Chapter 12: Twelve - The Idea of You

Lucy stood in the shower, lamenting the arrival of her period, soaping her body with vigour and disliking her inability to do anything about the situation. She considered this monthly event, knowing that for some it brought sweet relief. For others it was just an irritation to be suffered, an inconvenience during any holiday or special occasion. But for her, it was a tangible sign of her failure, and it was hard not to let it get her down.

You’ve got to be patient, Lucy! Her little pep talk did little to alleviate her disappointment. She watched her loss snake along the shower tray in a thin, dark, winding tributary, and cried quietly into the deluge.

Dressing quickly, knowing that time was of the essence, she towel-dried her hair, creeping down the stairs before Jonah woke and Camille surfaced, happy that Camille’s birthday had fallen on a Saturday. She had decided to go to town. This was a chance to build a bridge, and not just any bridge, but one that sparkled with pizazz and fairy dust! Fay’s comments had troubled her, and this was a chance to show just how grown-up she could be about the whole situation.

The two helium balloons that had been collected the day before and had spent the night hiding in her wardrobe were now standing in pride of place in the corner of the kitchen, hovering on long blue ribbons that were weighted at the bottom. A large shiny silver number one bobbed next to a large shiny silver number seven. They made quite a statement. The cake, which she had ordered from the snazzy Pru Plum’s bakery in Mayfair, was stunning. Knowing that Camille wanted something a bit different, she had chosen this magnificent creation that now sat in pride of place on an ornate glass cake stand on the breakfast table. Sitting on top of a dense, rich base of buttery shortbread crumble was a pristine New York baked cheesecake that had been artfully decorated around the border with a wealth of glazed halved strawberries, blueberries and raspberries, all finished with a dusting of powdered sugar. In fine dark chocolate script were the words ‘Happy Birthday Camille’. It looked beautiful and was just the perfect dessert for the tea party they had planned for this afternoon.

Jonah’s card sat propped against the wrapped gifts, and hers sat beside his. They decided to send one each, wanting Camille to have as many cards as possible to adorn the shelf. There was one that had arrived in the week from France, and this too now stood proudly with the others, including one from West Malling, Kent, and one in Lucy’s mother’s instantly recognisable handwriting.

Lucy made the pancake batter and set it to rest on the side before painstakingly coring, peeling and chopping an array of ripe fruits, including nectarines, apples and pears, which she placed into a glass bowl. She then prepared virgin cocktails of cranberry juice, freshly squeezed lime and sparkling mineral water, poured them into long glasses, garnished them with a rip of mint, and left them to cool in the fridge. A batch of plump, buttery croissants was warming in the bottom oven, and a bowl of glossy strawberry compote was ready to be served. Fresh coffee had brewed, sending its heady aroma out into the atmosphere, and now all she needed was the birthday girl.

Jonah bounced down the stairs, arriving in the kitchen in his bare feet. ‘Oh my! This looks and smells wonderful; you have been busy.’

‘I thought it would be a nice thing to do.’

‘It really is. You are lovely. You should have woken me up.’ He yawned. ‘I’d have helped you.’ He rubbed his eyes and fastened his cotton dressing gown over his T-shirt and plaid lounge pants.

‘Jonah, you can hardly stay awake now, let alone if I’d got you up any earlier!’ She laughed. ‘Anyway, I wanted a little bit of time alone.’

‘Oh, not working on the weekend again? Do I have to confiscate your work laptop?’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘You know the rule.’

‘No.’ She concentrated on pouring him a cup of coffee. ‘I got my period today.’

‘Oh, Lucy.’ He walked over and took her in his arms. ‘We just need to keep practising – that’s the good news, right?’ He kissed the top of her head. She knew he was trying to turn the sad moment into a humorous one, and he nearly succeeded. Lucy knew deep down, however, that these words were not enough of a sticking plaster to keep her dark thoughts at bay.

Suddenly they were aware of the thump of footsteps on the stairs, and they parted.

‘Happy birthday to you . . .’ they both sang loudly and out of tune, each bolstered by the other’s carefree performance. Camille stepped down into the kitchen looking freshly risen with her hair mussed and her skin glowing. She covered her eyes in mock embarrassment, before beaming broadly at the sight that greeted her.

‘Oh, wow! Look at my balloons – they are so cool!’ She stood with her pyjama sleeves pulled down over her dainty hands, hands over her mouth, looking at the stack of gifts and inhaling the rich aromas of what promised to be a lovely breakfast. ‘Oh, and look at my cake!’ she squealed, noticing the stunning centrepiece for the first time.

‘It’s from Pru Plum’s,’ Lucy pointed out, wanting Camille to know she had gone to the trouble to make things as perfect as they could be.

‘Thank you, Lucy. It’s gorgeous.’ Camille unexpectedly walked across the room and placed her arms around her stepmother. Lucy felt a surge of something close to love as the girl held her tightly.

‘You are very welcome,’ she whispered, as she held her in a warm embrace. ‘Happy birthday, Camille.’

As the two women parted and Lucy turned her attention to retrieving the cocktails from the fridge, she noticed Jonah had turned his back to them both at the sink. If she didn’t know him better, she would have sworn that he was crying.

The birthday breakfast was a feast of mammoth proportions. With her and Jonah’s playlists shuffling on the sound system, Camille saw fit to mock both of their tastes in music, and by the time the pancake course was cleared away, croissants polished off, cocktails drunk and the fruit salad ladled into bowls, they had conceded, and Camille put her phone into the docking station, filling the kitchen with the heavy guitar and monotone, indecipherable crooning that she favoured. She and Jonah put their heads in their hands and laughed.

‘It’s not my fault you guys are so old!’ Camille mocked lovingly.

Lucy pushed the little stack of presents towards her stepdaughter. ‘Come on, open your gifts!’ she urged. ‘Before we get any older.’

‘I’ll start with my cards first.’

Lucy smiled, remembering doing the same when she was younger, wanting to savour every second and make it last.

She and Jonah sipped coffee and forked mouthfuls of fruit into their already full tummies while they watched Camille, with a bright spot of colour on each cheek, carefully extract every card and read the messages slowly, holding each one up to show who it was from. It was a task she undertook with humility and evident joy, which was heart-warming.

The card from Geneviève and Jean-Luc was short and sweet, depicting a large, glittery gift tied in a bow. Inside were three short lines and a whole bunch of kisses.

‘From my mum!’ She smiled and placed it on the shelf. Lucy couldn’t help but notice that the card was the generic kind she might grab in a hurry from a convenience store, bought in a rush along with milk and plastic-tasting white bread and without too much consideration of the recipient. She buried the thought; maybe she was just being mean and again the lack of gift could be explained because it was hard to send things over that distance, and costly too. Lucy knew without a doubt, however, that if it were her daughter it wouldn’t matter where she was in the world. That girl would receive a gift and a card with the words ‘For My Daughter!’ emblazoned on the front and a carefully chosen reminder of home.

Happy Birthday, this is for you, a single kiss to mark your special day, my darling . . .

‘Oh, thank you both! That’s great. I can get that blouse that’s just come into Bill’s! Thank you!’ Camille fanned the two twenty-pound notes that had been placed inside her card and slowly read the message from her dad.

Lucy felt her stomach bunch in anticipation as Camille then pulled from the envelope the cream, hand-cut card she had chosen. On the front was a sketch depicting a vintage handbag, the kind she hoped Camille would like.

‘I love this!’ Camille raved. ‘I can get it framed! Can we get one of those little frames from Ikea?’ Her enthusiasm brought a lump to Lucy’s throat.

‘Of course we can.’ She smiled; it was a great feeling to know that she had chosen well. The message she had written was simple and well considered: ‘To Camille, I wish for you nothing but wonderful things in your coming year. May your dreams come true and may the path that leads you to them be without bumps! With love, Lucy x’.

‘Thank you.’ Camille smiled again before attacking her gifts with childlike abandon. Holding up the tan leather anklet with a beautiful turquoise stone that Fay had sent, Camille beamed. ‘Oh my God! I love it!’ She immediately placed it around her ankle and admired the way it looked by twisting her leg to the side and photographing it in close-up on her phone and sending the image to her friend Alice for good measure. Lucy reminded herself to let Fay know just how delighted she had been with her gift.

The grey cotton waffle robe Lucy had chosen for her was similarly well received, along with a box of chocolates, two spiral-bound notebooks for school and three disposable purple fountain pens, which Lucy had chosen on the basis that she would like the gift herself.

‘Oh these are so cool! I love stationery!’ Camille enthused.

‘Me too!’ she echoed, ridiculously happy to have unearthed another connection.

Both flicked through the empty notebooks, agreeing, much to Jonah’s bemusement, that there was nothing quite as nice as a fresh, clean notebook, awaiting the touch of an ink pen and the endless possibilities of what it might contain.

With all her presents unwrapped, Camille sat back on the bench and surveyed the detritus of gifts and food and wrapping paper.

‘I’ve never had such a lovely birthday morning, ever!’

Lucy doubted this was true, not when Camille and her mum were so close, but she loved her for saying so nonetheless.

* * *

She and Jonah cleared the kitchen, stopping to kiss and chat, as the radio burbled away in the background and the sound of Camille, singing happily in the bath, filtered through the floorboards from above.

‘I think she’s having a great day,’ he commented, raising his eyes towards the ceiling. ‘Thank you. She got some lovely gifts. You are so good at this stuff. I can’t remember the last time I saw her on her actual birthday, but I know it was years ago. And I didn’t do half as good a job as this. I think we went out for a wander around the Victoria and Albert Museum if I remember rightly.’

‘It’s been easy and fun! My mum and dad always made a big deal of our birthdays when we were small, and I remember how lovely it was to feel like I was special on a day that was so ordinary for everyone else. And for the record, I would have loved a day at the V&A. Still would.’

‘I find it a bit strange how you and your mum don’t seem that close, and yet you had this idyllic childhood. What happened?’ He sounded curious.

Lucy shrugged as she placed the birthday cake in the fridge. ‘I don’t know. I think things changed for me after my dad died, and they certainly changed for her.’ She busied herself inside the door, organising the bottles and jars that had been shoved in rather haphazardly.

‘Your father would be so ashamed!’

‘But not for Fay? I mean, she and Jan seem to get on really well,’ he pushed.

‘I don’t know, Jonah. Maybe she just likes Fay more, or maybe Fay is just a goody-goody!’ She tried to employ his favoured method of layering humour to ease the situation.

‘I don’t see Fay as a goody-goody, not at all. I don’t know, just something I was wondering about. It always feels like there is a little bit of an edge to the way you and your mum interact. It’s like you’ve just had a fight. I know that sounds crazy.’ He laughed.

‘I don’t know what more to say, Jonah; why don’t you ask my mum?’ She closed the fridge door a little forcefully. Please don’t push me on this. Her thoughts were loud and intrusive in her mind.

The two were quiet for a second or two. Lucy gathered up the discarded shreds of wrapping paper and scrunched them into a ball before pushing it into the recycling box.

‘I’m looking forward to meeting the elusive Dex this afternoon.’ Jonah sucked in through his teeth and straightened his back as he dried the cocktail glasses with a dishcloth.

She was glad of the change of topic. And was similarly excited about meeting the boy who apparently took her stepdaughter out to lunch, introduced her to his friends who visited them at Bill’s, and took her for a spin on his BMX around Queen’s Park. It would be good to finally put a face to the name. ‘Really? You are looking forward to it? Your words say one thing, but your body language screams the exact opposite!’ She laughed.

‘I’m trying.’ He winked. ‘It’s an odd feeling. I still think she’s a little girl and yet here she is, old enough to drive a car, God help us all.’

She high-fived this; her fear of Camille on the road was just as real.

‘And as if that is not enough to petrify me, she’s bringing home a boy she’s dating. I mean, if you can call it that. I think it’s more of a friendship.’ He sighed. ‘I wish I could put the brakes on the world and keep time at bay for a few more years. I knew how to handle her when she played with My Little Pony and all it took to make her day was a Happy Meal with her dad.’

She hated that he might never get to do these things with their baby.

‘It’ll be fine. And you know that you will always be able to make her day with a Happy Meal if she’s eating it with you.’

‘Minus the hamburger now of course.’ Jonah laughed.

‘Of course.’ She rubbed his arm. ‘And as for Dex, he will probably be feeling more nervous than we are. We shall make him welcome.’

‘Oh, Lord above – now I am nervous. Supposing he’s horrible, arrogant?’ He put the cloth on the drainer and stared at her.

‘Again, we have to remember that this is Camille’s choice. Plus, if he is, we can take comfort from the fact that it’s purely a little holiday fling and she will be abandoning us for France in a month or so. These little romances are good practice. I had one with a boy once.’ She paused, thinking of Scott . . .

‘Oh, do tell me more!’ He laughed.

Lucy opened her mouth and sought a reasonable substitution in her mind. ‘Let me see . . . we met at a caravan park in Tenby, he let me braid his hair, and I thought that was a great recipe for future love and happiness.’

He laughed again. ‘How old were you?’

‘I think about nine.’

‘Okay. My jealousy has faded, and for the record if you want to braid my hair you can.’

‘That’s so sweet, darling, but you haven’t enough to braid.’

‘Ouch!’ He ran his hand over his thinning pate. ‘That was brutal.’

Lucy had thoroughly enjoyed her interaction with Camille that morning and had loved preparing for her birthday. Their conversation, however, reminded her that in just a few weeks they would have the house to themselves again and she would no longer feel the need to tiptoe around Camille, craving her approval.

This would also be the best time to get back on track with trying for a baby, and at this thought her spirit felt a lift of joy.

* * *

With Jonah out for a run, no doubt trying to jog off the three croissants and two pancakes he had devoured, Lucy took advantage of the quiet lull in her day. It had been an early start, and she was glad of the opportunity to sit on her bed with her latest knitting pattern spread out in front of her, running over the instructions with her finger on the text, reading out loud: ‘Place the needle under the top stitch and bring the yarn back over the first stitch. Twist around in a loop and repeat . . . What? That makes absolutely no sense!’ She scratched her head with the end of the needle and read it again.

She felt the beginnings of regret that she had chosen to make an intricate blanket, with a raised pattern and a soft, feathered, lacy edge. She had only managed a few rows, and now her only hope was that as her familiarity with the pattern increased, so too would her confidence and then her speed.

Lucy looked up as Camille slowly pushed open the bedroom door, half knocking and calling out ‘Hello?’ as she did so, offering plenty of time to afford Lucy some privacy should she need it.

‘Hey, Camille. Just having a breather.’ She always felt a little guilty for taking time out to relax.

‘What are you doing?’ Camille sat on the edge of the bed with one leg beneath her and ran her hand over the pattern.

‘I’m knitting.’

‘I didn’t know you knitted!’ She laughed with a little disdain to her tone.

‘You can laugh, but it’s the most relaxing thing I know. I can sit for hours and knit and I get lost in it. I forget my troubles and think about nothing other than the wool between my fingers, and sometimes when I stop knitting, I find that solutions pop into my head. It’s like pressing my reset button. It stops me overthinking.’

‘That sounds good.’

‘It is. And at the end of it, I have made a beautiful garment that I am always really proud of,’ she admitted. ‘And although this doesn’t look like much at the moment, it will become something really lovely. If I ever get the hang of it. I must confess I’m struggling, but I won’t let it defeat me.’ She held up the measly few rows that sat in a thick cluster on her needles.

‘Is this what you are knitting, this blanket?’ Camille closed the page and looked at the picture on the front, a photograph of the finished article; the blanket was folded in half with the lace edge dangling down and a small brown knitted rabbit perching on the top of the woolly mattress.

‘Uh-huh.’ She nodded.

‘I like the little rabbit. Are you going to do one of those too?’

‘I hadn’t planned on it, no.’ She saw the flicker of disappointment on Camille’s face, as if she might like such a thing.

‘Is it a blanket for Maisie?’

‘Not really, she’s a bit big for this now.’ She felt a flush of embarrassment creep over her chest, wondering what Camille’s next question might be.

‘It’s for a baby,’ Camille stated.

‘Yes.’

There were one, two, three beats of silence. Lucy silently prayed that the girl wouldn’t probe too deeply, knowing she would sob if she were to have to recount her attempts at becoming a mum.

‘Do you think you and Dad might have a baby?’ she asked, keeping her eyes downward as she toyed with the anklet that Fay had sent her.

Lucy shook her head and took a breath. ‘I don’t know, is the honest answer.’ She felt the sudden knife-like stab of period pain to the left of her belly button, a reminder of just how far away that dream was. ‘I think I would like to have one.’ She hesitated, knowing this was best, this watered-down version of her all-consuming desire to become a mum. ‘But I guess it’s up to nature. I can only do so much.’ She coughed, realising that she was talking about sex – and not any old sex, but sex with this girl’s dad. Camille pulled a face at her and they both laughed.

‘I think you’d be a good mum.’

Lucy stared at her; the words tripped so lightly from her stepdaughter’s tongue, she could have had no clue as to just how much they meant.

‘Really?’ Lucy whispered, swallowing the rising tide of joy that almost choked her.

‘Yeah, I mean, you do great birthdays!’ She smiled. ‘That was awesome this morning. My balloons are so cool.’

Lucy took Camille’s hand into hers; it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

‘I’m having the best day.’

‘Good.’ She gave a small nod, as she released her grip.

Camille stood, a little embarrassed by the display, and thumbed towards her room. ‘I’d better go and get ready. Dex will be here in a couple of hours.’

Lucy nodded, and she tried to imagine a time when she had taken two hours to get ready for a boy. She picked up the needles, reopened the pattern and resumed her knitting with a bubble of joy in her gut that buoyed her.

* * *

‘I’m a bit nervous,’ Jonah confessed, as Lucy popped a bottle of champagne in the fridge and laid a cloth over the individual tarts she had warmed, the aroma of goat’s cheese, scorched scallion and melting Gruyère wafting up her nose.

‘Don’t be. It’ll be fine. Imagine being a weedy seventeen-year-old, off to meet the parents. He must be petrified. The poor lamb.’

‘I guess so.’ He seemed to relax a little.

With everything set, they took the opportunity to sit and read the newspaper. Jonah pulled the Saturday edition in half, keeping the sports and handing her the news and celebrity gossip. They sat in amiable silence at the table with their thighs touching, both lost in the fine, opinionated print. Their peace was eventually shattered by the sound of the front doorbell. The two exchanged a knowing look and hastily folded the newspaper away before leaping into action.

Before the faint echo of the bell had receded, Camille thundered down the stairs. ‘I’ll get it!’ her voice screamed in panic at the prospect of either Lucy or Jonah getting to the door first.

Lucy stood on tiptoes and kissed her husband on the cheek before removing the Pru Plum creation from the fridge and placing it once again in the centre of the table, turning it so that the words were facing the door. She heard the high-pitched laugh of infatuation leave her stepdaughter’s mouth. It was one she recognised, a heady burble that told anyone within earshot that she was completely enamoured. She remembered emitting something similar with her first love, Scott, as they walked to his house during lunch break. She knew it was a glorious release for the fireworks of happiness that fired within. The memory of that time made her stomach bunch; it had felt wonderful. She had revelled in that happiness, blissfully unaware of what lay ahead.

Camille opened the kitchen door and with a blush to her cheek, smiling widely, announced, ‘Dad, Lucy, this is Dex.’

Lucy had been wrong on a couple of counts. Dex certainly didn’t appear to be nervous, he wasn’t the least bit weedy and he was certainly no petrified lamb. She felt Jonah’s stare bore into the side of her face, but she refused to acknowledge it, keeping her eyes resolutely fixed on their guest.

Stepping forward, she smiled at the hulk of a boy standing before them in his black skinny jeans and scruffy Vans. His ripped muscles, visible in his tank top, gleamed beneath a slick of moisturiser. His dark curly hair was artfully styled into a short but fierce Mohawk and his face was beautiful. Lucy could see the attraction. She reached out her hand to shake Dex’s, as he hastily swapped hands, placing his large, unwieldy skateboard in his left and shaking with his right.

‘It’s good to meet you, Dex.’ She smiled.

‘Yep, same.’ He returned her smile, to reveal an impressive set of straight white teeth. Lucy looked at Camille, who stared up at Dex with a doe-eyed expression that looked like something beyond love. The atmosphere around the two crackled with a level of intensity that fired a bolt of concern through her gut. Her instinct told her that this relationship was way more than just a couple of kids having fun.

‘And I’m Jonah, Camille’s father.’ Jonah coughed.

Lucy watched as he stepped forward and gave the boy a brief but firm handshake. She noted that he had rejected the less intimidating word ‘dad’, and it made her heart flip with love for her man who, she could see despite her earlier reassurance, was more than a little out of his depth.

‘Can I park that for you?’ Lucy pointed at the skateboard.

‘Oh yeah, thanks!’ He handed it over with both hands, as if it was a thing of a delicate nature, a precious object, and she realised that to him it might well be.

‘Happy birthday, Cam.’ He handed her a slender tissue-wrapped package that he had pulled from the back pocket of his jeans.

‘Oh wow, thank you. I told you not to get me anything,’ she scoffed, clearly beyond delighted that he had ignored her. Camille turned the gift over in her hands and carefully ripped one end of the tissue, as if trying to be contained and grown-up in every action. ‘No way!’ She hugged the two strips of dark card to her chest before throwing her arms around Dex’s neck with abandon. He placed a strong arm across her back, anchoring her close to him.

Jonah coughed again.

‘Tickets to see Foals! Oh my God! Thank you!’ Camille waved them at Lucy, as she broke free from Dex’s hold.

Their close physical proximity told Lucy that this was not the first time they had been this intimate; there was no hint of awkwardness, no first-time nerves, no fumbling hands or respectful distance. They slid together in a well-rehearsed dance. There was an obvious ease between the two physically as their bodies aligned, demonstrating a comfortable familiarity. This single action made a mockery of Jonah’s suggestion that the two might just be friends.

She decided this would be one insight that would need very careful handling; she would have to choose her phrases well. She considered the prospect with a measure of dread. How was she going to broach the fact that, in her opinion, Camille and Dex were enjoying a lot more than a spin around Queen’s Park on his bike?

As the four took seats at the kitchen table, she and Jonah chose chairs on one side and Dex and Camille sat close together on the pew by the wall with their thighs touching, just as she and her husband had done earlier, despite the bench having adequate space for three.

Jonah poured four flutes of champagne.

‘Oh wow! Do you do this every day?’ Dex grinned, holding the delicate stem between his fingers.

‘Yes, every day we stop whatever we are doing for champagne and cake!’ Lucy smiled. ‘Actually, wouldn’t that be lovely? I think we should introduce it as a house rule.’

‘In that case, I shall see you at the same time tomorrow,’ he quipped.

‘And you would be most welcome,’ Lucy said.

Camille gave her a look of such warmth that she seemed to be lit up from within, and Lucy basked in the reflection.

‘Actually,’ Dex said after taking a small sip of his fizz, ‘I think if you did this every day it would become normal, and that would be such a shame if an occasion like this didn’t feel special.’

‘You are absolutely right.’ Lucy smiled at the boy, warming to his easy manner and smart insights.

‘So, Dex,’ Jonah began, ‘Camille tells me you are at college?’

‘Yes.’ He chewed and swallowed the mouthful of crumbly tart, placing his hand over his mouth as he spoke. ‘I’m at the City of Westminster College doing a course in Music Tech.’

‘So do you play instruments?’

She watched Jonah’s face light up at the prospect; given his love of music, this would definitely elevate the boy in his opinion.

Dex shook his head and took a sip of his drink. ‘No, I don’t. I wish I did. I’m learning the piano, but I’m pretty rubbish. What I do is more around music technology.’

‘Right.’ Jonah nodded, clearly having no more of an idea than she did.

‘What does that mean, Dex?’ she asked, on their joint behalf.

‘Okay, so it’s like basically using computers and technology to compose music, edit stuff or improve someone else’s composition,’ he explained with enthusiasm. ‘You need the ear of a composer, the rhythm of a musician, but you also need to know how to program.’

‘Gosh, it sounds complicated.’

The boy shook his head. ‘Not really.’

‘Dex had a gig in Ibiza at the beginning of the summer, just before I met him,’ Camille added brightly, as if trying to bolster the boy’s CV. ‘His stuff is really good. It’s all over YouTube and he gets asked to do sets all the time!’ the girl continued with her PR offensive.

‘Were you playing at a party in Ibiza?’

Lucy loved how Jonah was trying, feeling a swell of affection for her man.

Dex’s smile was one of warmth, without the condescension she might have expected in someone of his age. ‘It was a bit like a party, yes. It’s a huge outdoor nightclub that holds around five thousand people.’

‘Five thousand?’ she queried. ‘Goodness me.’

‘Yes, I know, it’s mad,’ he agreed. ‘There are different dance floors and huge terraces – it’s crazy. But I can earn more there in a couple of nights than in a whole month of my regular jobs here, so it’s worth it,’ he explained.

Lucy remembered Camille’s description of how Dex had no family to speak of and no support. It tore at her heart to see this young man who was self-sufficient, without the wonderful network that she or indeed Camille enjoyed.

Dex continued: ‘People think it’s just a case of standing in the booth and pressing a few buttons but it’s so much more than that. It’s not enough to just pitch up with your playlist. You have to feel the tempo of the room and respond to that, making sure you don’t drop a beat, fading one tune into the other in a way that builds and builds. It’s like you are taking people on a journey. And if you get it right, they are dancing, lost and they don’t realise that you are on to the next tune or the next. You carry them along on a wave of sound.’

Lucy noted the slight glaze to his eyes. ‘Do you really love it?’

‘I do!’ He nodded. ‘When you look out and there are thousands and thousands of people dancing to your music, it’s like you’re a puppeteer, making them all jump.’ He shook his head, as if reliving it. ‘And then after you finish your set, you slip into the crowd and no one recognises you, but you know inside what you have just achieved and it feels amazing.’ He paused, and Lucy got the distinct impression that he was going to share a confidence. ‘But what I really want to do is write scores for films; that would be the dream.’

‘Well, I think if you have passion for something that is half the battle.’ She nodded and finished her glass of champagne.

‘Plus, he’s really good. He’s going to have a brilliant career,’ Camille gushed. Lucy would have been willing to bet that the girl saw a flash of his future and, if her fervid manner was anything to go by, she was certain that Camille saw herself in that picture too.

‘So how much longer do you have at college?’ Jonah steered the conversation into less emotive waters.

‘I’m just about to go into my final year, which will be cool, as I get to pick the modules that I really want to study and I may even get a placement within the industry, although they are rare, but also, I get at least one year with Camille. It’ll be really nice.’ He smiled at the birthday girl.

Both she and Jonah, still with their smiles fixed, looked from Dex to Camille and then each other.

‘I’m sorry?’ Judging from Jonah’s expression, he, like her, was more than a little confused. Lucy was wondering if Dex was planning to go to France, and tried to guess what Geneviève would make of that.

Camille sat forward. Her fingers fidgeted against each other on the tabletop, her cheeks blushed and her posture was that of someone who wanted to flee the room.

‘I was going to say,’ she began, shooting a quick look at Dex – whether to gain confidence or in reprimand, it was hard to tell – ‘I am applying to Dex’s college to study fashion design. It’s a two-year course. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do in France, but this makes more sense. I only applied a few days ago, but they’ve already offered me an interview. So I may as well go and see what happens. I’m really excited.’ She eyed Lucy with obvious nerves.

There was a second or two of silence while Jonah stared at his daughter and Lucy felt the flutter of anxiety in her chest. It was one thing having the girl here for a break, and she had to admit the last couple of days had been more than pleasant. But, as unpalatable as it was, she was certain that the reason for this was that she knew Camille’s time here was coming closer to the end.

‘Well, I never!’ Jonah sat back in the chair, looking a little winded.

‘What do you think, Lucy?’ Camille asked, looking up at her through lowered lids.

‘I think we need to eat this birthday cake!’ she offered with more gusto than she felt, as she went to fetch a sharp knife.

* * *

Oh, your birthday! What a day that would be. I would make you a cake and decorate the house with banners, before creeping into your room with a fistful of balloons and confetti and a cupcake with a single candle in it. This would become one of our traditions, so no matter how old you got, you’d always wake to a cupcake, with pink frosting of course, and a single candle. If for any reason I couldn’t be with you on that day, you’d make one for yourself or someone you loved would buy you one, and holding that cupcake would make you feel close to me wherever you were in the world. Your birthday would be a day for great, great celebration, the day my life changed. The day I got you, the day I gave my heart away . . .