Chapter 13
SARAH
I woke up this morning feeling refreshed.
It’s odd because our accommodation doesn’t change from stop to stop, but just knowing that there are good showers, that there is good coffee, makes the world of difference.
Hal was itching to go, but I convinced him to take the bike ride he’s been going on about and after I agreed to go with him to talk to the hire guy (Hal is convinced that everyone now knows about the trunks incident) he seemed to regain his enthusiasm.
I sent him off with a map and a bottle of water and felt once again like a mum waving my firstborn off on an adventure.
I’m just eating a sandwich bought from the little supermarket on site when he returns, red-faced and wild-haired from his bike helmet. ‘Good ride?’ I ask him.
‘Yeah, actually. Such a good cycle route. Next time we come—’ he says, then stops himself. ‘I mean, if you’re ever this way again without a broken leg, you should try it.’
I nod, taking another bite of my chicken Caesar. He perches on Betty’s step and takes off his shoes, flexing his toes in their sweaty socks.
‘Thanks for that,’ I tell him, giving them a significant look.
This afternoon we’d planned to go to the Chateau de Chaumont-sur-Loire, a chateau five kilometres from the site.
I’m pretty sure, had I not attached myself to Hal’s trip, that he would have walked there.
Instead, since Betty’s awning is fastened on and since some of our things are in situ, Hal suggested we take a taxi.
I’m getting better on my crutch now, more adept at moving the right leg at the right time.
But my shoulder still aches with effort after a little while, and although I’m trying to put a brave face on it, my leg is throbbing horribly at times, no doubt due to the driving and to Betty’s rather rudimentary mattress.
‘There’s loads of art,’ Hal says, reading the website on his phone. ‘And huge gardens.’
He’s so enthusiastic and so eager to please me that I smile and nod and don’t express my misgivings. After all, this is meant to be his holiday and I really don’t want to put a damper on everything.
We soon arrive at the chateau and it’s beautiful – huge fat turrets made of light stone with neat charcoal-coloured pyramid roofs flank an impressive sandstone building, approached via a long, stone-sprinkled drive.
It knocks the socks off any castle I’ve visited in England – ours are almost always austere, built in damp grey, and most of them lie in ruins.
This, despite being from the tenth century, looks good enough to move into immediately.
I’m staring out of the window as we approach when Hal says, ‘Pretty impressive, right?’
‘Just a bit.’
‘Where do you want to start?’
It’s another hot day and at three o’clock the sun is pretty much at its peak. ‘Inside?’ I suggest, thinking how much nicer it will be to hit the outdoor part a little later when the air begins to cool, and he nods.
‘You got it!’
He pays the driver and we clamber out, Hal supporting me whilst I right myself on my crutch, then we make our way towards the entrance.
Inside, the building is cool and smells of dust and age.
The floor is laid with polished parquet, and the ceiling, criss-crossed with dark wood beams. There’s a huge, ornate rug on the floor and enough artwork on the walls to stock a gallery.
After paying, Hal walks ahead slightly, stopping on occasion to study a painting or a sculpture, flicking through the guidebook he’s downloaded to his phone. He seems so interested in it all that it takes me by surprise. ‘I didn’t realise you were into old buildings,’ I tell him.
‘I wouldn’t say I was “into” them,’ he tells me, making finger quotes to emphasise the word. ‘But it’s interesting, isn’t it? All this history, all those years. Makes you feel small, to think of all the people who’ve gone before you.’
An hour later, we exit into the gardens and I breathe the fresh air hungrily, filling my lungs. Hal laughs, ‘Had enough?’ he asks.
‘No, I’m good.’ I look around for a bench to perch on for a bit and can’t seem to find one. Then again, the doctors did say I should exercise, push myself a little more each day. Keep myself mobile. So perhaps I’ve got to stop being pathetic and just live my life.
‘Come on,’ I say to Hal. ‘Let’s see if we can find any sculptures.’
We do, in the form of a straw-like structure, shaped like an enormous bird, then again in a series of what look like flowerpots to me, lying on their side in a circular formation. Farther on, there’s a series of boat-like wooden structures, their bows pointing skyward.
The tour hasn’t taken as long as I’d expected, so we’ve come outside when the temperature is still soaring.
After half an hour, spotting and walking to sculptures has begun to take its toll and my leg begins to throb.
My head decides to join in and, as I half-walk, half-hop after Hal, I wonder whether I might be forced to say something soon.
Hal is striding ahead, really enjoying himself, and trying, I think, to help me appreciate all the details he’s learned from the guidebook. As he makes his way towards what seems like a stone round in the centre of a green, I feel myself flounder.
‘What do you think that’s meant to be?’ he asks, pointing with a grin and looking back at me.
But the moment he sees me, his face changes. ‘Christ, are you all right? You look awful,’ he says, trotting back to me.
Ordinarily, I’d probably come back with a witty response, but in all honesty, I’m feeling woozier by the minute. Before I can open my mouth, though, Hal is by my side, his arm around my back. ‘Let’s find a bench,’ he says.
With his help, I make it to a small outdoor seating area, set out under a canopy of trees and plants.
The air feels fresh here, the sun dappling the ground and furniture, but not beating down the way it was in the open gardens.
He manages to find a small metal table with two chairs and the moment I sit down, it’s as if my body just crumples with relief.
‘I’ll get you some water,’ he says and returns in minutes with a tall glass filled with ice.
I sip it and begin to feel more like myself again.
Hal sits opposite me, his brow still furrowed with concern. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ he asks, and I realise there’s a little bit of anger in his voice. As if he’s been genuinely worried about me.
‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him. ‘I just… it’s such a lovely place.’
‘Yes, but it’s been here for a millennium. I’m pretty sure it’ll still be here next year for me to visit. It’s not worth making yourself ill.’
I nod. ‘I know. I suppose I just… I didn’t want to spoil everything about your holiday.’
‘You’re not spoiling any of it!’
I laugh. ‘Now I know you’re lying.’
But he cups his face on his hand, elbow on table, and meets my eye, all seriousness.
‘No,’ he tells me. ‘I’m really not! I mean, I’ll admit I wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of bringing you along.
But you know what, it’s been really nice having some company.
No, forget that. Not some company. Your company. ’
‘Even with my moaning and my leg and my snoring?’ I tease.
But he’s still not ready to lighten the mood. ‘You know, when I’m with you, I kind of forget I’m forty and pretty much middle-aged. I feel… seventeen again. You know? It’s been nice.’
Part of me wants to laugh, to make a comment about middle-aged spread, receding hairlines, perimenopause and probable imminent grandparenthood. But something about the way he’s looking at me stops me.
‘I know what you mean,’ I tell him. ‘It’s not that I feel younger, though. I think I just feel… comfortable.’
‘Yeah, like I’ve got nothing to prove,’ he echoes.
‘Which is a good thing, seeing as you’ve spent most of the time running away from terrifying dogs and catapulting your swimming trunks across the pool area.’
He laughs. ‘Don’t forget giving the elderly ladies on the side of the pool a bit of an eyeful when I clambered out.’
I find myself joining in. ‘Ah, it could have been worse.’
‘I don’t see how.’
‘No, you’re probably right.’ I grin, but feel a grimace shoot across my face as my leg gives another enormous twinge.
Hal studies my face, seeming concerned. ‘That looks painful. Are you sure we shouldn’t get you checked out?’
I shake my head. ‘Just being pathetic really. I think it’s normal to get a bit of pain. I’ll just up my dose when we get back to Betty.’
‘OK, but I mean it. If you want to see a doctor, let me know. Better safe than sorry.’
‘Where did you come from?’ I ask, feeling better now as my body cools and my leg gets some much-needed rest.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I can’t imagine the Hal I knew back in the day being so caring, attentive.’
‘I guess I grew up,’ he says, and gives me a smile that’s tinged with sadness.
‘I guess we both did.’
There’s an awkward silence for a moment before he leaves to get us both a proper drink, by which I think he means coffee rather than alcohol. I watch him make his way across the lawn to the glass-doored café area, somehow adorable and oddly fragile in his crumpled shorts and T-shirt.
When Louis was younger, I used to worry so much about him spending the weekend with Hal.
Not because Hal didn’t absolutely dote on him, but because I couldn’t imagine him noticing if Louis was overtired, or knowing what to do when he complained of tummy ache.
I couldn’t imagine him reading the signs or changing plans if Louis was feeling under the weather.
I’d ring or I’d send text reminders to check for this and that, send Louis with bottles of Calpol and written reminders about bedtime and making sure he had his favourite toy to cuddle.
But maybe Hal had it in him all the time. I was so absorbed by caring for my son that I didn’t believe anyone else was capable of taking over for me.
Before I can reflect more, Hal returns with black coffees, together with a plate of heart-shaped palmiers. We tuck in in companionable silence and then, when suitably refreshed, he orders a taxi to take us back to the campsite.
In the back of the cab, I send a quick text to Louis updating him on our location and checking that everything’s OK his end. But he doesn’t reply.