‘Young. He’s in his early twenties, so…’
Claudine seemed delighted, throwing her head back and laughing. ‘That is perfect!’ she said. ‘Younger men who are not threatened by older women will not mind your success, will not try to trim your wings. And I am guessing he is good in bed?’
‘Oh! Well, yes. He is.’ Bella’s face felt hot.
‘Then I say hold on to him! And when you are bored of him, you can give him my number.’
‘Oh!’ Bella laughed, then looked at Claudine whose face looked… quite serious. ‘Hang on… Do you really?—’
But Claudine looked away, signalled to the waiter. ‘Now, will you have another cocktail?’
Bella felt disorientated when she finally made it from the train to the front door of the Versailles house three hours later. But it wasn’t the effect of the cocktails or the lack of sleep making her feel this way. It was the fact that she had felt completely at home with Claudine. She had felt older, more self-assured. With life experience and mistakes, but purpose and drive. She’d felt, in that moment, like Claudine’s true contemporary and travelling back to her student house share was a little like being Cinderella at the stroke of midnight. Everything had looked so promising before, but it had been an illusion. Her horses were rats, her carriage, a pumpkin. Her prince still out on the lash with a group of overgrown kids.
Part of her was enjoying immersing herself in the two different roles life had gifted her right now. Escaping from the Bella who’d moved over to France, giddy in love and confident her life was mapped out assuredly in front of her.
Part of her felt out of her depth.
She slid the key in the lock and opened the door to darkness. Without the others there, the hallway seemed enormous, dark. She snapped on the light and made her way inside, not realising that someone else was in the house with her.
19
2012, ENGLAND
The days had settled into their familiar pattern and France had become a distant dream. November, and the roads were slippery and wet, the skies dark for her journey to and from work. The store had begun to play Christmas music, and she was already sick of its saccharine sentimentality.
The queues to the tills had grown as organised people had begun to tick items off their Christmas shopping lists. Gift boxes of perfume and aftershave; bath sets; make-up advent calendars for those averse to a sweet treat in December.
Bella’s mood had soured. The days had become interminable, bleeding into one another. She’d stopped smiling at customers; was doing her job on autopilot.
So she didn’t look up when the man came to her counter and plonked down a huge bottle of shampoo. Just rang it up and asked for £6.99.
‘Wow, that’s increased since last time,’ a voice said.
She looked up.
It was Pete.
‘Pete! Hello! God, I’m sorry. I just— I wasn’t paying attention,’ she said, smiling.
He was wearing his on-site gear – a battered pair of jeans with steel-capped boots, a chequered shirt that had seen better days. He looked rugged and dependable and actually pretty good-looking.
She handed him his receipt.
‘Hang on,’ he said, putting something else on the counter. ‘I forgot this.’
‘God’s sake,’ she said, looking at the queue.
But when she turned her attention to what she’d assumed was his other purchase, her mouth dropped open. It was a small velvet box, with an even tinier ring inside. When she had opened it, the people in the queue had gasped in unison.
‘Let’s do it,’ he said.
‘Get married?’
‘The whole thing. France. Marriage. An adventure.’
She didn’t even have to think: ‘OK.’
‘OK yes?’
