‘Are you all right?’ her mother asked, reaching for a first aid box in the cupboard above Sandrine’s head.
‘Yes,’ Sandrine said. ‘I wasn’t concentrating.’
She washed away the blood with cold water from the tap. As she was putting on a plaster, her father, Sam, Antoine and Maxime burst noisily into the kitchen with their day’s haul – mainly turbot and sardines. There was a lot of it. Some of it would go in the freezer for now.
Without having to be asked, Antoine washed his hands, put one of the turbots onto a chopping board, wiped it with kitchen towel and expertly filleted the fish with a knife, opening it along the side and then slicing it along the backbone.
Maxime watched his brother work.
‘You could pitch in, you know,’ Antoine said.
‘You’re doing a great job by the look of it. You don’t need me,’ Maxime replied.
‘Well, can you fetch me a beer, then?’
‘Well, just this once,’ Maxime said. ‘You’re the barman.’
Sandrine caught the look Antoine threw his younger brother. ‘What’s this about being a barman?’ she asked.
‘Change of career plan,’ Antoine said.
‘You’re not serious.’
‘No, I’m joking. Relax, Maman.’
‘Are you still working at the supermarket?’ Sandrine knew Béatrice, Antoine’s boss. They’d gone to the same Friday evening Pilates class for a couple of years.
‘Er, no. Not anymore.’
‘Why not?’
When Antoine didn’t answer, Sandrine looked pointedly at Maxime.
‘He got the sack,’ Maxime supplied, sheepishly. He pulled a face at Antoine and mouthed an apology as he handed him a can of lager.
‘You got sacked?’ Sandrine turned to Sam. ‘Did you know about this?’
Sam shook his head and carefully took the knife from her hand. She hadn’t realized she’d been waving it around.
‘Why? What happened?’ Sam asked, his voice much calmer than Sandrine’s. ‘What did you do?’
‘Nothing.’ Antoine lowered his head. ‘It was a mutual decision. I found another job. The supermarket job was just Saturdays. With the bartending, I can do a few evening shifts as well and earn more money.’
‘In a pub? A nightclub? I hope it’s not cash in hand,’ Sam said.
‘No. It’s all above board. In La Voie Lactée – the concert hall in the seventh arrondissement.’
Sandrine didn’t feel reassured and it must have shown on her face because Antoine said, ‘Don’t worry, Maman.’
Was it Sandrine’s imagination or was Antoine being cagey? She sighed. He’d probably turned up late for work a few times too many, in which case she couldn’t blame his boss. She hoped this wouldn’t make things awkward between Béatrice and her. She didn’t want to have to shop elsewhere. She also hoped the new job wouldn’t get in the way of Antoine’s studies after the summer holidays. Bar work would mean late nights. Unless it was just a summer job. But before she could ask, her mother had ushered everyone out of the kitchen and into the sitting room for an aperitif. Sandrine pushed the conversation with Antoine out of her mind.
Later, as they ate their dinner of fish, mashed potatoes and ratatouille, Sandrine looked around the table at everyone’s contented faces and knew they mirrored her own. She wished they could stay longer. The sea air and climate in Brittany would be far kinder than the stifling atmosphere in and around Lyon. An intense heatwave had been predicted for the rest of July and all of August.
The rest of the week went by quickly – too quickly. Sandrine was still reluctant to leave as they loaded their suitcases into the boot of Sam’s car the following day. It would be considerably hotter in Lyon – thirty-eight degrees, according to the forecast – and she was dreading it. Instead of heading home, she felt as though they were driving away from it.
Chapter 7
2 DAYS BEFORE
Laura
‘Where the hell is Claire?’ Sarah asked for the fourth time in five minutes.
They were sitting in the waiting area at Europa Bus Centre, looking out through the dirty windows for their coach. Sarah jabbed at her mobile, then, holding it to her ear, she grimaced at Ava and Laura, muttering, ‘It’s gone to voicemail again. I’ll leave a message this time.’ Into her phone she said, ‘Claire, our bus leaves from stand fourteen in …’ she held her mobile out in front of her, examining the screen ‘… three minutes. You’re not going to make it.’
As Sarah ended the call, their coach pulled into the bay. They stood up and headed for the automatic doors.
‘Damn it! Where is she?’ Sarah said, as she stepped outside, wheeling her suitcase.
Laura followed, suddenly feeling nauseous at the idea of going ahead with the trip without Claire. At the door she faltered, causing Ava to bump into her. Turning to apologize, she saw Ava shiver.
‘It’s like brass monkeys out here,’ Ava said. ‘It’s supposed to be August, for feck’s sake.’
Laura took in the pink T-shirt, short denim skirt and high wedge sandals. She could make out the goose bumps on Ava’s arms and wondered why she didn’t put on the light cardigan tied around her waist.
‘Baltic,’ Sarah agreed. ‘The forecast is for thirty-eight degrees in Lyon today.’
How could they talk about the weather when Claire was about to miss the bus?
‘Sounds lovely,’ Ava said.
‘I think that’s pretty hot,’ Sarah said. ‘As in heatwave-hot. A heatwave here is like nineteen, twenty degrees,’ she continued. ‘I think we’re in for a climate shock.’
Laura had checked the weather in Lyon every day for the last week. She’d never known temperatures anywhere near that high and had been hoping it would get cooler the week they were there. But that wasn’t what the forecast said.
Ava seemed unfazed, though. ‘Bring it on!’ she said.
‘Hiya, girls, what’s the craic?’ came a voice from behind Ava. It was Claire. Laura’s face broke into a relieved smile.
‘Better late than never,’ Sarah muttered under her breath. Laura remembered Claire once remarking that Sarah had a saying for every situation.
‘What are yous talking about?’
‘The weather,’ Ava and Sarah said in unison.
‘As you do,’ Claire said.
The bus driver, a small young man in his thirties, loaded their suitcases into the hold of the coach. Laura caught him admiring Claire’s bare legs when he straightened up again.
She found herself sitting next to Ava on the coach with Claire and Sarah in the seats behind them. As the bus careened round the corners, Laura felt glad she’d got the window seat. She sometimes got travel-sick.
As if reading her mind, Ava said, ‘We’ll be out of Belfast soon. It’ll be a smoother ride once we get onto the motorway.’
‘I hope so. The driver clearly fancies himself as the next Eddie Irvine,’ Laura said.
‘Who?’
‘Oh. He was a Formula One driver. From Newtownards? My father was a fan.’ Apparently. At the thought of her father, Laura’s heart clenched.