Jules is looking straight at me, but Chloe hasn’t noticed who he’s steering her towards. As they get near he puts his arm around her shoulders. She looks up at him in surprise, and the grateful flicker that crosses her face breaks my heart.
Then she sees me and stops dead. Still smiling, Jules tightens his arm around her and forces her forward.
‘Surprise. Look who’s here,’ he says.
I put the bottles down. Chloe is staring down at the counter. Her throat works, but no sound comes out. She’s lost weight; she was always slim but now she’s rake thin. One look is enough to tell me she’s using again.
‘Aren’t you going to say hello?’ Jules says, tightening his arm around her shoulders. ‘Come on, there’s a good girl.’
Obediently, she raises her head.
‘Hello, Sean.’ Her voice is so low it’s almost a whisper. There’s an unfocused look to her eyes that makes me think she’s on more than just coke these days.
‘Hi.’
My face feels turned to stone. Jules is watching, missing nothing. ‘Quite the reunion, isn’t it? Tell you what, I’ve got some business to sort out, so why don’t you two catch up? I expect you’ve got lots to talk about.’
‘Jules, no, I—’
‘Oh, and we’ll have two vodkas on the rocks. Bring mine over, will you?’
He gives me a wink, stroking Chloe’s shoulder in a demonstration of possession before swaggering over to join Lenny. The silence is awful as Chloe and I face each other across the bar.
‘So… how are things?’ I make myself ask.
‘Great. Really good.’ She’s nodding as if trying to convince herself. ‘You?’
‘Top of the world.’ It’s hard to look at her. I wish the bar were busy so at least I’d have other people to serve, but it’s still perversely quiet. ‘How’s the painting going?’
It’s a cruel question. There’s a quick flare of satisfaction when I see the hurt on her face, and then I hate myself for it.
‘Oh, I’m not really… I’m sort of helping Jules with his business now. He’s a bit short-staffed, so… Anyway, he says he might want some of my work for his gym when things… you know…’
I’m not sure I do, but I nod. ‘That’s good.’
She’s still smiling as her eyes start to brim. ‘It’s all right, I’m fine. Really,’ she says. ‘I just wish…’
I feel something give in me as she starts to cry. Pride wars with the instinct to reach out to her. Not for long, but long enough.
‘Chloe! Get over here.’
The shout comes from Jules. She dashes the tears away with the heel of her hand, and the moment when I might have said or done something is gone.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says, averting her face as she hurries away.
I ask Dee to take their drinks over and go into the kitchen. When I come out again the place is starting to fill up. For a while I’m blessedly busy. The next time I look across, Chloe and the others are gone and another group of people are sitting at their table.
REPLACING THE STONES is a slow business. The section of house I’ve started working on is in even worse condition than the rest, having faced directly into the teeth of the weather blowing up from the lake. I’ve had to remove a lot of stones completely, cleaning them of the old mortar before putting them back. They’re big and heavy, squeezing out the wet mortar like coffee-coloured icing when I push them back into the gaps. Sometimes their weight makes them settle too far, so that they don’t line up with the stones on either side. Whenever that happens I take them out and start again. I doubt anyone on the ground would notice, or care very much if they did.
I would, though.
I trowel mortar onto the top and sides of another stone and lift it up. The hole is at shoulder height, so I have to bench-press the stone into place. Bracing it on my chest, I ease it in, praying it will sit level this time, thankful when it does. I scrape off the surplus mortar and flex my sore shoulder muscles. I’ve made good progress this morning, which would normally be enough to make me feel pleased. Not today.
My bucket is empty. I take it back down the ladder and go into the dank storeroom. A pile of empty plastic sacks confronts me: I’m down to my last bag of sand.
I’m going to have to go into town again.
I swear and throw the bucket down. I’ve known this was coming for days. It’s taken a lot of mortar to replace the stones, and while there’s plenty of cement I’ve almost used up all the sand that was in the storeroom. If I’d known there wasn’t enough I could have fetched more when I went for the cement, but I’d assumed my predecessor knew what he was doing. My mistake.
In addition to his other failings, Louis wasn’t much of a builder either.
I find Mathilde in the vegetable garden at the back of the house. She’s kneeling at the tiny bed of flowers, uprooting the weeds that have sprung up since last time. She looks up as I approach, and again I feel I’ve somehow disturbed her in a private moment.
‘I need more sand.’
She doesn’t question it this time. Her expression is resigned, as if there’s no longer anyone who can do or say anything to surprise her. She only nods and silently gets to her feet.
