Lyon wasn’t by the sea. There would be no risk of turning red like a cooked lobster at the end of a day on the beach. Plus Laura loved The Naturals. They’d long been her favourite band. Her cousin Declan was friends with the bass guitarist – they’d been at school together. Connor, that was his name. She met him once before he was famous after a gig he and his group had done in The Dirty Onion. He was a ride, Connor. Not very tall, but muscular. She’d loved his smile and the mischievous twinkle in his clear blue eyes.
She looked up, catching her image reflected in the black TV screen. She gave herself a stern look while she thought things over. An opportunity. That’s what this trip was. Declan was always saying she should do something out of her comfort zone.
Picking up her mobile, she texted Claire.
OK! Count me in!
Claire’s reply came straight back.
Yay! You won’t regret it!
xoxo
Laura hoped Claire was right. But as she climbed into bed that night, she already regretted her decision. She couldn’t put her finger on why exactly, but going on holiday with her friends to France seemed like a very bad idea. She wrestled with a strange gut feeling she was heading towards some inevitable disaster. Pulling her covers up to her chin, Laura closed her eyes and told herself she was being ridiculous.
Chapter 2
7 MONTHS BEFORE
Sandrine
Sandrine shook Antoine as he lay in his bed, the covers kicked off onto the floor. He didn’t respond, his body warm and yet seemingly lifeless. Was he ill? She spent her life worrying about one child or the other, even though her elder son was now officially an adult and her younger son wasn’t far behind.
‘Antoine,’ she said, shaking him again, ‘you’re going to be late for work.’
He opened one eye, looked at her, then closed it again. ‘I’ve set the alarm on my phone,’ he said.
‘You won’t have time for breakfast if you don’t get up now.’
‘I work in a supermarket, Maman. The bakery there has croissants and pains au chocolat. And they have freshly squeezed orange juice.’
‘You won’t work there for much longer if you arrive late,’ she said playfully, picking up the quilt from the floor and throwing it over him. Pulling it over his head, Antoine groaned.
‘If you hadn’t stopped my pocket money, I wouldn’t have to work there at all,’ came his muffled voice. ‘I could have a lie-in on Saturdays like Maxime.’
Sandrine didn’t know if he was joking or not. She glanced around his room. As usual, it was tidy and orderly, unlike his younger brother’s bedroom. Even the posters on Antoine’s wall were neatly aligned. His clothes were folded in a neat pile on a chair by his bed whereas Maxime always left his clothes discarded in a heap on the floor.
She smiled to herself, marvelling, not for the first time, at how alike her boys were, and yet at the same time how different. They couldn’t have looked more similar if they’d been cloned. They had the same features, the same expressions and gestures. Sandrine and her husband Sam sometimes mistook one for the other in their photo albums. They had to examine the pictures closely to work out who was who. Max didn’t have the green flecks in his eyes that Antoine did and Antoine’s eyebrows were darker and more sharply defined.
Not only did they look alike, they also liked many of the same things – video games, jigsaw puzzles, fishing, the beach and the sea, dogs and cats. They had the same tastes in music: R&B, rap and rock. But Antoine was bookish while Max preferred the outdoors. Max had been cuddly as a child and was still affectionate whereas from a young age, Antoine had been fiercely independent and detached.
Antoine’s alarm went off, cutting off Sandrine’s thoughts. She left the room and went to join Sam for breakfast.
‘Do you think he’s depressed?’ she asked Sam.
‘No! You worry too much,’ he said fondly as she sat down opposite him at the kitchen table.
She couldn’t help worrying about her boys. That was her job as their mother. Indeed, she felt that bringing up her children was her only job, as she’d given up teaching years ago when Antoine was born. She’d intended to go back to work, but it hadn’t been necessary financially and she’d enjoyed her role as a stay-at-home parent. She had friends and didn’t feel isolated. Perhaps she’d get back into teaching – at least give some private lessons – once the boys left home. That might distract her from feeling grief over an empty nest when the time came.
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ she said. ‘I’m just concerned about him, you know, since … well, what happened with Océane.’
Sam reached across the table and put a hand on her arm. ‘That was months ago,’ he said. ‘I doubt he even gives her a thought these days.’
Sandrine wasn’t so sure. Antoine had told her he wanted to marry Océane. He’d been smitten. It had been a few months since Océane had broken up with him, but she didn’t think Antoine was over it yet. It was as if a light had gone out behind his eyes and hadn’t yet come back on. He didn’t smile as much. He didn’t laugh at all.
Antoine sauntered into the kitchen a few minutes later, dressed with his hair combed. Standing at the worktop, he tore off a hunk of baguette, and took a bite.
‘Catch you later,’ he said, his mouth full, waving the bread as he made for the front door.
‘Have a nice day,’ Sam called after Antoine, but he got no reply other than the sound of the front door slamming shut. ‘See?’ Sam said, turning back to Sandrine. ‘He’s a typical teen.’
When Maxime emerged, sporting a bedhead and pyjamas, Sandrine and Sam had almost finished their breakfast. He kissed first Sandrine then Sam on both cheeks.
His back turned to them as he made himself toast, he said, ‘Mamie and Papy have invited Antoine and me round this Sunday. I said yes. Is that all right?’
‘Of course,’ Sandrine said noticing Sam blanch at the mention of his parents. ‘You know it is.’
Sandrine had only met Sam’s parents once, briefly, on the day Sam had introduced her to them and announced their engagement. It had come as a complete shock to his parents. They’d had other ideas for him and they took an instant disliking to her. They made it clear they didn’t even want to get to know her and would sever all ties with Sam if he insisted on marrying her. There was a huge row and Sam and Sandrine were unceremoniously thrown out of the house before they’d even sat down to eat lunch.
‘Is your uncle picking you up?’ Sandrine asked, pushing the argument to the back of her mind.
‘Yes.’
Sam’s parents lived about forty kilometres away, in a suburb to the south of Lyon. His older brother took Antoine and Maxime along with his own children to see their grandparents, and she was grateful to him for that. It was important to Sandrine. It was bad enough that she’d come between Sam and his parents. She didn’t want to come between her sons and their grandparents, too.
In the first year or so after their marriage, Sam had spoken little about his parents, but over time he’d told her anecdotes about his brother and him when they were children and it was obvious he’d been close to his parents despite a somewhat strict upbringing.