Page 12 of The Bordeaux Book Club

‘The chickens attacked me,’ she said simply.

‘God, Mum,’ Scarlett said, her face anything but sympathetic. ‘You can’t do anything normal, can you?’

5

In the end, it took them three days to rotavate the patch of garden they’d planned. The motor of their rotavator – a small model that had seen better days – cut out several times, the ground was hard and they just couldn’t get into a rhythm. Still, it was nice to look at the garden from the warmth of the living room, despite its clutter, and congratulate themselves on a job well done. Or well enough done.

They’d tried to persuade Scarlett to help them on the Sunday when they’d finally made a start, a day later than planned, but she’d made an excuse about homework and disappeared to her room. ‘How come she only seems industrious,’ Nathan had puffed, ‘when we need a bit of help?’

Now, it was three o’clock on Tuesday afternoon and they’d just finished the last couple of beds. Nathan had disappeared upstairs and Leah had just made a cup of tea for each of them, then settled down in the living room again withGreat Expectations. She’d made a little progress in the book, and was just refamiliarising herself with Miss Havisham’s revolting living arrangements when she heard a creak on the stair.

‘Tea’s next to the kettle,’ she called, simultaneously wondering who exactly was tending to Miss Havisham’s extensive land while she moped around with her broken heart, still wearing the wedding dress she’d had on when her lover had abandoned her. If the mad old woman had had to wield a hoe herself once in a while, perhaps she wouldn’t have got herself into such a state, Leah thought, imagining how such a comment would go down with Grace. She tried to think more of the literary symbolism, but it was hard when, at times, she wouldn’t mind doing a Havisham herself – downing tools dramatically and completely surrendering to her feelings like a toddler. Only she’d keep both her shoes on, she decided. When even the chickens are out to get you, you need to be prepared to run at any moment.

The door opened, and with a waft of sweet-smelling shampoo, her husband appeared in the room, several shades lighter than when he’d disappeared up the stairs twenty minutes before, covered in mud. ‘You look nice,’ she said. ‘I’ll jump in the shower when I finish this chapter.’

‘No rush,’ he said, his eyes travelled to the window and she followed his gaze. The afternoon was blue-skied and bright in a way that made it seem welcoming until you stepped outside and realised that you were ten seconds away from hypothermia. ‘Actually I’m just… I’ve just got to… pop out.’

‘Oh?’ she looked up. ‘You didn’t mention anything?’

‘No,’ he said, his eyes moving from the window to his shoes but barely resting on her at all. ‘I wasn’t sure if we’d finish in time… but, well, I’m just… I need to…’

‘In time for what?’

He coloured. ‘Well, there’s, um, avide-maison. Saw an ad on Facebook this morning. Someone’s selling some of their old junk.’ He laughed, a little stiffly. ‘I thought I’d see if they’ve got any garden tools we might make use of.’

She looked again at his apparently ironed shirt. Did they even have an iron? ‘Bit overdressed for avide-maison, aren’t you?’

‘Well, I might have a little walk around the city after. See a bit of life,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Remind myself there’s more to me than being a failed farmer.’ He grinned, but there was a sadness in his eyes.

‘Oh, come on,’ she said. ‘We’ll make a farmer out of you yet!’

‘Ha. Well, I live in hope!’

‘You should have said you wanted to go out!’ She set the book down, dog-earing it first in her haste – something she knew would earn her Grace’s wrath. ‘I’ll get changed and come with.’

‘But you were looking forward to relaxing this arvo, you said?’

‘I know, but…’ Was it unreasonable that she felt a bit put out? She had said more than once over the weekend that she was looking forward to putting her feet up when the beds were done. But something felt off.

‘Is everything alright?’ she asked.

His brow furrowed. ‘Of course it is.’

She had a sudden, odd, urge to ask whether he was annoyed about something – the carrots again? The chickens? – but managed to suppress it. ‘OK,’ she said, uncertainly.

‘Do you want me to pick anything up?’ he asked her.

‘No, I’m OK.’

‘Ok, see you soon.’ The door slammed and moments later, almost as if he’d hurried to get there, the car door shut and the engine started.

Once he’d pulled away, the house settled around her. It was odd, when she was here on her own, how the house felt different. How she had a sense of its empty rooms, the coldness of its stone walls when she knew there wasn’t another living, breathing human inside.

They’d recently talked about getting a dog – and despite never having owned one before, she was tempted. It would mean there was always someone – well, something – around. But she wasn’t sure, especially after the chicken incident.Could all animals smell fear?she wondered.

She sipped her tea, picked up her book again and tried to concentrate. But when she turned a page and realised she had no idea what she’d just read, she set it down again and decided to shower. Scarlett would be home from school in a bit – perhaps she’d use the time to try to reconnect with her daughter? Maybe they could pop out for a coffee, or stick on a film together? If not,Countdownwould be on soon – her go-to comfort TV ever since they’d invested in a British TV package. The familiar-faced presenter might not actually know she existed, but at least he was friendly whenever she turned the TV on, and didn’t screw up his nose at the sight of her, or disappear out of the door when she flicked onto his channel like everyone else in her life seemed determined to do.

As she stepped out of the shower forty minutes later, she heard the unmistakable sound of the front door slamming, shortly followed by a bag being dropped heavily from a shoulder. ‘Scarlett!’ she yelled down. ‘Fancy going to get something from the patisserie?’

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