Tears streamed down Sandrine’s face, rolling into her ears and onto Antoine’s pillow, as she lay on her back in his bed. Did he know how much he was loved? Or had they been afraid to love him after losing Léa? Had they spoiled him? Perhaps they hadn’t spoiled him enough.
She wasn’t aware she was tired. Not any more than usual, anyway. Sleep was something Sandrine had given up on. It had become irregular and elusive. She slept through the night only occasionally now, and when she did she felt less energized than if she’d lain awake for most of it. It wouldn’t have occurred to her she might fall asleep during the day.
She woke up groggy and disoriented. It took her several seconds to work out where she was and a few more to realize she wasn’t alone. Daylight had faded now and she could make out only a silhouette. Someone was sitting on the bed. Sandrine sat bolt upright and screamed.
‘Shhh. It’s me.’ Sam put one hand on her shoulder. In his other hand, he was holding a steaming mug, which he passed to her. She saw worry etched around his mouth and in the green flecks of his hazel eyes.
‘Thank you.’ She was touched by his thoughtfulness.
For a while, neither of them spoke. Sam didn’t ask her what she was doing in here, or if she came in here often. He must have worked that out for himself. Maybe he sneaked in here, too, when she was out somewhere.
Sandrine blew across the mug and sipped the drink, crinkling her nose. It was too sugary. Sam said proper mint tea was sweet and that’s the way he always made it.
They’d bought the house from a couple of elderly Moroccans, whose garden had a bed of mint running riot behind the clothesline. Sam had wanted to dig it all up. It took up too much space, he’d said, but Sandrine felt it was part of the legacy of the house and liked the smell when she hung out the washing, so instead they found recipes to cook with it and froze it so they could make herbal teas during the winter. The smell of mint and the memory it carried slowed down Sandrine’s breathing and heartbeat.
‘Sam, I’ve been thinking,’ she said. ‘When Maxime has finished his exams later this year, we could move away. I’d love to move back to Brittany. You like it there, don’t you?’ He didn’t answer. She tried to read his expression, but his face was inscrutable. ‘We could get a house near the sea,’ she persisted. She could hear the quaver in her voice.
‘My family’s here,’ Sam said.
‘Your family! Your brother is the only one who talks to you! And even he’s …’
‘He’s what?’
‘Nothing. Forget it.’
Sam’s face clouded over and Sandrine regretted her outburst. After all, it was because of her that Sam had fallen out with his parents. It had been cruel of her to use that as an argument. She put her hand on Sam’s to placate him, but he pulled away.
‘We need to stay here. For Maxime.’ The green blaze in Sam’s eyes belied his calm tone. In that moment she saw Antoine in Sam and had to look away.
‘Max plans to go to Marseille,’ she muttered.
‘We’ve already lost one of our sons,’ Sam continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘We can’t risk losing the other one.’ He got up and left the room, closing the door behind him and leaving her in the dark.
She set the mug on the bedside table and curled up again in Antoine’s bed. Oblivion. That was what Sandrine needed. She scrunched her eyes tight shut in an attempt to go back to sleep. But it was futile. Antoine’s face swam into focus as her imagination conjured up the photo she’d stared at earlier. She tried to hold on to that image, to zoom in closer. But it was as if, from behind her closed eyelids, her vision blurred and the colours faded to sepia. Her mind was playing a cruel trick on her, reminding her she would never see her son again.
Chapter 5
1 MONTH BEFORE
Laura
It wasn’t until she stepped out of the flat to go to work that she was reminded what day it was.
‘Happy birthday!’ It was her neighbour.
‘Thank you, Mrs Doherty,’ Laura said, locking the door to her flat. ‘It’s so good of you to remember.’
‘Ah, it’s an easy one to remember, so it is,’ the elderly lady replied. ‘It’s the anniversary of my husband’s death.’
Laura was thrown for a second. ‘Oh. I’m sorry, Mrs Doherty. I didn’t know that.’ Laura hadn’t even known there had been a Mr Doherty.
Her neighbour made a dismissive gesture with her hand. ‘Sure, when you start to forget dates, you start to lose your head, so you do.’
Mrs Doherty’s brain was still razor-sharp, but her arthritis meant she was losing some of her mobility, so Laura ran errands for her whenever her hips were playing up. ‘Do you need me to get you anything, Mrs Doherty? I can pick up some shopping after work if you like?’
‘Och, no pet, thank you. Right as rain today.’
Mrs Doherty nodded towards her tartan shopping cart and wheeled it over to the lift, which they rode down to the ground floor together. Then Laura headed for the bus stop.
The library opened at 9:30 but Laura and her colleagues usually arrived half an hour early so they could have a chat and a cup of tea together before work. As usual, Claire was already in the staffroom when Laura arrived that morning. She was wearing a flowery sundress with sandals. She had her back to Laura and was pouring milk into four mugs.
‘Good morning. What a pretty dress!’ Laura said.
Claire turned round, her large hoop earrings rocking energetically from side to side with the movement.
‘Hiya. Happy birthday!’ She put the carton of milk on the counter and picked up a small, beautifully gift-wrapped box, which she held out to Laura.
‘You shouldn’t have. That’s so sweet of you.’
‘Are you excited?’ Claire asked.
Laura frowned. Did she mean about the present? About turning thirty?
‘Four weeks tomorrow!’
‘Ah. Oh. Yes. I still have a few things to get before then, but I can’t wait,’ Laura said, as a small knot of trepidation tied itself in her stomach.
Laura picked off the Sellotape and opened the present. It was a necklace, a colourful glass pendant on a red ribbon. Laura remembered admiring a similar necklace around Claire’s neck a few months ago.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, moved. ‘Thank you.’
As Claire was tying the necklace around Laura’s neck, Ava and Sarah arrived. Both in their mid-twenties, they were the same height and build, when Ava wasn’t wearing heels. But the similarities stopped there. Sarah had fine blond hair, scooped back into a ponytail, and wore a serious expression as her default setting. Ava, on the other hand, had an unruly mane of thick, dark hair and flawless skin with permanently rosy cheeks. She had prominent front teeth, which were all the more noticeable as they were naturally very white and she smiled a lot.
‘Happy birthday,’ they chorused. They came bearing gifts, too. Laura hadn’t expected any of them to remember, let alone buy her presents, and for a moment she was choked up. They looked at her expectantly, Ava flashing her signature wide smile.
Claire finished making the tea and handed round the mugs while Laura opened Ava’s and Sarah’s presents. Ava had bought her an orange and yellow chiffon scarf.