Chapter 10
DAWN
As a toddler, Megan went through a phase where she’d only drink her evening milk whilst ‘Bring Him Home’ from the West End musical Les Misérables was playing in the background.
It had begun when Henry was out and she was having a tantrum because she’d tried to tug my dangling earrings out and I’d had to take them out and put them up high on a shelf so she couldn’t get at them.
Nothing could stop the consequent wails at the injustice of it all and I was getting flustered, not used to handling her like this by myself, so I put on the radio in the hope it might distract her for a moment, and it happened to be a show celebrating the best of musical soundtracks.
‘Bring Him Home’ was playing. Megan was mesmerised.
So mesmerised, that I was able to go prepare her milk and return. She drank it calmly.
The next day, I bought the album while I was out.
Henry was working late a lot that week, which was rare, so it became something of a routine: me putting on the Les Misérables soundtrack and then pulling Megan up on my lap so she could drink her milk.
Sitting together like that, I was at the perfect angle to smell her hair and study her eyelashes and the slope of her nose, and marvel at her squidgy cheeks.
All her tantrums from the day and my failings as a mother were forgotten by both of us in that peaceful moment.
When I was out a few days later and Henry put her to bed on his own, he hit a snag.
‘She wouldn’t drink her milk,’ he told me when I got back. ‘She refused it. She was in a terrible mood when I took her upstairs.’
‘Did you play “Bring Him Home”?’
‘No. Why would I do that?’
‘She likes to listen to it while she drinks her milk.’
The next evening, he was there when I put on the music and she settled down on my lap to drink her milk and listen. It was quite the feeling, that. Knowing her better than anyone else. That didn’t happen often, but for once, I felt needed.
I think about that while I sit at La Voile at the table on my own, looking out at the spectacular view, and I consider the cruelty of parenthood.
How you go from playing a major role in your child’s life to being a helpless member of the audience, only allowed to help if they shout, ‘Line’.
It’s been a long time since Megan needed anything from me.
Still. I should have known about the ring.
***
I don’t join Nico and Megan on the boat ride home.
Nico comes to tell me that they’re ready to go when I am, but I inform him I’ll get a taxi back to the hotel and see them there if Henry’s rules allow – he confirms they do.
Megan will think I’m avoiding the boat because of her, but the heat has made me tired and I’d rather sit in a car that will get me home in half an hour rather than a boat that will take much longer.
Besides, it might be nice for the two of them to have a little catch up.
As I came in from the sea earlier, I could see them talking and they seemed to be at ease.
True to her word, I find that Megan has paid her half of the bill on the way out, I think making a point that she will not be indebted to me on this trip if she can help it.
I pay the rest, pick up the box to return it to my bag, and I wander down the steps to the harbour, strolling slowly to a main road to find a taxi.
I thought about going to look at the house, but I’m too fatigued both physically and emotionally.
I can’t handle it now, either way. I find a taxi but refuse it when I realise it’s not air conditioned, standing my ground until I hail one that is.
The heat has made me a little dizzy, and I refuse to sit in the back of a stranger’s car feeling nauseous and sweaty.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take me long to find an appropriate car and soon I’m on my way back to the chateau.
When I arrive back, I’m desperate for a shower. The sea water has made my hair crunchy and dry, and I feel like my skin is covered in an unpleasant mixture of salt and sun cream. Swinging the straps of my bag over my shoulder, I march into the chateau with purpose, heading straight for the stairs.
I notice her behind the desk and stop in the middle of the reception hall.
She glances up, her contented expression faltering.
‘Francoise,’ I say, my voice croaky from tiredness.
‘Hello, Dawn.’
Nico’s aunt smiles earnestly at me. As though happy to see me. I can’t bear it.
She looks very well. Her light brown hair is shorter now, cut just above her shoulders and it suits her.
Her cheekbones are still enviously sharp and, if anything, time has merely added to her air of elegance.
Henry found it funny that we got on so well.
‘Your chaos and her serenity shouldn’t work, but it does,’ he said once, a comment that irked me but with hindsight I think he was being equally as complimentary about us both.
As I examine her now, she examines me. I relax my shoulders and lift my chin confidently to give the impression that time has been good to us both.
‘I heard you were staying for a few days, I’m so pleased you’ve returned,’ she says.
‘Yes. Well, not by choice.’
‘I was so sorry to hear about Henry.’
I nod curtly. ‘Thank you.’
We fall into silence. It’s not a comfortable one. Too much has happened. Too much time has passed. I am trying not to look at her, but I can feel her eyes fixed on me. I clear my throat, gesturing up the stairs with a strained smile.
‘I should . . .’
No need to finish my sentence. With one hand relying heavily on the banister, I begin to make my way up the stairs.
‘If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask,’ she calls up, watching me go.
‘Thank you.’
No matter how much you prepare to see someone after a long time, there are some people who will always floor you and it would seem that Francoise is one of those fuckers for me.
My stomach is turning and when I get to the safety of my room, I practically fall across the floor to the bed.
I sit on the edge of it, grabbing fistfuls of the bed sheets as I hang my head and attempt to control my breathing.
It’s infuriating that her presence has thrown me like this.
If I were writing that scene, my focus would be on how she looked at me.
There would be a bit of waffle around capturing her character, which would be easy enough.
She’s confident and stylish. Like Henry, she comes from money and has the natural sophistication that affords.
She doesn’t say much. You feel like you want to impress her because you have no idea what she thinks about you.
She’s the sort of intimidating woman I tried to be at some point in my early twenties before realising that being so dignified and aloof was too much work for the likes of me.
But the look she gave would be harder to describe.
There was an instinctive joy there, controlled and managed but there all the same.
She was happy to see me. I imagine that’s because, somewhere beneath the prickly pride and resentment, we like each other.
But there was also a flicker of sadness in her eyes.
I do not need her to feel that on my behalf.
Damn Henry for bringing me back here.
‘I don’t know what you want from me,’ I mutter bitterly, knocking my bag from the bed, hearing the clunk of the box hitting the floor.
Getting up to draw the curtains, I plunge the room into darkness and return to curl up on the bed, my legs stiff from the swimming today, my forehead damp with sweat. Somehow amidst my all-consuming thoughts of regret and guilt, I promise myself to do better, and eventually I fall asleep.
***
2025: Thirteen months ago
When Henry arrives, he calls my name several times as he makes his way through the house and finds me in tears on the floor of the upstairs bathroom.
He crouches down and clasps my hand in his.
My leg spasmed, I tell him. It spasmed, I repeat through sobs.
He doesn’t say anything, he nods in that warm understanding way of his and moves to put an arm around my waist and help me to my feet.
He guides me downstairs to the sofa, but after a while, when I’ve calmed down, I ask if we can sit in the garden so I can smoke.
‘You don’t smoke in the house?’ he says surprised.
‘I don’t smoke.’
‘But when you do, rarely, you smoke outside, still? Even though you live alone.’
‘If I’m tempted to smoke inside, I hear your voice in my head telling me off.’
He looks delighted with himself and I scold him for being a self-satisfied twat. He deduces I’m feeling better now that I’m insulting him again and we go sit outside.
It’s a warm evening. My garden is one of my favourite places. I know it’s shamefully cliché of me, but I adore sitting in the evening sun, listening to the sounds of the birds and the rustle of the leaves in the breeze, if there is one.
‘I’m not going to the party tonight,’ I tell him after a while.
He doesn’t look surprised. ‘You should.’
‘She will know something is wrong.’
‘No, she won’t. You look great.’
‘You’re a terrible liar.’
He looks thoughtful. ‘Are you going to tell her why?’
‘Not today. She should enjoy her special moment.’ I frown as I watch a bird land on my feeder, wondering what kind of bird it is and concluding that it’s likely a sparrow. ‘I don’t remember us having an engagement party.’
‘We went out and celebrated with our friends.’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t a big formal thing with balloons and what-not.’
He laughs. ‘If Megan were here, she’d be upset at you reducing it to that. She’s been very stressed organising it all. I think there will be more to the event than balloons.’
‘She likes to be stressed. It will be fabulous.’
‘I can’t persuade you to go?’
‘No, darling, you can’t,’ I inform him softly. ‘But if ever she asks, I’ll do a wonderful job of telling her how much you tried to change my mind. Do pass on my apologies.’
He sighs, leaning back in the chair, his hands clasped over his chest. ‘She’ll pretend she’s not, but she’ll be upset when you don’t show. She won’t forgive you easily, you know.’
‘I know,’ I say, taking a long drag and exhaling. ‘She can add it to the list.’