Chapter 12
HAL
An hour after we get back, I’m trying to forget, and sipping a beer that Sarah’s sourced from the shop for me (I am not going anywhere I might be recognised, and cannot wait to escape tomorrow). Sarah still lets out the occasional low chuckle, and I take it she’s reliving the whole thing too.
‘You won’t tell anyone?’ I keep asking her, and she shakes her head vehemently. But I can’t help but think she’ll be sharing it with all her girlfriends after a glass of wine once we get home. To be honest, if the situation were reversed, I’d probably do the same.
The only redeeming aspect of the whole mess is the fact that Sarah seems quite buoyed by the whole thing. I haven’t seen her smile this much on the trip so far. Not sure it was a price worth paying, even so.
‘And you’re sure nobody filmed it on their phone?
’ I ask her, probably for the fiftieth time.
These days, no private moment is truly private, and anything can be broadcast to the whole world within seconds.
The thought of my poolside shame going viral and giving me my fifteen minutes of unwanted fame makes my blood run cold.
‘Pretty sure no one was filming,’ she says again patiently. ‘Honestly, I think it all happened too quickly for that.’
I feel a flood of relief course through my body every time she says those reassuring words, and despite getting the giggles from time to time, she’s treated the whole thing with such kindness.
I feel a bit like she’s at my bedside, like my own mum used to be, stroking my hair and telling me everything would be all right after a nightmare.
Only there’s no bed or hair-stroking, just a beer and her reassuring words.
I’m thinking of suggesting we pack up in a bit and make for the next site earlier than planned. The original idea was to take a bike along the Loire à Vélo, but the thought of staying here any longer is almost unbearable.
Before I can say anything though, my phone rings and Louis’s name flashes up on the screen.
Our eyes meet and I pick up and answer, standing up with the phone to my ear.
‘Hey, Dad.’ Louis’s voice sounds OK, maybe not as cheerful as sometimes, but perhaps I’m reading too much into it.
‘Hi, son.’
‘Is Mum there?’
‘Yeah, sure, do you want to—’ I’m about to pass the phone to Sarah, but Louis says, ‘No! Dad, can you, like, maybe… go for a walk or something so she doesn’t hear?’
‘Sure.’ I cover the mouthpiece and whisper ‘man stuff’ to Sarah, who makes a confused face. It’s fair enough: I don’t think Louis has asked me a private question since he stumbled on some porn online at thirteen, and wanted to ask me some pretty uncomfortable questions about penis size.
Still, I wander around to the other side of Betty, feeling a bit guilty as I know Sarah will be wondering what’s going on and why he hasn’t called her.
‘So, what’s up?’ I ask, as soon as I’m out of earshot.
‘It’s nothing, really.’ There’s a long pause. ‘Are you going to be here soon, Dad?’
‘Yeah, few days. Not long.’ I kick at a lump of turf that’s been turned over by Betty’s wheels, pressing it back into place with my Croc.
‘OK.’ Another pause.
‘Louis, you can tell me anything, you know,’ I prompt, bracing myself.
‘Oh, it’s nothing… I just… I’ve been wondering, Dad. How do you know when someone’s the one?’
‘The one?’
‘Yeah. How do you know when it’s right? Really right?’
I’m not completely without skills or life experience.
If he wanted to know something about troubleshooting software, I’m his guy.
Minor STIs? I probably know more about them than some, unfortunately.
I know how to wriggle out of situations and cook a basic lasagna.
I can give advice about talking to a girlfriend’s mum or what to say if your boss’s demands are taking the piss.
But this? Knowing if someone is ‘the one’? I’m far from qualified.
The post-question silence is stretching though, and I need to say something. ‘Is this about Summer? Is everything OK?’
‘Yes! No. Well, not really. I love Summer. And you know, I’m pretty excited about getting married. Just… I suppose I want to be sure. I mean, you’re with Georgie, right? But is she the one? And how would you know?’
‘Ah, yes. Georgie.’ I don’t tell my son that my former girlfriend is ghosting me. And that, actually, I don’t blame her. I haven’t been a good boyfriend. Or even, well, a good guy I suppose. ‘I’m not… we’re not seeing each other any more.’
I hear Louis sigh quietly and there’s an air of disappointment in the noise. I scramble in my brain for something great to say. ‘Look, son, I haven’t been that lucky in love, I guess. Since your mum. I know we were just kids, but I thought she was the one. We made each other laugh. We had fun.’
‘Aw.’
‘And she’s obviously sexy as hell.’
‘Oh my God! Dad!’
‘Sorry. Sorry. I suppose I never found “the one”. At least I haven’t yet.
’ I remind myself that it’s not too unusual for a guy to be forty and still hope to settle down.
Plenty of fish and all that. ‘I suppose I like to think that when someone’s the one, you just want to spend every day with them.
That even when things are difficult or boring or go disastrously wrong (my brain helpfully provides a flashback of flying swimming trunks at this point, but I blink it away), you’d still rather have that person by your side than any other.
And you can tell them anything and they won’t judge you.
I guess, it’s when a person feels like… well, when you feel more at home with them than you do when you’re alone. ’
There’s a silence. ‘That’s nice, Dad. But you’ve never found that?’
I decide that the best thing to do is to divert his attention back to his own relationship. ‘Honestly, Louis. I love Summer. And you guys seem really happy. But you are only twenty-two. If you don’t want to get married yet, you don’t—’
‘Gran said you’d say that.’
‘Gran knows you’re asking me this?’
‘No! No. Not this. Just back when I was going to call you, you know, to tell you about the wedding, she said “Don’t be surprised if your dad tries to talk you out of it!”’
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously. Anyway, she was wrong, wasn’t she? You were completely made up about it. If anything, it was Mum who brought down the aura.’
‘Sarah didn’t like the idea?’ I interpret.
‘Not really,’ Louis scoffs. ‘She came round. But I’m pretty sure she thinks we’re too young as well. And I’m fairly certain she hated the fact that Gran had persuaded us to do it here.’
‘Gran persuaded you?’
‘Not persuaded, not really. Offered, I guess. Summer and I got engaged. I’d already planned the holiday to Gran’s, but then when we arrived and told her, Gran said to stay longer, maybe even arrange a wedding. It’s hardly going to cost anything, and she’s helping us out with the rest.’
‘Oh.’
‘And you know, we had planned to wait a bit, but when this kind of opportunity comes up… Weddings cost thousands, so…’
‘Oh, Louis. I could pay. I’d like to pay. Why didn’t you…’
‘It’s just that she offered.’
I should have offered, I realise. When they called to announce their engagement, I should have thought. ‘Still. She could have suggested next year?’ I say, a little petulantly.
‘I said that, too. But she said she wasn’t getting any younger. I really think she’d like to see us marry before she… goes.’
Vivian can only be in her late sixties now, and – as far as I’m aware – is as healthy as an ox. I can hardly imagine her playing the frail grandma card. But she obviously has Louis convinced.
‘I’m pretty sure she’ll be around.’
‘Anyway, that’s not the point. It’s all arranged. And I’m sure it’ll be fine. I just… I suppose I want to feel sure.’
‘But why would she think I’d try to talk you out of it?’ I’ve made peace with Vivian over the years, and until this moment I thought she felt I was a pretty stand-up sort of guy, so this smarts. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘I don’t know, Dad, maybe just being protective? Maybe because you’re not…’
‘Not what?’
‘Not the sort of person who… well… steps up.’
There’s a silence while his words sink in and I try to figure out what the strange tingling feeling in my torso is. I’m not angry, I don’t think. Maybe hurt. Because Louis isn’t saying those words in malice. He’s saying them simply, as if they’re just acknowledged, undeniable fact.
‘I do step up!’ I come out with finally. ‘I… I’ve always been there for you, haven’t I?’
‘Yeah. Sure. Of course. I didn’t mean anything by it. Just when Mum got pregnant, you guys broke up, right? You didn’t try to make a go of it.’
‘I… but I was… I mean we were—’
‘Sure. I get it. Sorry if you’re upset, Dad. I just meant you didn’t marry her, or try to make a home with her. Or give it a go. And I think Vivian blames you a bit for everything Mum went through. That’s all.’
That’s ALL?
‘Oh. Right.’
‘She likes you, though,’ Louis adds.
‘That’s great.’ I remember that Louis is my son and has asked me for advice and try to ‘step up’, which obviously is not something I’m used to doing. ‘Look, Louis. You love Summer, right?’
‘Well, yeah, of course.’
‘And you proposed to her, so you must have been pretty sure about marriage when you did that?’
‘Yeah.’ He sounds a bit uncertain, but I power on.
‘So maybe this is just cold feet. You’re right, I’ve never been married. But I do know a thing or two about marriage, and life.’ Mainly from TV dramas, but they count, don’t they? ‘And I know that a lot of blokes – women too – get cold feet just before a wedding. Maybe it’s just that?’
There’s a pause, then, ‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’ And something of what I said appears to have worked as his tone seems to have lightened. ‘How’s Mum?’ he asks, changing the subject.
‘Yeah, she’s OK. Her leg hurts her a bit more than she’ll admit. But she’s doing OK.’
‘Good.’ There’s a pause. ‘Look after her, won’t you, Dad?’
I bristle a little at the fact Louis seems to think he needs to tell me to do this.
But I try to remember that he’s close to his mum and is just being protective.
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘And you know, Louis, if you are having serious doubts, you don’t have to go through with it.
It’s a huge commitment and you’re so young. ’
‘No,’ he says, his voice quiet now as if someone is listening. ‘No, I’m good.’
‘Well… good. And we’ll talk when I get there? Yeah?’
‘Yeah. ’Course.’
‘Love you, son.’
I end the call and walk back to Sarah, who’s scrolling through her phone. ‘Bloody Peter,’ she tells me. ‘You’d think by now he’d know how to access the client files from home.’ She types a few choice words and sends an email. ‘How’s Louis?’
‘Yeah, he’s good.’
‘And… man problems?’ she queries, an eyebrow raised.
‘Just… penis stuff,’ I tell her and she makes a face.
‘Got it,’ she says. And thankfully drops the subject.
I sip my beer and try to get back to where I was before the call.
Louis’s words have stuck though. That I’m not someone who steps up.
And my brain helpfully brings up all the occasions when I could probably have done more.
When Sarah had that work trip and had to cancel because Louis had chicken pox.
And the times she’s asked me to take Louis for a few extra days and I haven’t been able to say yes.
Maybe I could have tried harder at times. But I have been there for most of it.
Sitting back, I try to conjure once again the image of the red swimmers. Because a bit of relived embarrassment feels awful, but it’s infinitely better than finding out my son thinks I’m shit.