was not in the least surprised to hear that you and Nat are together now. I think that the two of you were always going to end up together, no matter what. I think we all did, even Lilah. I imagine she took it hard, but she falls on her feet, that girl. She will forgive you.
If you see him, will you give Dan my love?
I hope you don’t think me too selfish, I know you must think me weak. I don’t know what to say. Only, every night I have the same nightmare, and every morning I wake up to find out that it’s true.
I love you, dearest friend. I miss you.
Jen
Chapter Six
ABOUT A QUARTER way up the stairs, Lilah stood silently, eavesdropping. Straining to hear what was being said, trying to gauge the mood. She could hear Andrew and Jen, no one else. Jen was talking about selling up and moving to England. Oh Christ, maybe she
was
dying. She didn’t look like she was dying, though. She looked positively Rubenesque. Lilah tiptoed down a couple more steps. Now Jen was apologising to Andrew.
What for? It couldn’t just be for inviting him here without giving him the full guest list, surely? She must be talking about before. Leaving the way she did. It had been cold, sure enough, but Lilah might well have done the same thing herself, had she been in Jen’s shoes. Just get away, start over. Nothing worse than the post-mortem, the endless dissection and reconstruction of events. Better to just put it somewhere, store it away and try to forget. She doubted Andrew would understand. He had the opposite reaction to momentous events: he wanted to examine everything in minute detail, as though somehow meaning could be found there.
She decided to slip outside for a preparatory cigarette before she faced the others. Stealthily she crept past the entrance to the kitchen, her red silk kimono swishing gently against the stone walls, lifted the heavy latch on the front door and snuck out into the snow.
The cold took her breath away; it was like having a bucket of ice water thrown in her face. It was almost painfully light, the sun reflecting bright and harsh as steel off the snow. She regretted leaving her sunglasses upstairs, she regretted not getting properly dressed before coming out here: underwear, a scant layer of silk and Ugg boots were not appropriate attire. Still. She lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply and feeling, for the first time since she’d arrived, that it had been a good idea to come.
She didn’t think about it much, but if you’d told her all of a sudden that the French house had been sold, she could never go back there, it would have made her sad. She would have regretted never again having the chance to stand on this step and look out over the sweep of the front lawn, down to the dry stone wall and beyond. It triggered something in her. No, the wrong expression – being here was like lifting a veil, giving her once more a clear view of things long ago obscured. It brought back fragments of memory, like echoes, flickering images, a silent movie on a wall.
She remembered, for the first time in forever, having a row with Andrew in the kitchen, something minor, something ludicrously petty, like her retuning the radio to Mélodie FM when he wanted to listen to the World Service. The row had escalated, and eventually Lilah had stomped off upstairs in a sulk, throwing herself on the bed, pulling the sheet up over her head. She just wanted to be somewhere else. She was sick of this place, sick of the unrelenting heat, sick of the dust and cobwebs and back-breaking bloody work. She wanted to be in Juans-les-Pins, where she used to go with her mum when she was younger, before the money ran out. She wanted to be on the private beach at the Hotel Belles Rives. Did they really have to spend the entire summer in this place, Jen’s dad’s unpaid lackeys?
There was a soft knock on the door.
‘Piss off!’ she’d yelled.
‘Lilo?’ It was Natalie.
‘Sorry, Nat,’ she called out, the sheet still pulled over her head.
If you see him, will you give Dan my love?
I hope you don’t think me too selfish, I know you must think me weak. I don’t know what to say. Only, every night I have the same nightmare, and every morning I wake up to find out that it’s true.
I love you, dearest friend. I miss you.
Jen
Chapter Six
ABOUT A QUARTER way up the stairs, Lilah stood silently, eavesdropping. Straining to hear what was being said, trying to gauge the mood. She could hear Andrew and Jen, no one else. Jen was talking about selling up and moving to England. Oh Christ, maybe she
was
dying. She didn’t look like she was dying, though. She looked positively Rubenesque. Lilah tiptoed down a couple more steps. Now Jen was apologising to Andrew.
What for? It couldn’t just be for inviting him here without giving him the full guest list, surely? She must be talking about before. Leaving the way she did. It had been cold, sure enough, but Lilah might well have done the same thing herself, had she been in Jen’s shoes. Just get away, start over. Nothing worse than the post-mortem, the endless dissection and reconstruction of events. Better to just put it somewhere, store it away and try to forget. She doubted Andrew would understand. He had the opposite reaction to momentous events: he wanted to examine everything in minute detail, as though somehow meaning could be found there.
She decided to slip outside for a preparatory cigarette before she faced the others. Stealthily she crept past the entrance to the kitchen, her red silk kimono swishing gently against the stone walls, lifted the heavy latch on the front door and snuck out into the snow.
The cold took her breath away; it was like having a bucket of ice water thrown in her face. It was almost painfully light, the sun reflecting bright and harsh as steel off the snow. She regretted leaving her sunglasses upstairs, she regretted not getting properly dressed before coming out here: underwear, a scant layer of silk and Ugg boots were not appropriate attire. Still. She lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply and feeling, for the first time since she’d arrived, that it had been a good idea to come.
She didn’t think about it much, but if you’d told her all of a sudden that the French house had been sold, she could never go back there, it would have made her sad. She would have regretted never again having the chance to stand on this step and look out over the sweep of the front lawn, down to the dry stone wall and beyond. It triggered something in her. No, the wrong expression – being here was like lifting a veil, giving her once more a clear view of things long ago obscured. It brought back fragments of memory, like echoes, flickering images, a silent movie on a wall.
She remembered, for the first time in forever, having a row with Andrew in the kitchen, something minor, something ludicrously petty, like her retuning the radio to Mélodie FM when he wanted to listen to the World Service. The row had escalated, and eventually Lilah had stomped off upstairs in a sulk, throwing herself on the bed, pulling the sheet up over her head. She just wanted to be somewhere else. She was sick of this place, sick of the unrelenting heat, sick of the dust and cobwebs and back-breaking bloody work. She wanted to be in Juans-les-Pins, where she used to go with her mum when she was younger, before the money ran out. She wanted to be on the private beach at the Hotel Belles Rives. Did they really have to spend the entire summer in this place, Jen’s dad’s unpaid lackeys?
There was a soft knock on the door.
‘Piss off!’ she’d yelled.
‘Lilo?’ It was Natalie.
‘Sorry, Nat,’ she called out, the sheet still pulled over her head.
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