Page 19 of The Bordeaux Book Club

‘It’s alright,’ he shrugged. ‘I guess people seem pretty chilled round here. And the food’s pretty good. Don’t know if I could stand living here full time though.’

‘Oh.’ It was hard to tell whether Grace was disappointed or insulted.

‘Not that it’s not, like, beautiful and everything,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I just I think I’d feel a bit weird living here on me tod.’ They were all silent for a moment as he realised his second fauxpas. ‘You know,’ he continued, ‘some people like living on their own. It’s just me… for me, it would be… well, it wouldn’t be ideal. But if I did come here, I’d be more likely to do a Leah – plant my own stuff, live the good life. That kind of thing.’

Leah felt herself go red. ‘Yeah, it’s hard work though,’ she said.

‘I bet.’

A silence settled over them.

‘You know,’ Monica piped up. ‘I get what you mean – about it being a kind of lonely place. I know I’m here with Bella, and I’m married, so not strictly alone. But Peter’s off three, four weeks at a time and I’m rattling around in this enormous apartment. It can be… yeah, it can make you feel weird.’ She tilted her glass slightly towards George as if clinking it with his from a distance, then took a sip.

‘How is Bella?’ Leah asked.

‘Yeah, good thanks.’

‘And Peter’s…?’

‘Off flying around the world,’ Monica said, with an eyeroll. ‘Everyone thinks it’s so romantic,’ she added after a sip of wine, ‘being married to a pilot. And, well… there is the uniform and that,’ she glanced away, clearly a little embarrassed. ‘But it’s a bit shit too when you’re stuck at home with a baby who just won’t feed.’ Her voice broke slightly on the last words and Leah and Grace exchanged a look.

‘Oh, it’s so, so hard at first,’ Leah said, quickly. ‘Honestly, it does get easier.’

Monica gave her a grateful, tearful smile. Leah tried to assemble her face into a look of confident reassurance. But she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d given her new friend false hope. Things did improve after the baby months. But they went downhill again once teenage hormones were thrown into the mix.

‘What about you, Alfie?’ asked George, making the young man – who’d been sitting quietly – jump slightly. Leah noticed that the red wine had stained Alfie’s lips and given him the look of having applied lipstick in the back of a taxi. She wondered whether she should say anything, but decided against it. The last thing the kid needed was any more reason to feel self-conscious.

She’d been a shy child and teen herself, only really coming into her own in her thirties. Still, on the inside, she felt the reluctance of an introvert – but had found ways to push herself forward. Like a fitness fanatic set on a goal, she forced herself out of her comfort zone hoping that in time, that zone would expand. It had, a little, over the years.

‘I’ve been here since I was about five,’ he said. ‘Just me and my mum. I can’t remember living in England.’

‘I bet you’re a whiz at the language,’ Grace said.

Alfie nodded, flushing. ‘I’m OK,’ he said.

‘And you’re still living with…?’

‘My mum,’ he said. ‘Dad’s not around.’

Grace nodded, shuffling on her chair in a way that betrayed her discomfort. She took a sip of wine. ‘Did I tell you all,’ she said, ‘that the grapes in this particular vintage were crushed the traditional way? Underfoot?’

George laughed. ‘I thought there was a bit of a taste to it,’ he said. ‘Bit of sweat in the mix, I reckon.’ He swilled the wine and gave it a sip. ‘Salty.’

The humour did not land well with Grace, although the rest of them giggled. ‘It’s all very hygienic,’ she said, a new edge to her voice.

George grinned. ‘Oh yeah, I know,’ he said. ‘Mind you, it gives a whole new meaning to the idea of a “cheese and wine” evening…’

Another hour, another bottle and they were standing collectively on the front porch waiting to be picked up. Leah hadresolved just to have half a glass so she could drive herself home, but had lost her resolve after the first few sips. George – also almost certainly over the limit – had been admonished by Grace when he’d reached for his car keys. ‘I’m fine!’ he’d argued. ‘Just a couple of glasses.’

But she’d insisted, and Leah had been glad. Sometimes it was good to be forthright and unafraid; she might well have let him wobble off to his car, not wanting to upset him. And it might have been disastrous.

Now as they waited for various taxis and lifts, Leah was reminded of standing outside the youth club as a teen, waiting for her mum to turn up and embarrass her and rescue her in equal measure.

Poor Mum. Had she really been old-fashioned, embarrassing back then? Or had Leah, with her enthusiastically adopted nineties style of baggy jeans and those bright-white trainers with the enormous tongues, actually been the problem herself? Looking back on old pictures of herself as a sulky girl in dungarees or double denim, she saw traces of Scarlett. She looked miserable, moody, angry even. But all she remembered about that time in her life was being frightened, paranoid that she wouldn’t keep up, that people would laugh at her.

Still, so terrified that she’d pushed away a woman who’d always been by her side, because – why? – her shoes weren’t right? Her clothes weren’t ‘on trend’?

Perhaps there’s a little bit of Pip in all of us, she thought.

---