Chapter 20
HAL
I’m already watching Sarah when she begins to stumble, so I see the entire thing, hear the sickening slap of skin on concrete when she hits the pavement.
I drop the piece of cheese I’m holding and rush towards her, pushing people out of the way in my haste. A woman is already kneeling at her side, her hand on Sarah’s pulse point, and for a moment I think the absolute worst.
‘Sarah!’ I cry, sinking to my knees next to her. I touch her skin and it’s terrifyingly hot.
‘I have called the pompiers,’ the woman informs me. ‘They will be here soon.’
Sarah’s eyes flicker under her lids, and she lets out a strange moan.
‘Sarah, I’m here,’ I say, holding her hot hand.
Sébastien arrives and kneels down next to me, reaching for Sarah’s other hand and I want to bat him away. He doesn’t even know her! But I try to focus on Sarah, telling her it will be OK.
And at last, the pompiers arrive in their blue uniforms with their serious faces.
They load Sarah onto a gurney and wheel her quickly to an ambulance.
I’m following, Sébastien still at my side.
‘No!’ I tell him, tossing him Betty’s keys.
‘Take the van back to the site. I’ll call you when there’s news. ’
I don’t have his number, I realise, when I clamber into the back of the ambulance after Sarah and the paramedics. And I’ve tossed the key to my camper – my pride and joy – to a virtual stranger. But it really doesn’t matter. All that matters is the fact that something is very wrong with Sarah.
The pompiers talk to one another in low, grave voices. Then the engine starts and we pull away. I’m both relieved and terrified when they elect to put on the sirens, and the blue lights drive cars out of our way as we speed towards the nearest hospital.
Two hours on and I’m finally allowed to see her. I’d followed her into the waiting area of the hospital but once it was established that I was not her husband, or anything significant really, I was asked to wait outside.
Finally, a doctor came to see me, his face so serious that for a moment I thought the worst. ‘Your friend has an infection,’ he told me. ‘She should have had medical attention days ago.’
‘But she’ll be all right?’ I squeaked, and he looked at me pityingly.
‘Yes. She is on antibiotics. And we will keep her for one, maybe two nights. But she will be OK.’ He put a large hand on my shoulder. ‘These things can come on very quickly sometimes.’
But I can’t help but wonder whether Sarah’s illness was as sudden as he’s assuming.
I noticed how pale she was the other day.
And she’s been lethargic, noticeably downcast. I had put it all down to the wedding and to the fact that I am probably the last person she wants to spend time with.
But maybe it was something else. Something I could have prevented?
I follow the directions to her ward. Sarah’s in an individual room and I hope that her travel insurance will cough up to cover it.
Her lip is slightly swollen, and she has the beginnings of a bruise on the side of her face where it hit the ground.
There’s a drip snaking its way into her arm.
Her leg is elevated, and she’s in a hospital gown, propped up against stark white pillows. She gives an apologetic shrug.
‘Sorry about this,’ she says.
‘Don’t be silly,’ I tell her, sitting on the edge of the bed, then thinking better of it and crouching instead. ‘This isn’t your fault.’
She shrugs. ‘Probably should have said something sooner.’
‘It doesn’t matter now.’ I lift my hand to stroke her hair, then think better of it. I hold her hand instead. It’s cooler than before and something rushes up within me. It’s relief, I think. And something else too.
‘What am I going to do about the wedding?’ she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper. ‘How many days is it now?’
‘It’ll be OK, I’ll make it OK, don’t worry,’ I tell her, not entirely sure that any of this is possible but wanting to drive her worries away, just as I used to do with Louis when he slept at my place. Scaring away the monsters so he could rest.
In truth, I can’t be sure whether she’ll be ready to travel in three days’ time. But I’m determined, somehow, to fix it for her. There is no way she’s missing Louis’s wedding.
The taxi back to the campsite costs forty euros and I can’t help but think the driver’s clocked my British accent and is trying his luck. But I don’t say anything. It’s late and my head is crowded with thoughts of Sarah, replaying the moment when she fell and I wasn’t there to catch her.
When I first knew that Sarah was coming with me on the trip, I thought of all the things I’d planned, wondered whether she’d actually want to come with me on any of my activities.
Back then, I’d imagined she might quite like the night markets, had pictured us strolling together, cheese tasting, sipping local wine, buying a meal and eating it at a table under the stars.
But in reality, I’d just wandered off, let her hobble around by herself.
Why hadn’t I been at her side to catch her when she fell?
I realise that I couldn’t have known what was about to happen but for some reason, it doesn’t make me feel any better.
Because maybe I know that throughout the years, there’s a pattern.
Her struggling on her own and me oblivious, unable to recognise when she needs someone to hold her up.
When I walk up the path to our pitch, I’m relieved to see a light at the table and Sébastien sitting there reading a book.
My thoughts have been 95 per cent about Sarah, but there’s been a doubt at the back of my mind about Betty too.
Tossing her keys to a virtual stranger was a risky move.
But Sébastien has come good. I feel almost affectionate as I walk towards him and see his head lift and a smile spread across his handsome face.
He gets to his feet. ‘Sarah is OK?’
I nod. ‘Yeah. I mean, they’re keeping her in. But essentially… yeah.’
He gives an exaggerated sigh of relief and pats me on the shoulder. ‘I have to say when I saw her collapse I thought… well, she went down so heavily.’
I nod. ‘I know.’ I try to prevent the image from replaying in my head, but there it is again, right on cue.
Sébastien reaches in the pocket of his tight black jeans and holds out my keys, a little like a father might when bestowing his firstborn with their first car. ‘Here,’ he says.
I take the keys. They are slightly warm. ‘Thanks.’
He shoulders his backpack and suddenly I realise what he is doing. ‘You’re leaving.’
‘Oui,’ he nods. ‘You will be staying here for a while, going to the hospital. And when Sarah comes out, she will not want an extra person in the van.’
Bearing in mind that she didn’t want an extra person in the van even before she was sick, this is a pretty likely assumption, but I make the obligatory surprised face. ‘Oh no. I’m sure she’ll be fine—’
‘Non,’ he shakes his head. ‘Non, she will be better if I am not here.’
I nod, as if reluctantly accepting his words.
I don’t tell him that I was going to ask him to leave in a day or so before Sarah returned, as now that I don’t have to, I’m taking full advantage.
If I’m honest, it’s not 100 per cent an act – I will actually miss the bloke.
Or at least, aspects of him. I won’t miss looking like a mutant older brother against his Adonis-like physique, but I’ll miss his company on walks and swims. Today, other than the Sarah incident, has been great, and I’d never have hiked that distance or swum in the river without him.
‘Stay in touch?’ he says. And I nod, pass him my phone so he can type in his number.
‘You don’t have to go now,’ I tell him. It’s almost midnight.
But he gives me a grin. ‘I have found someone who is heading to Cannes,’ he tells me. ‘They want to set off tonight.’
I nod. ‘OK.’
Then he’s off, disappearing down the dark path. And I find myself alone, with only the moths who seem intent on killing themselves inside the glass column in the oil lamp for company.
I wake up to find myself still sitting outside, every part of my body aching and cold. Staggering into Betty, I fall down on the bed, grabbing my phone to check the time. It’s seven o’clock. Just as I’m flicking through my contacts to find Louis’s number, I feel a strange buzz in my trousers.
Sarah’s phone. I’d picked it up last night after her fall and hadn’t given it back. It’s ringing as I draw it out and the name ‘Peter’ is writ large on the screen. I pay enough attention to her to know that this is her business partner, so I answer it.
‘Sarah’s phone.’
‘Oh. Hi. Who’s this?’
‘Hal.’
‘Oh right! Hi, mate. It’s Peter. Sorry, I realise it’s early, just—’
‘It’s fine. Listen, mate. Sarah’s in hospital.’
‘Oh my God!’
‘It’s OK,’ I reassure him. ‘She’s OK. She got an infection, something to do with the leg, and they’re keeping her in for a bit.’
‘Right.’ He’s quiet for a moment. ‘Do you think I should fly over?’
‘No, I really don’t think that’s necessary.
’ Part of me can’t believe the guy’s temerity.
Why would anyone want their colleague to fly to their bedside in a crisis?
The last thing Sarah needs is someone asking her about this or that client when she’s trying to recover.
‘I’ll be honest, Peter. I don’t think she’ll be able to work for a few days at least.’
‘Of course! Of course. I wasn’t suggesting—’
‘Listen,’ I say. ‘I haven’t called anyone yet. Her mum, Louis… I’d better—’
‘Sure. Sure!’ he says. ‘And you know, tell her I said hi.’
‘Will do.’
‘And that I’m still looking forward to our date when she gets back.’
My heart feels suddenly as if it’s been doused in icy water. I keep my voice as steady as possible. ‘Sure. Of course.’
‘Maybe get her to call me when she’s feeling a bit better. But tell her not to worry about work, I’ll handle that.’
‘Thank you. That’s… she’ll be relieved.’
‘And you know, if anything… if she gets worse or anything, let me know. Because I can fly out… you know.’
‘Sure. No worries.’
I hang up. Sarah has never mentioned Peter in that way.
But why would she? She’s got no reason to confide in me.
It shouldn’t be a surprise that someone like Sarah has a guy in her life.
And this isn’t the time to feel shit about that.
In fact, I try to force myself to feel pleased about it.
Sarah deserves a dependable, good guy. Someone with similar interests.
Not a random guy from the past whose potential peaked over a decade ago.
‘Good,’ I say to myself. ‘Good.’
Then, taking a deep breath, I drop her phone and scroll through my own again.
My thumb hovers over Louis’s name. But before I dial, I wonder whether it’s fair to dump this onto our son.
His mum is in hospital, sure, but she’s going to be OK.
And he’s getting married in just a few days’ time.
Worrying him with the news that his mum might not be well enough to make it just isn’t fair.
Instead, I type the message:
Hal
Hi Louis, hope all the wedding prep is going well. Mum and I are thinking of you both. Look forward to seeing you! Dad xx
And hope that I’m making the right call.