‘You don’t know that,’ said her friend. ‘Maybe he will. It’s only been a few weeks, and he’s dealing with god knows what. Maybe think about giving him a bit more time.’
‘I don’t know, Em,’ she said sadly. ‘I can’t help but feel he’d be here by now if… well, you know.’
Once they’d said their goodbyes, she padded downstairs to find Ty in the kitchen, opening a packet of crisps. ‘All right, love?’ she said.
‘Yeah, not bad. Want one?’ He offered her the packet.
‘No, I’m OK.’
‘Did you call Dad?’ he asked innocently.
‘No, not yet. I was just chatting to Auntie Em.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘But I will. Call him.’
‘You will?’ Ty’s wide-eyed look made him seem about five years old again, looking at her when she’d said she was taking him to the fair, or going to buy a packet of his favourite sweets.
‘Yes,’ she said, wanting to please the ghost of her little son who’d suddenly flickered in the face of the man he’d become. ‘Tell you what, I’ll do it now.’
He nodded and wandered back outside, pulling the door softly behind him in order to give her some privacy.
She’d done it now.
She looked at the mobile phone in her hand and scrolled through to the number that she’d blocked. Her thumb hovered for a moment over the button before she pressed, restoring the connection between them. She wondered whether any messages, stored somewhere in cyberspace, might appear when she did so. But there was nothing.
And then, because there was very little else to do but get it over with, she pressed the ‘call’ button and rang her husband.
28
When he found her on the bed, he pulled her into his arms. ‘Oh Lily,’ he murmured into her hair.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I know I’m meant to be happy about this… and I am. I love our baby, I really do. It’s just…’ She looked at him, her eyes wide, pleading. ‘Ever since the labour I’ve been feeling… Everything just seems wrong.’
‘Shh,’ he said. ‘I know. And we’ll get through this.’
‘You promise?’
‘I promise.’
‘Um… deux crêpes au fromage avec salade, s’il vous pla?t.’ Lily smiled, handing the menu back to the waiter.
‘Oui, of course,’ he replied in English, tucking the menu under his arm and scribbling in a notepad. ‘I ’ope you will enjoy.’
Yet again, she’d been rumbled the minute she’d opened her mouth. It seemed no matter how impressive she thought her French accent was, the locals could spot her Britishness a mile off. She’d start conversations in French only to have them reply in flawless English. It was helpful, and she knew that many of them enjoyed the chance to practise their English, but it would be nice if they could humour her occasionally.
‘Wow,’ said Ty.
‘What?’
‘I didn’t know you spoke French well. I mean, I knew you’d gone to classes or whatever.’
‘Oh, Ty, I was only ordering a couple of pancakes,’ she said with a shrug.
‘Still…’ he said. ‘You kind of sounded French. You know?’
She decided to let him be impressed – after all it was a rare occurrence. ‘Well, I’ve been practising,’ she said modestly. ‘J’essaie.’
‘Which means…?’
‘I’m trying…’
He nodded, his mouth turned down at the corners – impressed with her for probably the first time since birth. She resolved not to speak too much more French today if only to leave him with the illusion that if she wanted to, she could.
They were sitting in Le Potron-Minet, a restaurant and crêperie she’d discovered close to the church in Eymoutiers and had earmarked as the kind of place to bring any visitors who might come her way. It served an array of crêpes and waffles, as well as larger meals such as boeuf bourguignon and coq au vin, all of which looked delicious. But the main draw for her was the beautiful building the tiny restaurant nestled in, the atmosphere and – if she was honest – the fact that the place, to her at least, seemed authentic and French and like somewhere only a local would visit.
The door into the building was small, but the restaurant inside opened up into a modest eating area, with exposed stone walls and a small wooden bar to one side. If you continued through the door at the back of the room, you’d find yourself in a tiny walled terrace which, unless you ventured into the eatery, you’d never know existed. The tables were small, mismatched and wooden, the floor tiled, and when the restaurant area was full, the rumble of voices made her feel somehow as if she was in the heart of things.