But what struck her most was the way she looked in herself – more confident and, importantly, completely different from usual. She put her shoulders back and met her own gaze.
Suddenly, as it sometimes did, grief bubbled up from deep inside her, taking her by surprise. She slumped back down on the bed, her mind racing. Pete. Her Pete had abandoned her. She had lost her house, her business. She was here in France with nobody. Now she was lying, too – to Kitty, the last family member she had in her life in any real sense.
And for the first time in months, she wanted her mother so much she could barely breathe. Just one hug. One smile. One hand to touch her cheek and say it was all OK, to tell her what to do.
It took five minutes to stop the flow of tears, slow her breathing. She’d had her first panic attack at sixteen, but over the years had learned to manage them. Now, while they threatened from time to time, she knew how to keep them in check.It’s OK,she whispered to herself. It would be OK. She could do this and besides, once the house had sold, she’d have options. Not many. But some.
She could do this.
* * *
It was past 2a.m. when they finally staggered back through the door. Her feet were aching and her dress was rumpled. Her hair had gone beyond ‘ruched’ and looked more like a mop. But she was laughing; she had been laughing non-stop since they’d left the theatre and gone to the bar, and laughter had carried her home – sore feet and all.
The play had been sombre at best, and so badly acted that it had seemed like a farce. She’d tried to watch it, mirroring the serious expressions of everyone around her. But then she’d caught Odette’s eye half an hour in and seen a flicker of recognition. A smile had slipped out, and Odette’s face had grinned in response. Then they’d both been taken over by giggles so violent that they were as much pain as pleasure. Henri had remained impassive, but had followed them out obediently when they’d decided to leave.
The bar they’d gone to had been just along the road from the theatre – a small place with a long mahogany serving bar, and several scattered tables. They’d found a bench seat in the corner and sipped white wine from a bottle paid for by Henri. ‘That’s not fair, you paid for the tickets!’ Odette had protested, but he’d insisted.
‘Yes, but you girls deserve compensation for that play.’
They’d spoken French for the most part and although Bella had known her tenses weren’t always correct, she’d managed to keep up with the pace of the conversation. And gradually, the sense of comradery and influx of alcohol had meant the bubble that Kitty’s call had pierced had formed around her again and she’d felt part of things.
It wasn’t real, this feeling of belonging. But she’d clung onto it anyway.
Entering the house, the mood was diffused. Odette had fallen asleep in the taxi and looked pale and tired. ‘I must go to bed,’ she said, giving them both a kiss on the cheek before disappearing into her downstairs room.
‘Is she OK?’ Bella asked Henri.
‘Oui, I think she gets a little melancholy sometimes after wine,’ he told her. ‘She will be fine.’
A silence descended as their eyes met, and for a second she felt a pull of something. She looked at Henri’s face – so trouble-free, unlined. Those deep, serious eyes. She reached up without thinking and brushed a little hair from his forehead.
His skin felt electric under her touch and as he reached down and put a hand on each side of her waist, she felt herself almost melt, her legs turn shaky and unstable. Her sex life with Pete had faded to almost nothing over the past year, but even before that she couldn’t remember her body responding like this.
When Henri leant down towards her and brushed his lips lightly against hers, she felt it again; that crackle of heat between them.
Then, ‘Non,’ he said, almost to himself, and broke away. ‘You have been drinking.’
‘It’s fine! I’m not drunk… I?—’
He ran a hand under her chin and tilted her face up to look at his. ‘We have all the time in the world,’ he told her. And in that moment, she felt it was true.
It was only when she was dropping into sleep, her body heavy against the mattress, that she heard it. Lifting herself onto her elbows, she pricked her ears like an animal, stilling her breath so that she could tune in to any sound.
And there it was again. The sound of crying. Soft, low, held in, but definitely there. She thought of Odette in the room below. Was it her? Ought she to go and see if her friend was all right? But her body was too heavy, her legs, too wobbly. She tried to swing them out of bed, but it was an effort and she wasn’t sure she could manage it.
She’d speak to Odette in the morning, she decided, finally giving up her hold on consciousness and slipping into sleep.
12
2010, ENGLAND
The man – boy really – came up to the counter and plonked down an enormous bottle of shampoo.
Bella looked at him. ‘£4.99, please.’
As he handed over a five-pound note, Bella glanced at his face. It was bright red. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah, just—’ He cleared his throat and seemed not to notice that she was trying to hand him a penny and a receipt. ‘I just wondered if you wanted to get a drink sometime.’
