The Three Loves of Sebastian Cooper

Zoë Folbigg

Description

New from the NUMBER ONE bestselling author of The Note'Immersive and beautifully written' - Stylist'A cleverly constructed, brilliantly insightful book with a glorious cast of characters' - Paige Toon

As friends and family gather for the funeral of charming and charismatic Seb Cooper, three women sit in the congregation, mourning his loss.

First there is Clair, Seb’s wife and partner of twenty years, and mother of his two children. Furious at Seb for dying and leaving their children without a father, Clair isn’t sure of her place, and has been left baffled and bemused by the conflicting stories of Seb’s last days.

Then there’s Desiree, the woman Seb left Clair for. Heartbroken, self-conscious, and wondering if she made a mistake coming today.

And the third and noisiest mourner of all is Noemie – Seb’s lover and the last woman to see him alive.

Three women who loved Seb in their own different ways.

Three women whose lives have now changed forever.

But only one woman knows what really happened at the end…and only one truly had his heart…

Bestseller Zoë Folbigg returns with a utterly compelling and page-turning tale of love, betrayal, family and unlikely friendships. Perfect for fans of Liane Moriarty, Celeste Ng and JoJo Moyes.

'Telling the life story of Sebastian Cooper through the eyes of the very different women who loved him, this immersive and beautifully written story is exactly what you want to be reading under a duvet.' StylistReader Reviews for The Three Loves of Sebastian Cooper'Loved this from start to finish, especially the heartbreaking ending (no spoilers!). A real page turner with beautifully interwoven lives through different periods in time' ★★★★★ Reader Review

'Beautiful story from start to finish didn't want this lovely story to end' ★★★★★ Reader Review

What a smashing book! Beautifully told, great characters, highly recommended' ★★★★★ Reader Review

Praise for Zoë Folbigg:

'The Three Loves of Sebastian Cooper is a cleverly constructed, brilliantly insightful book with a glorious cast of characters. You’ll be racing through the final chapters!' Paige Toon

'A beautifully-written, perfectly-crafted novel about love, loss and family that kept me on the edge of my seat until the very end. I love how we meet the entire cast of characters (some of whom you'll love, others you'll hate!) in the present and then weave back in time to discover their connection to the infamous Sebastian Cooper. Pacy, evocative, intriguing and complex - I loved it! Lorraine Brown

'Folbigg's beautiful tale of love and loss owned my heart from page one. Riveting and touching with an intriguing cast of characters from Sebastian Cooper's past and present, this gorgeous story is a must-read. Highly recommend!' Jacquelyn Middleton

'Zoë Folbigg's new novel, The Three Loves of Sebastian Cooper, is a brilliant, warm-hearted take on the complexities of love, and the messiness and joy of family life.” Ian Critchley, book reviewer

'The Night We Met will warm and break your heart in equal measure, and make you laugh out loud and sob quietly. A lovely gem.' Heat

'Bestselling author Zoë works her magic again in this lovely tale' Now! on The Distance

Sujets

• Mashups
• Feminist
• Women
• Coming of Age
• Men
• Poliamor
• Friendship
• Contemporary history
• Romantic Comedy
• General officer
• Woman
• Polyamory
• Feminism
• The Women
• City Life
• General
• Contemporary
• Topic
• Family Life
• Romance
• Fiction
• Humour

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 27 septembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781804269305
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE THREE LOVES OF SEBASTIAN COOPER



ZOË FOLBIGG
For my dad
CONTENTS




Part I


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25


Part II


Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55


Part III


Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Epilogue


Acknowledgments

More from Zoë Folbigg

About the Author

About Boldwood Books
PART I
1
JUNE 2019, NORTHILL, OXFORDSHIRE

Don’t look, don’t look…
Clair Cooper kept her eyeline down, towards the carpentry and carpet at the base of the pale stone plinth, framed by a mushroom-coloured curtain with a neat pelmet at the top: twee frills and folds in calming, muted shades that did nothing to reflect the character, the vibrancy, of the man approaching in the coffin on the shoulders of broken giants.
It reminded Clair of a nightmare she used to have when she was a child: a monster she mustn’t make eye contact with, or she’d die. The monster had broken into her home and was on the rampage, and Clair and her younger sisters had to hide behind a table. And not open their eyes. Clair would feel that compulsion to do it in her dream; daring to rise and see what the beast looked like, knowing that if she made eye contact, she would never wake up.
Don’t look, don’t look.
But she always woke, just in time, crying out for her parents and sisters in a raging hot sweat. This was a nightmare Clair couldn’t wake from, but she kept her gaze fixed firmly to the join of the plinth and the floor. She couldn’t die today, the kids would have no one.
He’s coming.
She stared into space, noticing the swirls in the stone at the base of the plinth, trying to filter out the sounds of the coffin’s approach; the howls of a wailing woman across the aisle; the gentle tones of Coldplay’s ‘Yellow’.
The casket creaked faintly against the sound of footsteps, music and cries. Clair had helped Seb’s parents choose a coffin made of bamboo lattice and rope. She’d never had the discussion with Seb before: ‘What sort of coffin do you want?’ Why would she? But she’d decided, along with his parents Martin and Tina, Penelope and Peter, that Seb wouldn’t have wanted anything stuffy or heavy. He wouldn’t want to leave a negative impact on the planet. So they’d chosen the greenest option the funeral director had. It sounded a bit flimsy now, with Seb approaching in it.
As Clair kept her eyes fixed down, limiting her window to the world, she pulled in her daughter, Millie, under her right arm, and kissed her long hair. Millie curled into her mother, trying to fold teenage limbs and tuck herself inside Clair’s armpit, but she was almost as tall as her mother. Under Clair’s left arm, her hand resting on his right leg, her son, Jasper, clutched his camera, scrolling through holiday photos on the screen of his digital SLR.
Clair had encouraged Jasper to look at the photos on the screens on the walls on either side of the pleated curtain – a tactful slideshow of an exuberant man with piercing blue eyes, a strong nose, and a broad, mischievous smile – to bring Jasper out of his bubble, help the reality sink in. But he didn’t like looking at his dad as a baby; his dad in a cowboy outfit; his dad’s graduation photo; his dad on his wedding day – even though he liked how happy his dad and his mum looked. Jasper couldn’t remember much about his parents being together.
He didn’t like the photos on the big screen because he didn’t recognise the man everyone else in the chapel was looking at, tilting their heads to one side as they clutched tissues. Jasper preferred to look down at his own camera roll. His dad: playful and cross-eyed as he sucked on a milkshake at the 11th Street Diner in Miami. His dad from behind, in shorts, a pale lilac T-shirt and Converse, outside The Carlyle as he walked towards its white deco façade. His dad, arm wrapped around Millie, both smiling at the camera as they stopped on the boardwalk to take a picture. It was the last photo Jasper had of his father. It was taken only four weeks ago.
Jasper, feeling the comfort of his mother’s hand on his leg, leaned into his grandma on his left and scrolled through the camera roll again. He, too, could hear the coffin approaching. He tried to ignore it. Tried to find another tiny detail in a photo he might have missed. Zooming in, zooming out. Checking every idiosyncrasy of his dad’s face. The wholehearted, infectious smile surrounded by sunlit stubble. His brown ruffled hair. The bright blue irises, encircled with black hoops that made his eyes look all the more brighter. His tanned nose and reliable shoulders Jasper wanted to hug and hide in.
No offence to Grandma Guilbert.
Jasper didn’t realise his dad was handsome until after he died. There was a lot of detail a nine-year-old noticed: the bony contours of a stygimoloch dinosaur’s skull; the lines and circles of an old computer motherboard; the options on the screen of a digital SLR. And there was a lot they didn’t.
As the whimpers became more breathless and the wave of cries rolled forward through the crematorium, Clair turned left, then right, to kiss each child’s head, then returned her gaze defiantly down. She felt her sisters behind her squeeze a shoulder each; recognised the quiet cry and coughs of her mother and father next to them.
Don’t look, don’t look.
In her small window to the world, Clair saw smart shoes edge into sight, doing an awkward dance as the six men who filled them did their best to not drop the casket. It was the most important job of their lives.
Don’t drop him.
The feet shuffled, arched, bent, until the bamboo casket, shaped like a sarcophagus and topped with white roses, snapdragons and stocks, was placed on the stone plinth, and the footsteps retreated.
Six ashen pallbearers, relieved that that part was over, grateful that a woman in the congregation’s cries were taking the focus off them. Still shocked that the life of their most vibrant of comrades had been extinguished.
Clair looked at the anguished dance of a variation of black shoes: Jake’s were obviously the Burberry brogues; Uncle Roger’s were definitely the shabbiest. Seb’s dad, Martin, his shoes must have been the most polished: slightly creased along the toe but shiny as a new penny. Anyway, Clair could tell which shoes were Martin’s from the way they turned in. Even his feet looked sad.
Don’t look, don’t look… you might die.
Did they put shoes on his body?
Don’t look, don’t look.
Which suit did they use?
Don’t look, don’t look.
Did Penelope put his wedding ring on him or did she keep it for the kids?
Cries rose as Chris Martin sang about skin and bones.
I hope she didn’t have any say in what Seb’s wearing.
Clair felt a silent roar of protectiveness and pulled Millie and Jasper in closer still, as they huddled, shell-shocked and heartbroken.
Jasper finally looked up, away from his camera, and saw the sarcophagus.
‘No!’ he whispered, a stealthy cry slipping out involuntarily as he looked at the casket.
Eight rows back, Jasper’s best friend Arthur shook with his own silent cries, hoping his shared grief would take some of the pain away for his friend.
Millie looked at the coffin fleetingly. The lure of knowing her dad was there, maybe she could see him one last time, made her eyes dart for just a second. The burst of flowers she had chosen with Clair looked beautiful, and Millie started to shake.
‘It’s OK, darling,’ Clair whispered, squeezing Millie in, knowing that it wasn’t. Inhaling her children’s scents; trying to pull their anguish out of them and into her with each inward breath. She looked up to the pitched roof of the chapel to release her pained breath and exhaled.
Why did I let you go?



‘Please be seated,’ said the sympathetic vicar with a greying bob, although Clair and the kids hadn’t been able to get out of their chairs.
As the murmuration of mourners lowered onto their seats, Clair glanced back over her shoulder, at a sea of people who had stuck to traditional black, even though they had said to come in anything; colour was what Seb would have wanted. The family, friends, colleagues and cousins who had got there early enough to get a seat; the acquaintances and school parents Seb had befriended over the years, standing at the back, stunned. People were bursting out of the doors of the crematorium beyond a portico, clutching their orders of service and shaking with stifled tears.
Clair’s fiancé, Dave, leaned forward from his seat next to Clair’s youngest sister, squeezing her shoulder and letting her know he was here for her too. She gave a short smile to let him know she appreciated it as she leaned forward to glance across the aisle, still avoiding looking at the casket.
Don’t look, don’t look.
On the other side of the aisle Clair saw Uncle Roger and Aunty Dora, sitting next to Seb’s father, Martin – a man who had inspired and disappointed Seb in such immense ways – who, p