Chapter Sixteen
Olivier – Lyall Crescent, Hove
Tante Ruby had moved since Olivier had last visited. She now lived in a bungalow just outside of Brighton. The roads were wider, with more trees lining them, and Olivier was able to park directly outside the house.
She screamed when she saw him, and he almost dropped the dishes he’d brought. He’d forgotten how loud she could be. Maman disappeared straight inside, with a mischievous smile like she knew the interrogation he was in for and wanted no involvement in what came next.
Ruby spent the next five minutes asking how he was, how Paris was, how the restaurant was and commenting on how tall he was – although Olivier was no taller than the last time he’d seen her at his wedding. She also made pointed remarks about how well he looked now – as though he’d not looked his best on his wedding day.
Perhaps he hadn’t. Bertrand had him drinking until the early hours the night before and then he was extremely nervous. Which he’d thought was normal.
Either way, he was curious as to what Maman had told them about the demise of his marriage – considering she herself hadn’t had the full story yet. They seemed to have made up their mind that Nancy was the villain of the piece, but he supposed that was normal too. They were on his side and never really knew her. Even Ashleigh had implied as much earlier. Was he wrong not to correct them?
Nancy had cheated on him and of course that had hurt, but it didn’t mean he didn’t hold some responsibility. He knew he’d been guilty of rushing into things. Guilty of not talking to her about what they both truly wanted from their marriage. Maybe even guilty of using her to make himself feel like he had a real home of his own now he was a grown-up, and that he was capable of making decisions for himself. She hadn’t been ready for any of that but he’d ignored the signs. That meant he was partly to blame for his own unhappiness, surely?
‘What’s this? Did you make something?’ Ruby said, after releasing him from another hug, that he’d returned one-armed, balancing the food in his other hand.
‘Oui. Dessert. Unless you have something planned and then of course you can just keep it for another day.’
‘Oh my goodness, of course we’ll have it as dessert today. I’ll take that. Come in, come in. Everyone’s in the sitting room.’
‘Err, the small one is for Celeste,’ he said as he followed her down the hallway.
‘What’s for Celeste?’ His cousin was sitting on the sofa, next to her husband with her baby on her knee. He was about six months old, a sturdy, round-faced child with big dark eyes and thick hair, busy chewing on his fist.
‘I made you a special dessert.’
‘You know that Celeste—’ her husband started.
‘He knows,’ she said. ‘He’s been questioning me about it every time he’s come into the shop this week.’
‘For precisely this reason.’ Olivier grinned. ‘I’ll leave it as a surprise. Hopefully a nice one.’
‘Okay.’ She bobbed her head. ‘Come over here, let’s introduce you to Richie.’
Over the next half an hour Olivier discovered that as well as dribbling a lot, Celeste’s little boy also giggled a lot too and was a big fan of peekaboo. It didn’t feel that long ago that Bertrand’s daughter had been this age. He remembered going to their house for dinner one night with Nancy and noticing that she had zero interest in the sweet little girl.
It wasn’t that he expected all women to feel maternal or want children, but it had been a warning sign that possibly they wanted different things for the future. And that they’d rushed into the marriage. How could they not have discussed something like whether or not they wanted to have children? What an idiot he’d been.
They all went through to the large dining room and bustled about the table. Ruby had cooked a roast chicken and there were dishes of potatoes and vegetables and stuffing and Yorkshire puddings spread out over the oval table.
‘I feel a little embarrassed serving you this, Olivier,’ she commented as he spooned up some crispy roast potatoes. ‘I’m sure it’s not as sophisticated as what you usually eat but I do my best.’
‘It’s lovely, Mum,’ Celeste reassured her.
‘How would you know?’ her husband teased her.
She rolled her eyes. ‘I may not be able to taste it the way it’s meant to be, but I canseeit’s lovely.’
‘It does look delicious,’ Olivier agreed, ‘and I’ll let you into a secret, Tante Ruby.’ He passed the dish along to his mother. ‘I’m not actually a fan of fancy, overcomplicated food. They would throw me out of Paris if they knew, but if it tastes good – even if it’s simple – then my stomach is happy. Often it’s a lot of fuss, and not very satisfying.’
She smiled at him. ‘You can’t be referring to your father’s food?’
‘Well, not if you’re going to tell him about it,’ he joked.
They laughed and Ruby added dryly, ‘No. We’d never cause you that kind of aggro. We all know what your father’s like when people don’t agree with him.’
Did they? That wasn’t just them assuming things about his maman’s marriage; that was a specific and – he was sorry to say – accurate description of his papa. He hadn’t expected them not tolikeAuguste though, because his maman still got on so well with him. Didn’t she?
