One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [115]
It was only ten o’clock and normally I’d watch the news and then go to bed, but it was one thing to watch it alone because your boy is at school, and another to watch it alone because he’s in, but doesn’t want to be with you. Which I suddenly knew, with a sharp intake of breath, was the reality. Feeling something like physical pain, I sat down and bent double. My head was low and my hands clenched as if in prayer, but my eyes wide and staring.
After a bit, I sat up straight. Breathed deeply to compose myself. Then I flicked off the lights, and went to bed.
Friday night, for both of us, I felt, couldn’t come quickly enough. We were bidden to Laura’s for the shooting weekend, and yet again the shop was to be left in Christian’s capable hands. Yet again I wondered what on earth Maggie and I would do when his arthritis really did incapacitate him and we had to find someone else to hold the fort. Who? Who could we call upon at a moment’s notice and say – could you do this weekend and then nothing for a month, but maybe three days in November? Oh, and then a couple of weekends? And who else would be so pleased and proud about it, as Christian was when Seffy and I popped in to drop off the keys at his home in Munster Road, en route to Laura’s?
‘And don’t feel you have to open dead on nine thirty, Christian. We all know no one buys antiques in London till midday.’
‘We all know malheureusement, no one buys antiques at all any more in London. Too busy going to crappy Ikea. But I open normalement. On the dot as usual. Ça va, my boy?’ This, together with a beaming smile and embrace for Seffy, who’d got out of the car to join me on the doorstep.
‘Ça va, Christian,’ grinned Seffy, instantly enveloped in a breath-squeezing, rib-crushing bear hug, which normally we’d exchange an amused grin about, but not today, I noticed.
‘You come and see me soon and we get that GLC French around your belt, hm? I, Christian Dupont, will teach you more than any fool inexpérimenté teacher, yes?’
‘I will,’ promised Seffy. ‘I’d like that,’ he added truthfully.
Seffy spent a lot of time with his godfather, often choosing to help him in the shop if I wasn’t about. I’d arrive back from a commission in the holidays and find them in the back room together, putting the world to rights, smoking furiously – Christian, I hope.
‘And you notice I not ask you why you at home in term time?’ he asked with a twinkle in his eye as we kissed him goodbye and turned to go.
Seffy turned back, grinned. ‘Yeah, I did notice that. Thanks.’
‘Is because I know it’s a long story. And maybe not one for your mother.’ He winked as we got in the car.
‘Oh, don’t worry, Christian. I know all there is to know,’ I assured him breezily from the window as I started the engine.
‘So you think,’ he nodded thoughtfully, keeping his eye on Seffy. ‘But I not so sure.’
We waved goodbye, but this last remark had the effect of making me breathe more shallowly. My lips tightened as we addressed the predictably heavy Friday afternoon traffic and headed for Hammersmith roundabout.
‘Christian’s very French, isn’t he?’ I said airily to my son as we finally achieved it. ‘He thinks any red-blooded fifteen-year-old boy has only one thing on his mind!’
Seffy shrugged. Looked out of his window at the passing shops.
‘Thinks, just because he was chasing girls down boulevards on his Vespa at your age, so are you!’
He turned back to me slowly: cold eyes letting me dig my hole.
‘Thinks everyone is – you know – at it.’ Those ghastly words again. The eyes stayed on me. Watchful. Hateful, almost. I felt