Jess shrugs. She’s told Alex that she has a vague memory of watchingPierre Le Facteuron old DVDs and of her mum reading Mr Men books in French to her, but that’s about it. It was probably never realistic for an English woman living in England to bring up her English daughter to speak French, especially when being a single parent likely presented plenty of its own challenges, without attempting to live life in what remained essentially a second language. But in this moment, he wonders if there is something more to it – a lightly spoken criticism belying deeper frustration, just as Jess’s shrug was shorthand for a multitude of emotions.
‘Quel dommage,’ he responds, trying not to sound smug about his own more-than-passable accent.
‘There’s a lot of verbs,’ Jess says. ‘I’d never have the patience for all those – what do you call them again?’
‘Conjugations?’ he supplies.
‘Conjugations, yes. I should know that.’ She shakes her head, as if willing her brain to cooperate. Her A level Latin brain, which surely knows all about conjugations and parts of speech and all the other awkward grammar. Her brain which, in this moment, is perhaps vying for supremacy with her bruised heart.
‘Nonsense,’ says Ellen. ‘You’re perfectly capable.’
Something pleading in Jess’s eyes instructs Alex to move on.
‘I think I’ll have theratatouilletoo,’ he says, leaning into the gutturalr, showing off a little perhaps. And it has the desired effect: Ellen’s eyes crinkle around the edges, and she touches Alex’s forearm as she tells him he’s made a good choice. Opposite, Jess rolls her eyes good-naturedly – the kind of eyeroll Alex recognises from noisy family Christmases when Susannah is cheating at Monopoly again: the eyeroll that says,Your ridiculousness makes me somehow even more fond of you.
Despite the initial foray into discussion of the French language, which so clearly made Jess uncomfortable, this is all going very well. Over savourygalettes– smoked salmon and spinach for Jess, ingredients both easy to pronounce and written in English on the menu – Ellen asks insightful questions about the writing process, and how editing works, and the dynamics of co-authoring. By the time they are onto their desserts – Nutella and strawberries; bananas and chocolate; apples and cinnamon – they are also onto their second glasses ofwine, conversation and laughter flowing more freely, which is maybe why Ellen feels free to ask a question he probably should have prepared for.
‘So am I right in assuming that the two of you are more than just writing partners?’
The blood in Alex’s veins turns into ice. He knows this is not rational. Although he hasn’t told anyone apart from Nathan and Louisa about his increasing closeness to Jess, it’s not asecret, as such. But still, there’s something about family knowing – his family, her family – that makes all of this real in a way that he isn’t sure he is ready for.
He takes another gulp of wine to steady his nerves. His feet find Jess’s under the table. He hopes that they communicate several things to her:Ignore how pale I probably am; I definitely like you. And also,Over to you, to answer this question. And finally,Please get me out of this conversation.
‘A little bit more than that, yes,’ Jess says. Her cheeks are pink, and he’s pretty sure it’s not just the wine.
‘Well, I very much approve,’ Ellen says, making what seems like meaningful eye contact with her daughter and touching Alex’s forearm again, and then moving on to talk about her latest holiday. His charming French has clearly done the trick, and just like that, it’s official. And yet, what it is that is actually official is a little unclear. Are they boyfriend and girlfriend? And what is it about those words that makes him feel like a gangly, acne-ridden teenager, sweaty-palmed at the idea of speaking to the girl sitting next to him in A Level English? Are theypartners? Such a clinical word, soachievement-driven, reminiscent of unromantic things like law and business.Seeing each other? Yes, that. Seeing each other regularly to write and sometimes to do other things too. Although it’s been a while since the other things, and he certainly doesn’t want to think about them in the presence of Jess’s mother. And her seal of approval – clearly meant to reassure; clearly, in most contexts, a green light to proceed with those other things – makes his chest tight, his blood cold. It’s just a dinner, he tells himself. It’s just crêpes.
He practises the grounding technique his counsellor has shown him. Three things he can see: a father cutting up a crêpe into tiny pieces for his daughter; a group of tourists waiting for a table; a butterfly on the window just past where they are sitting. Three things he can hear: a baby whimpering in its pushchair; a mangled pronunciation of French words two tables away; and, regrettably, the buzzing of his own ears. Three things he can feel: the tang of apple on his tongue. The warm metal of the fork in his left hand. Jess’s foot brushing his, entirely non-threateningly.
But, despite all of this, his chest remains tight and he remains terrified. It’s all he can do to stay in his seat, to keep making pleasant conversation, while he has the bizarre sensation of being outside his body, watching himself be trapped.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jess
Jess is grabbing her phone on the way out of the door to head to Alex’s for a writing session when it lights up with a call from her grandparents. They know she prefers texts; they only call when they’re flustered, or desperate. Her heart sinks. Much as she’d like to think they’ll both live forever, she knows that it’s unlikely; one day the phone will ring and it will be for the very worst of reasons. Her knees buckle, and she leans against the wall.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, sweetheart. Nothing to worry about.’ Jess has explained that this caveat is necessary at the beginning of phone calls to get her heart rate back down to an acceptable rate. ‘But your grandpa’s had a bit of a fall, and he’s okay, but the doctor wants to just give him a bit of a checkup. The thing is, we’ve got Ivy with us today, and we’re not sure—’
Jess doesn’t hesitate. She’ll have to cancel or re-arrange with Alex, but it’s a no-brainer. ‘I’ll come and get her, and she can hang out with me for a while.’
‘Are you sure?’
Jess can hear the relief in her nana’s voice, a weight lifted from her shoulders.
‘Of course. I’m glad you caught me while I’m still at home. I’ll come over now.’
She fires off a quick text to Alex.I’m really sorry, but it turns out I’m emergency babysitting my little cousin. Any chance you could come over here for our session today?
She’d been looking forward to going to Alex’s flat. She’d wanted to thank him – with words, and then in other ways – for being so warm and kind with her mum. He’d been the exemplary boyfriend, despite the B word not actually being used. Really, she couldn’t have asked for it to have gone better.A lovely boy, Ellen had texted later.You’ve done well for yourself, Jess. The stamp of approval from her mother had meant almost as much as Alex being up for the dinner meeting in the first place: it seems that whatever reservations he may have had about commitment, he has got over them now.
But they’ve got time, she supposes, for all that. Right now, her grandparents need her; and isn’t that exactly why she agreed to this writing lark in the first place – to travel less for work, to be more available, to put some money aside in case they need her, as well as to treat them to a cruise and to anything else they’ve been wanting to do but have had to forgo for Ivy’s sake. They’ve spent so much of their lives caring for others – for her, for her little cousin, for people in their church who’ve needed a lift to the shops, or a hand with the garden, or a few home-cooked meals delivered afterthe birth of a baby or the grief of losing a loved one. Someone needs to look after them, and it’s definitely her turn.
No problem, Alex texts.I’ll be there in an hour or so, if that’s okay?
That gives Jess time to collect Ivy and sit her down in front ofBlueyor whatever else is on YouTube, while she quickly does a little bit of tidying. Alex coming to her house regularly has meant that the flat has been in better shape than previously, but this level of tidiness requires constant maintenance, and there’s always something more fun, more important, or more worthy of Jess’s attention. And she may have pivoted to writing, but that doesn’t mean she can neglect her Instagram or her TikTok or her Substack. She’s behind on all of those, never mind the state of her email – publicistsjustchecking if she got their last message,justfollowing up about the book,justletting her know about the opportunity to interview some exciting debut author. She’s barely had time to catch up with Lily lately, or stay on top of her favourite Netflix shows or the latest series ofWould I Lie to You?orOnly Connect.
