in the morning if he got his kit on before he went to sleep.

  I push back the cotton sheet and rub my eyes as I get out of bed to open the shutters, allowing light to filter onto the antique wardrobe and warm oak ceiling beams. It’s a pleasant room to wake up in, with an unaffected simplicity to the tiled floor, pretty woven rug and sturdy wrought iron bed.

  Sleepily, I tie up my hair with a band and follow William into the kitchen.

  “What time did your dad say he was coming for you?” I ask. “I should have asked him for more details yesterday evening.”

  “At eight thirty, I think,” he says.

  “You think?” I go back into the bedroom to get my phone so I can text Adam, but as usual, there’s no signal.

  I have no idea what William is going to need for this trip, so I start packing two changes of clothes, a spare towel, trainers, factor 50 sun cream, insect repellent, flip-flops, a bottle of water and enough roast chicken crisps—to which he’s developed a strange addiction—to feed a family of five.

  “Do you think I’ll get a chance to use these?” he asks, emerging from his room in a pair of flippers.

  �
�I don’t think so, sweetheart,” I reply as he picks up my iPad and packs it in his rucksack. “And you can’t take that either.”

  “But I want to make a video.”

  “Where are you going to keep it when you’re on a raft?”

  “Oh.”

  I check my phone again and find the glimmer of a signal. Trying to find one strong enough to send even a text has been a perpetual challenge since I got here. When the stars are in alignment and you’re standing on one leg holding your phone three feet over the toaster seems to have worked best so far.

  Do I need to make a packed lunch for this rafting trip or are you sorting it? And is it 8:30? He’s beside himself with excitement : )

  As soon as I’ve pressed send, I curse myself for adding the smiley face. Smiley faces and Adam are not an appropriate combination.

  I watch as William sits outside at 8:20 a.m. to wait, while I pour a small cup of treacly coffee and follow him into the misty light of early sunshine. The courtyard is still and quiet; the only sound is that of the bees swarming around the bougainvillea and the birds circling above, their soft chirrups heralding the start of a new day. William says nothing but begins to tap his foot against the table.

  I suspect that it’s not the rafting itself that is the source of his excitement. This is about his dad. He just can’t wait to be with him. I feel my throat tighten as my head rushes with unexpected emotion. I don’t even know why this in particular has prompted it.

  “What’s the matter?” William asks.

  I blink away the heat from my eyes. “Nothing. I think I might be allergic to something. The sun cream maybe.”

  But he’s not really interested. He looks out towards the car park for Adam. “What time is it?”

  I look at my watch. “It is 8:32 a.m.”

  “He should’ve been here two minutes ago.”

  “Be patient. I’m going to make some breakfast for myself. Have you had a drink this morning?”

  “HERE HE IS!”