about the Left Bank or the Right Bank and would definitely get them muddled up because knowing her left from her right was one of her biggest struggles, but she’d find a way.
“Wait.” Meena stopped chewing. “You’re going to have your own apartment and a job in a bookshop? That’s cool. But if your French isn’t good enough to apply for the job, how are you going to manage when you get there?”
The same way she’d lived her whole life. “I’ll muddle through.”
“You’re so brave. What do they want you to do?”
“I was hoping you could tell me that. Your French is pretty good, too.” Audrey thrust the phone toward her friend, and Meena read it quickly.
“You need to write a piece on why books and reading are important.”
“Crap.”
Meena wiped her fingers. “I thought you hated books and reading.”
“I do. I prefer movies.” Her secret passion was watching animated movies, but she’d never admit to anything so childish. “Obviously I’m not going to tell them that. Does your cousin like books?”
“Yes. She’s always reading.”
“Great. So if she could write why she loves books, in French, I’ll send that off. Can you ask her tonight?”
“Sure.” Meena peered into her lunch box. “Why does my mum make me so much food? If I ate it all I’d be the size of a small office building. Every day I have to throw it away in case she finds out I didn’t eat it all and gets offended. I don’t suppose you want some, do you?”
“Sure.” Audrey had to stop herself from falling face-first into the lunch box like Hardy and his dog bowl. “Anything for a friend.”
She consumed the rest of Meena’s food and tried to figure out a way to persuade Meena’s mother to adopt her.
She was on her way back to the salon when her mother texted.
Come home. It’s an emergency.
Audrey stopped in the doorway. Ellen was cutting hair. Milly answering the phone. The salon was heaving with people. And there was Mrs. Dunmore, who always booked on a Saturday because she liked Audrey to wash her hair.
She glanced at her phone again, torn.
Her mother’s idea of an emergency was running out of gin.
Saturday was the busiest day of the week at work. She was part of a team. She wasn’t going to let them down.
She switched off her phone and walked into the salon.
By the time she eventually arrived home, her mother was waiting for her at the front door, her face ravaged by grief and her breath smelling of alcohol.
“Ron and I have broken up.”
Audrey’s heart hit the ground. “But the wedding is in a week. What happened?”
She walked into the house and closed the door, keen to keep their problems firmly inside.
“I drove him away. Everybody leaves me. No one loves me.”
Audrey struggled to stay calm.
It was her worst nightmare. She’d put all her faith in Ron. “What did you fight about?”
“Nothing!”
“It must have been something.”
“I can’t even remember.” Linda waved her hand. “Something small. I said it was obvious that he didn’t love me and that he might as well just leave right now, so he did.”
“Did he—” Audrey swallowed. “Did he actually say he wanted to break up? Maybe he just needed some air.” She needed air all the time when she was around her mother. “Have you called him?”
“What’s the point? He was always going to leave at some point, so maybe it’s better that it’s now.” Her mother sank onto the sofa. “You’re right, I have to take control of my life.”
Audrey felt a flutter of hope. That was something, at least. “Right. We’ll make an appointment with the doctor. I’ll come with you, and—”
“I started with your room.”
“What?”
“Your room was a mess. Normally I overlook it, but I decided that from today we’re both turning over a new leaf.”
Audrey’s heart started to pound. She wasn’t the one who needed to turn over a new leaf.
“You tidied my room?”
“Not only tidied. I had a clear-out. You’re an adult now, Audrey. You don’t need all that rubbish around you. I filled two black sacks with things you should have thrown out years ago.”
Audrey stared at her mother, and a horrible premonition washed over her.
Surely her mother wouldn’t have—
She couldn’t—
She left the room at a run, taking the stairs so fast she stumbled twice.
Please no, no, don’t let her have done it.
She pushed open the door of her room and stared at her bed. “Mum?” Her voice was hoarse. “Where’s my teddy bear?”
When Grace’s parents died, it had been impossible to escape the sympathy. It had wrapped around her like tentacles, squeezing and squeezing until she couldn’t breathe. There was speculation, too, of course, about what exactly had happened on that night, but no one voiced their thoughts directly to her. Everyone had handled her carefully. They’d tiptoed, sent her anxious glances, whispered among themselves—is she doing okay?
It was the same now.
“One sourdough loaf?” Clemmie bagged it up and handed it to Grace with a pitying look. “How are you doing?”
“Great,” Grace lied.
She’d learned a lot about herself since David had left. She’d learned it was possible to smile while crying inside and make cheerful conversation even when you wanted to tell someone to mind their own business.
“You’ve lost a bit of weight.”
Grace paid for the bread. “Slimming down for the summer.”
“It must be so hard.”
She’d seen that same look in people’s eyes ten times a day in the weeks since David had left her. She used to love this small town that she and David had made their home, but now she hated it. In a city she could have disappeared, but here she stood out like a red wine stain on a white carpet. Everyone knew, and each encounter left another tiny cut in her flesh and her feelings, until she felt as if she’d walked naked through a thornbush.
If David hadn’t been the editor of the newspaper, his transgression probably would have made the headlines.
Editor leaves boring wife.
In the days after it had happened even the children in her class had avoided eye contact. None of them had asked her how her Valentine’s date had gone. They’d been particularly well behaved, as if trying to avoid her attention.
Several of them probably had Lissa as a babysitter.
They all assumed the affair must be the worst thing about it, but for Grace the worst thing was losing David.
Being left wasn’t a gentle thing. It was a vicious wrench, a tearing of flesh and feelings. Occasionally, she glanced down at herself and was surprised to discover she wasn’t bleeding. Such a trauma should at least leave a bruise, surely?