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“Bonjour,”Jay texted him. “In England yet? Fancy another wager?”
“Êtes-vous fou?”the reply came back. “Je suis fini!”
Jay, not knowing any French beyondbonjourand some dirty words had to look that up online. “Are you crazy?”Tom Brewerly’s text said. “I’m ruined!”
“Merde,”Jay texted back. “Me too, my friend. Me too.”
Chapter three
Sophia
Sophiareturnedfromhermorning run at a walking pace, having sunk deep into thought somewhere along the road back to her house.
It had been four days since Jay Orton’s accident. Each morning, she had run past the same spot where he had crashed, slowing down enough to let her torch reveal the tyre marks in the road, the torn trunk of the tree, the fragments of glass and metal on the verge.
If anyone had asked her, she would have pretended she didn’t know why she lingered on that horrible scene. But the truth was that she needed to be reminded that life was short. Because what she planned to do required the sort of courage that only the fear of death could provide.
Her mother was just coming down the stairs for breakfast when Sophia let herself in through the front door. They said their usual good mornings and then Sophia said, “Could I borrow the car later?”
“Do you want me to take you somewhere?” asked her mother, knowing Sophia didn’t like to drive.
“Thank you. But it’s not far. I can drive.” She hesitated. “I’m going to call on Jay Orton, to see how he is.”
Her mother blinked in surprise, then, frowning, re-tied her dressing gown a little tighter. It was dark blue and patterned with subtle peacock feathers. “He should be the one coming to you, to thank you for calling the ambulance.”
“Perhaps,” said Sophia, who really wasn’t sure what the etiquette was in these situations. “But he’s Jay Orton. I doubt it would occur to him.”
She hadn’t meant to be funny, but her mother laughed. “I see you have the measure of him. Awful family. I do wish Rose hadn’t moved all the way to the Lakes. There are so few decent families left around here.”
“We’re here.”
Her mother’s face clouded. “Well. We’re not much of a family anymore, are we?”
Sophia frowned, not knowing what to say. Her parent’s acrimonious divorce was still raw.
“Sorry,” her mother said, “I’ve woken up in a bad mood. Come to the kitchen. I’ll make some porridge. Let’s talk about your birthday party. We’ve got so much still to do.”
Jay
Jay was in the downstairs TV room playing a mindless video game when the housekeeper—who hated him—showed Sophia Clements into the room without any warning.
He was in the same grey jogging bottoms and t-shirt he’d worn for days, unwashed and unshaven, wallowing and sore and in no mood for visitors. Especially awkward ones who examined him with a frown and came dressed to prim perfection in a baby blue cotton dress, their skin and hair gleaming.
“Good morning, Jay,” she said, hands clasped demurely in front of her, while Jay got to his feet and shot a scowl over her shoulder at the unapologetic housekeeper.
“Shall I bring tea, sir?” the lady asked.
“Tea,” he repeated flatly. “I don’t know.” He looked at Sophia. “Tea?”
Sophia shook her head. “No, thank you.”
“No tea,” he told the housekeeper. He picked up an empty beer bottle from next to the sofa. “I’ll have another of these though.”
“Very good, sir,” said the housekeeper with her peculiar brand of offensive obsequence and bowed herself out of the room.
“Sorry, should have asked if you wanted one,” Jay said as he sat down again, gesturing at the sofa for Sophia to sit too. Instead, she sat on an armchair that was at a right angle to him and crossed her legs at the knee.
“I didn’t. But thank you.”
