‘But it won’t be anyway, w
ill it? Not at Max and Claire’s villa.’
Amy didn’t say anything, trying to rationalise why she felt herself resisting, why her husband was persistent, but she could come up with no decent explanation.
‘She’s not some random stranger; she’s your best friend’s daughter. She’s been great at the office, she’s great with Tilly . . . and God knows we need the break. Why don’t we just ask?’ said David.
Amy thought of the amount of work she had to do in Provence. The features ideas, the mood boards, the due diligence. She was going to be busy, and knew they needed some help if David was going to get the relaxation he needed.
She sighed and flapped her arms against her sides. ‘Sure, why not?’
David went to the bottom of the stairs and called for Josie to come back down. She returned to the kitchen holding Mr Rabbit, and stood there until Amy spoke.
‘Obviously Claudia can’t come to Provence any more, so we were wondering if you’d like to come instead.’
She watched the younger woman’s reaction. Surprise, confusion, delight.
‘You really want me to come? To Provence?’
Amy felt her jaw clench but told herself this was the right thing to do. The right thing for everyone.
‘It’s not a holiday,’ chimed in David. ‘You’ll be looking after the kids. Tilly and our friends’ two children. But the house is great, the people are nice. Of course, if you’ve got something else you have to get back for – a job, a boyfriend – then we totally understand.’
‘No way! This is the best opportunity ever. I can cook and clean and I even have my driving licence if you need me to run errands. The only thing is, my passport’s in Bristol and I thought you were getting a lunchtime flight.’
David put up a hand. ‘Let me see if I can switch us onto a later flight and we can get the passport couriered over. I’ll ask if we can transfer Claudia’s ticket into your name as well. Saves us buying a new one.’
Tilly scampered into the room and grabbed David’s legs.
‘Tilly, Josie’s coming to Provence with us. What do you think about that?’
‘Hooray,’ squealed the little girl, peeling herself off her father and transferring her affections to her new friend.
‘Are you sure?’ said Amy. ‘It’s all incredibly last-minute, so I just wanted to make sure you’re fine with it.’ For a moment, as she looked at Josie, all she could see was Karen’s face as she’d arrived in Oxford, her eyes full of awe and wonder and excitement.
‘Fine with it? Are you kidding? I’d love to come with you.’
‘There we go. The perfect solution,’ said David, turning to the coffee machine.
Amy nodded, hoping that her husband was right.
Chapter 6
Oxford, 1995
Karen reached out and slammed her hand onto the clock, cutting off the DJ mid-gush.
Nine o’clock. Jesus. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept in so late. She snuggled down under the duvet and smiled to herself. God, she could so handle being a student. Cheap booze, fit boys and lying about all day; and they paid you for it too. She considered trying to slip back into the dream she’d been having before the alarm woke her. For once, it had been a good one. She couldn’t quite remember the details: something about a big boat like a cruise liner, and there had been music. She frowned. Had she been singing? Maybe she’d been auditioning for one of those talent shows her mum used to like when she was a kid. No, it was drifting away from her, the images plinking out like soap bubbles, but the feeling of warmth and well-being stayed with her.
She opened one eye, then the other. The Artex ceiling, the paper ball lightshade: they were unfamiliar, but that was definitely her dress draped over the chair. A smile spread across her face as the sight of the sequins brought the night back. The pub, all that wine – fancy wine, mind you – and that boy, the one who’d said he liked the shape of her neck. The one who’d tried to kiss her in the doorway.
‘Hey,’ she murmured, turning over and stretching a foot to her left. The other side of the mattress was unoccupied. She frowned, smoothing her hand across the sheet. Wasn’t even warm. She sat up, trying to ignore the sudden flare in her temple. ‘Amy?’ she said. Or rather, that was the intention; what came out was more of a croak. ‘Amy?’ she tried again, feeling foolish the second time around. She glanced around the tiny room. Bed, wardrobe, desk piled high with scary-looking textbooks, but no one else was in it.
Reluctantly, she swung her legs out of bed and stood up. She remembered Amy’s dressing gown being hooked on the back of the door, but it was no longer there, which meant she’d either have to venture out of the room in her Snoopy nightie, or go to the bathroom, have a shower and get dressed.
She opened the door, crept out onto the landing and peered over the banister. Music was coming from below, and the tempting smell of frying bacon. She padded downstairs feeling slightly awkward. This was a shared house and she barely knew any of the others; she didn’t want to bump into them half dressed, but her hangover was so bad that only a bacon sandwich could get rid of it.
‘Morning, sleepyhead.’ Amy was sitting at the kitchen table reading a newspaper, hands curled around a cup of tea. ‘Did the alarm wake you? Sorry, forgot to turn it off.’