Geneviève had made it to the dining-room door with the cheese board when she span round to look at me. ‘Alexandra—’ she said. The suddenness of her movement combined with the trepidation in her voice made me turn cold. She retraced her steps to the table. Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, Henri had started singing.
‘I would have preferred not to mention this today but I need to speak to you about Jean-Luc,’ she said. If I could hear the alarm in my short, rasped inhalation, it’s a fair bet she could too. I sounded like I’d had a gun pulled on me. This was it; she was biding her time the day she came to our apartment. Everything was about to go sky high. ‘Oh?’ I said, fear making a passable impression of surprise.
‘Something is wrong with him.’ I was acutely aware that she was monitoring my reactions. ‘He is only halfway through the masters programme but he says he’s not going back to America.’
I decided against a banal comment about the pressures of overseas study.
‘He seemed to be enjoying it so much,’ she continued. ‘When he took that trip in the spring he was sending Henri photos almost every day. Something’s happened but he won’t tell us anything.’ She pressed her hand to her brow like someone in the grip of a splintering migraine. ‘He won’t come home, not even for dinner. Henri hoped he might open up if they went sailing together but Jean-Luc refuses to go and he has always loved the sea. He has friends and cousins in Marseille and Nice who want him to visit but he won’t hear of it. Even that has changed.’
At least my troubled and confused response was not an act.
‘I thought maybe… it’s just that you and Jean-Luc got on so well at the launch, chatting about California. That was by far the most relaxed I’ve seen him since he came back.’ Either Geneviève was more worldly than I thought or vastly more naïve: what she was referring to was chemistry, not conversation. I could see how much she hated revealing disharmony in her perfect little family. She glanced away and then, in an unfamiliar tone, heartfelt and despairing, she asked, ‘Did he mention anything upsetting that night?’
‘No, not at all,’ I said.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Or since, maybe?’ Geneviève didn’t release me from her grey scrutiny. I knew better than to look away, the subtext as clear as if she’d said it out loud. ‘I was really hoping you might know something about it.’
‘I’m sorry, Geneviève, I don’t,’ I replied, but of course it wasn’t enough. If I had not seen her son since the launch it would have been natural to say so. Sometimes failure to issue a denial is a confession by default.
Geneviève busied herself rearranging the cheese on the wooden board. We’d taken so long by now that the Camembert was starting to ooze and release a strong ripe smell. I went over to the kitchen door and opened it into the darkness, filling my lungs with cold sea air in an attempt to keep my dinner down. This is what it took for me to feel a connection with Geneviève, finally: Jean-Luc was an adult but, first and always, her beloved only child. Today of all days I was moved by that. Just when I thought I’d waited long enough for her to return to the dining room I heard her voice close behind me, so soft I could barely hear it. ‘If you find out, please tell us.’
Chapter Forty Five
It was nothing short of a miracle that I slept soundly that night, my body at the stage of depletion where it simply had to recharge. Having lost the art of balance, my brain retained only two functions: overdrive and shutdown.
I had no idea what time Philippe finally made it to bed but he was going to be in for an almighty hangover, that much was certain. The bedroom reeked of stale alcohol fumes but all this was to my advantage. He wouldn’t feel up to sex and the morning would be half over before he got up. When I went to let in some fresh air I was thankful to see Geneviève leaving to attend Mass in Honfleur, as she had planned. Since I woke I’d been picking our conversation apart in an attempt to piece together what it meant. Was she so desperate that she wanted me to talk to Jean-Luc? Did she know we were doing more than that or just strongly suspect? It would be devastating for Jean-Luc if he had developed an aversion to the sea. I had never seen him by the ocean but I didn’t have to. I had heard him talk about it. I could tell when he was thinking about it. I could see it in his eyes.
I was hungry again and went downstairs while it was safe, with nobody around. I pulled on some jogging pants and decided my tank top was decent enough if I encountered Henri. Geneviève had already been out to the bakery. Next to a couple of grease-flecked paper bags containing croissants were three baguettes, one of them missing the tiny length she must have eaten for breakfast, no more than you’d give a small child to nibble on. I set a pot of coffee to brew and crossed the room to gaze out at the ocean. It was a pretty day, yesterday’s clouds gone, the pale grey-green waves spuming on the shore. It would have been a waste to close my eyes but I was in a sort of trance all the same.
After a minute or two the sound of a vehicle intruded and at first I tried to push it away. Geneviève couldn’t be back already; she’d only been gone twenty minutes. When I opened the front door Jean-Luc was standing right there, inches from me, and behind him there was an old motorbike – not vintage old, decrepit old. I gawped at him, not sure whether to step outside or drag him in. When he smiled at me I felt such a heart-dance that I very nearly forgot where we were and that I was not alone in the house.
‘Are you insane?’ I said to him in undertones. ‘You promised not to come here.’ He had that raffish look that normally had me tugging at his fly or the buttons on his shirt but for once I resolved not to be such a pushover.
He shrugged. ‘You were the one who said promise, not me. This is my aunt’s house – it’s not so strange for me to be here, is it?’
I grabbed hold of him and led him toward the outbuildings, out of earshot of the bedrooms. ‘It’s strange because of what’s going on with us,’ I said. ‘Are you seriously telling me that’s not why you’re here?’
Jean-Luc reached behind me for the handle on the shed door and gently pushed me inside. I shook my head so hard it hurt. ‘No, Jean-Luc,’ I said. ‘No way. Absolutely not.’
‘Come on, please, one kiss at least,’ he said, blocking the doorway and cupping my face in his hands. ‘I’ve never rode so far on a motorbike.’
‘Ridden. Did you get it from a scrap yard? You could have been killed.’
But everyone knows young men feel immortal. He wasn’t wearing leathers and the helmet hanging from the handlebars looked older than he was. The thought of him coming to harm made me feel physically ill.
‘Look what you’re doing to me,’ he said. ‘You’re very sexy when you tell me off.’
It always made me laugh when he was like this, on a high. I got my share of admiring glances in Paris but few men had ever bothered flirting with me. Something probably told them it wouldn’t work, although bizarrely it was happening more as I got older, not less.
‘That’s all well and good,’ I said, ‘but if you think I’m going to have sex in your aunt’s woodshed when your mother is at Sunday Mass…’ I shuddered. ‘I mean, thank God she is.’
‘My mother never misses Mass, you should know that. I’ve been waiting up the road for her to leave. I had to see you. You know how it is…’
I certainly did. He kissed the side of my neck, working up from the collarbone, just like the first time. At my ear, he switched to licking and my body began to respond as if he were much lower down.
‘Don’t do that,’ I told him in entirely the wrong tone of voice. Arousal and extreme stress were playing havoc with my ability to think but the danger of us being found out had never been greater.
I stepped back. ‘I’m sorry, you have to leave right now. This is getting completely out of hand – you don’t seem to understand what’s at stake, but I do.’
Knowing the delight Jean-Luc took in thwarting his mother at every opportunity, I figured it would only encourage him to mention her insinuations or her concern for him. That weird shadow cros
sed his face, the one I thought I’d imagined the day we lay on the floor of my office. But since then I’d seen it often; the light went out in his eyes, only to come back brighter.
‘I’m not leaving without you,’ he said loudly and I feared whatever came next would be louder still. What if he burst out of the shed into the driveway that ran across the front of the house? I’d left the bedroom window wide open. One of the things I found so irresistible about Jean-Luc was never knowing what he was going to do next. At the same time, it scared me witless.
How do you contain something that has no definition, no limits? It was bad enough confronting my feelings for him but his for me worried me more. I’d survived four decades without this kind of drama and delirium. But Jean-Luc went after what he wanted and assumed it would always be that way, everything there for the taking. He couldn’t settle for life at less than full blast. And when it was me he wanted, I went for it just the same. As he said, it wasn’t for me to question what he saw in me.
But he saw something that could easily – far less painfully – have remained buried forever. He’d brought out an undetected side that repelled and terrified me as much as it thrilled and turned me on. No more, no less.
‘Hey, don’t look so sad,’ he said. ‘Let’s go for a ride.’
If I’d been keeping any kind of a list it would have been called All the wrong and stupid things I’ve done. Not only had I never ridden pillion, I had no crash helmet, nothing covering my arms and only flip-flops on my feet. But he couldn’t stay, and I couldn’t bear to see him leave so soon. His hold on me was so strong that I was willing to risk a horrible death, simple as that. ‘Okay, but I can’t be long,’ I said, surprising him. There’s something to be said for remaining a mystery.
There was no sign of activity from the house as I negotiated the path in cautious steps, which was pointless considering Jean-Luc crunched over to the bike in Caterpillar boots. ‘So where did you get this wreck?’
‘From a scrap yard,’ he said. ‘Or my boss at the gas station did. You could say it belongs to him.’
‘Have you been at work all night?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I went to a party in Sarcelles with Mokhtar the pizza guy and some others. It was boring.’
‘Did you meet anyone nice?’ The words half died on their way out. I wanted him to say yes. I wanted him to say no.
The question seemed to vex him as much as it did me. ‘You must be joking! The girls who weren’t completely wasted just wanted to whine about their problems. Vanessa was there – she’s not like that.’
‘Philippe’s daughter Vanessa? Did you go together?’ I asked, thinking back to the day of the concert.
Jean-Luc sighed, understandably. ‘No, she was with some friends from Neuilly and had her tongue down some guy’s throat half the night. It made no difference to me who was there. Being around other people only makes me want to be with you.’
I flapped my hands as he started the engine – it was even more deafening close up and juddered like it was about to fall to pieces or explode. Which is precisely what would happen to my marriage if Philippe or Henri were to look out the window.
Jean-Luc had just kicked back the stand when I said, ‘You need to tell me what to do. I’ve never done this before.’
I wasn’t sure he’d heard me over the roar of the engine. He turned in the seat, handing me the helmet. ‘You say that about everything!’ He kissed me and the rush of adrenaline and desire nixed all guilt and fear and danger – we could have done it right there on the spot for all I cared. There seemed to be no turning back on this road we’d taken.
I held on to him for all I was worth. And with every bend and turn and lean, wherever he led, I followed. Easy.
Chapter Forty Six
‘I’m too old to stay up drinking til three in the morning.’ Along with his self-induced suffering Philippe conveyed a hint of pride, as if he’d made it through a white-water rafting expedition. We all like to think we’ve still got it.
‘You had fun, that’s the main thing.’ I wasn’t going to give him a hard time – I wouldn’t have enjoyed myself half as much if it weren’t for his hangover.
‘But I’m shattered. If I don’t get a decent night’s sleep I might have to wait and go to Nice on Tuesday.’
‘I’m sure you’ll be absolutely fine in the morning,’ I said, stopping short of offering to help him pack.
The traffic was bad coming into Paris due to an accident on the Périph. I went up to start making dinner while Philippe parked the car. Vanessa appeared the moment I opened the door having apparently just got up after sleeping in last night’s make-up. ‘Where’s Dad? I need money.’
‘Charming welcome! Hello to you too. Did you have a nice weekend?’
She mumbled something incomprehensible before saying, ‘I know who you were with so there wasn’t much point in asking.’ She flapped her hand in front of my face. ‘Geneviève? Your friend?’
‘Geneviève, yes, of course. It was okay. Go easy on your father – he’s feeling a little delicate.’
I was in the bathroom when the row erupted. With her usual regard for my advice, Vanessa had accosted Philippe the second he walked in the door. By the time I materialised they were talking, or rather shouting, numbers.
‘You cannot just demand a hundred euros and think I’m going to hand it over! What am I, an ATM? Maybe when you find out how long it takes to earn that much, you’ll understand.’
‘But I owe Anaïs for two concert tickets – she asked me for it again last night.’
Philippe shook his head, and then he clutched it and groaned. ‘You should think about whether you can afford something before you commit yourself, not after. I don’t care if your mother would be okay with this. I’m not!’
‘Well if you think you could have done better, maybe you shouldn’t have fucked off for years. You’ve never given me anything!’
‘Why don’t you both take a step back,’ I said. ‘All this yelling gets you nowhere.’
Vanessa spun round, her face wild with fury and black smudges. ‘Why don’t you shut up and stay out of it?’
Philippe and I looked at each other open-mouthed. ‘Bet you can’t wait for us to leave. Then you’ll get some peace.’
‘You must be joking if you think I’m going anywhere with you,’ she told him.
For a moment I forgot to breathe or swallow. ‘Put some shoes on,’ I said. ‘You’re coming with me, right now, and don’t even think about arguing.’
I frogmarched her down the street to the Jardin du Luxembourg. We walked half my running circuit before I could trust myself to speak. ‘Let’s sit for a while.’ I handed her a tissue and she dabbed at her face. To my horror Daniel sprinted into view. Seeing that he was slowing down as he drew closer, I shook my head and mouthed no at him. He carried on past with a smirk that said, fine, if you want to be like that.
Of course Vanessa had to see it. ‘C’est ton amant? Oh my God, it is! You’re cheating on my dad – I can’t believe it!’
‘How dare you, Vanessa? You’re the one who’s beyond belief. You’ve crossed so many lines I don’t know where to start. If you think Philippe didn’t want you in his life for all those years, you’re completely wrong. Did your mother tell you that?’
‘Not exactly, but what was I supposed to think? She never mentioned him, I never saw him – I thought he’d forgotten I existed.’
‘Well, that’s not true. It’s also not true that he wasn’t willing to support you.’ Philippe had saved the money in an account but having seen the fight they got into over one hundred euros I wasn’t going to tell her that. ‘You’re practically an adult – I’m sure he’d rather discuss it than have you hurling accusations. And I don’t know your mother, but maybe you should try to get her side too. It can’t be easy raising a kid alone.’
‘She never wanted me – I just got in the way of her career. You know what she said the day I got my period? I don’t have time for this. And she di
dn’t speak to me for days after I first met you.’
‘But isn’t that the whole reason you came to us, that you weren’t getting along?’
‘Not then! I mean that wedding where I saw you with my dad.’
‘I still don’t understand. We didn’t even talk to you that day. We would have liked to, but—’
‘She wouldn’t let me. So I told her I wished you were my mom.’
‘Oh gosh.’ I squeezed her hand, not sure if I was trying not to laugh or not to cry. ‘Poor you, and poor your mom. Anyways,’ I said, standing up, ‘now you know it wouldn’t have been so great with me either.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes you can be a judgemental bitch but…’
‘Hang on a minute, I thought you said I wasn’t a bitch?’
‘That was before I knew you.’
On the way home it felt like there had been a change in the weather. When we reached the bottom of the steps I said, ‘You know that making up with me was the easy bit. Philippe’s probably taking a nap now but you’re going to apologise, right?’
‘Yeah.’ She went up to the first half-landing and looked back. ‘And you know I was only joking about you having a lover. Obviously.’
‘Obviously.’
Chapter Forty Seven
Vanessa had apologised, if saying the words without a trace of regret or sincerity counts. It counted for Philippe. He’d slept well and was packing for Nice when my excuse for not going was vindicated by a call out of the blue. His movements slowed as he placed clothes in his suitcase with great care rather than tossing them in any which way. I wandered over to our bedroom window to look down at the street, turning my back as the caller explained that he was in Paris and free tomorrow or at the end of the week. He’d been trying to reach me for days.
‘Friday is perfect,’ I said.
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