Chapter 23
SARAH
Betty is gleaming.
Hal helps me into the front and the smell of cleaning fluid is almost overwhelming. He’s padded the seat out with pillows, and there’s a blanket for me if I need it. With the temperature hitting thirty-five degrees today, I can’t see that happening. But it’s nice of him all the same.
‘I’m really sorry about your trip,’ I say again.
‘It’s fine; honestly. France isn’t going anywhere.’ He smiles and he seems to mean it; there’s no hostility or disappointment behind his eyes. ‘I’m just sorry I was so stuck in my ways.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask as he shuts the door and walks around to the driver’s side.
He gets in, sighs. ‘You wanted to drive straight there and I should have listened,’ he says. ‘I just had this whole thing planned out; I should have thought.’
‘Thought what?’
‘That it wasn’t fair on you to expect you to spend days and days on the road in your state.’
I can’t help but laugh. ‘Hal, I’m not an invalid. Well, not really. I was selfish expecting you to change your plans for me. I’m still grateful that you let me tag along.’
He looks at me as if to check I’m serious. ‘Well, thanks,’ he says. ‘I still feel guilty though.’
‘Welcome to my world; I feel guilty most of the time.’
Another glance in my direction. ‘What? Why?’
I shrug, although his eyes are back on the road so he can’t read my body language.
‘I think it might be a mum thing,’ I tell him.
‘Whatever I do, I feel I ought to be doing something else. And yes, I know that Louis is all grown up – if this trip hasn’t taught me that, I don’t know what has – but it’s a hard habit to break. ’
‘Well, honestly, it’s completely misplaced,’ he says. ‘I’m the one who’s always messing up.’
‘In what way?’
‘It’s like you said. I’ve been thinking about it a lot…’ He changes gears and Betty makes a crunch of protest. ‘I did most of the things you asked me when it came to Louis, raising him. But I never thought of doing anything you didn’t ask me to do.’
I feel a pang of guilt. ‘I shouldn’t have said that, Hal. Forget it.’
‘No, but you’re right. And I don’t think you’re the only one to think that.’
Has he been speaking to my mother? ‘Really?’ I say carefully.
‘Yeah. Louis let slip that I haven’t exactly been the best dad.’
‘Louis?’
‘Yeah. Something about me never showing up on time.’ His eyes are fixed on the road but the sunlight shining through the side window reveals a glitter of moisture.
‘Ignore him. He’s just stressed about the wedding.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Definitely. And as for all the other stuff… Well, maybe. Maybe you could sometimes have shown more initiative. But, you know…’
‘Know what?’
I shrug. ‘I could have asked you.’
We fall into silence for a moment. The scenery speeds by at Betty’s maximum velocity.
Admittedly it’s only about 60 mph, but it feels jet-like compared to the pace of Hal’s normal driving.
Occasionally the speedometer will creep a little higher, sending shakes through the camper’s chassis, and Hal will be forced to lift his foot from the pedal.
‘How far?’ I ask.
‘About four hours, I think.’
‘Do you mind if I shut my eyes for a moment?’
‘Go for it.’
When I wake up, Hal’s pulling into a parking spot in a roadside rest stop. It’s one of those places with a petrol station and several small food outlets: Paul’s bakery, a Burger King, some sort of restaurant chain with a red awning.
‘I’m going to grab a sandwich,’ he tells me. ‘Want anything?’
I straighten. ‘I’ll come with you,’ I say. ‘I could do with stretching my legs.’ I look down at the blue boot. ‘Well, leg.’
He helps me out, holding my crutch for me until I’m ready to take it.
Then he offers his arm again. Part of me wants to refuse it, not because I couldn’t use a little support or because I’m annoyed at Hal or anything, but because I’ve begun to think of the five weeks – at least – I’ll be wearing the boot for.
I’ve got to be able to cope with it all on my own. I won’t always have his arm to hold.
But then I see his eyes on me and realise that he wants to help me. So I take it, and in all honesty it’s a relief to be able to lean on him as I hop along.
The hospital warned me to be careful, that I must take my tablets on time.
That I’m not out of the woods until the course is finished.
But I’m feeling so much better than I have for almost the whole trip.
The sun is beating down, and I think about Mum’s house, the cool swimming pool I can dip at least one set of toes into. Virgin cocktails under a parasol.
We reach Paul’s and the queue is so long that we decide to sit in. It’ll give us a break from the stuffy atmosphere in Betty’s front seats. Hal stands in the queue and waves at me from time to time, reminding me so much of Louis that it’s hard not to smile.
When he turns from the counter, he’s carrying a laden tray.
Two coffees, both filled to the brim. A couple of enormous baguettes and a pastry on a plate.
The whole thing is wobbling precariously, and he sticks his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he carefully walks towards me.
A passing member of staff seems to sense impending disaster and offers to take the coffees, but Hal shakes his head. He’s got this.
Moments later, one of the coffees tips up, spilling its contents on one of the baguettes, down Hal’s front, onto the floor.
The cascade of black liquid narrowly misses an old lady sitting at one of the smaller tables and she glowers at him as if he’s done it on purpose.
The little dog at her feet starts forwards, wanting to taste whatever’s been puddled near him and she pulls him back.
Hal has placed the tray on a nearby table and is trying to dab ineffectually at the stodgy mess with an inadequate paper towel.
The staff member who offered help before goes up and touches his back. He turns and she says something and he nods, drooping slightly. She gestures to his seat and he says something else, making her laugh.
Then he slopes back over to me, his T-shirt stained and his mission far from accomplished.
‘Whoops!’ I say when he’s near enough to hear me.
To my surprise, he flushes. ‘I’m such an idiot!’
‘Well, yeah. I’ve noticed.’
But he’s not in the mood for jokes. ‘What sort of prat can’t carry a tray across a restaurant?’ He slides into his seat and rests his head on his hands.
‘The sort of prat who overloads the tray and doesn’t want to make two trips?’ I suggest. ‘Or who refuses an offer of help even when things are already starting to fall apart?’
He frowns for a moment. But then his habitual grin breaks through. ‘Yeah, you got me,’ he says. ‘Trying to do it all.’
‘Well,’ I say, giving his hand a squeeze. ‘Maybe we’ve got more in common than we thought.’
Hal and I have touched several times on this trip.
I’ve leaned on his arm, or given him a playful slap on his hand when he’s said something daft.
Despite the line of pillows he studiously places down the centre of Betty’s double bed each night, our feet have sometimes touched, or we’ve woken to find a stray arm has breached the defence during sleep.
But something about this is different. This deliberate touch. And I feel a shiver of recognition.
Hal’s eyes meet mine and for a moment I wonder if he’s feeling it too. Then, rather abruptly, he snatches his hand back. ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Maybe.’
Before I can say anything else, the woman arrives with a fresh tray and we thank her profusely. Then before we can resume any sort of conversation – awkward or otherwise – Hal’s phone rings. He answers and starts saying something about caching and I tune out.
I bite into my baguette which is buttery and freshly baked; it’s a simple ham and cheese, but tastes different from the ones I’d make at home.
Emmental instead of cheddar, a stronger-tasting ham.
It’s delicious and I feel my stomach growl gratefully as I swallow the first morsel.
Hal ends his call and slips his phone into his pocket.
‘Two hours and we’ll be there,’ Hal says.
‘And tomorrow…’ I begin.
‘The wedding.’
‘I can’t believe it, really. If you’d told me back then, when Louis was a little tot, that he’d be getting married before I would, then I’d have thought it was some sort of cruel joke.’
‘Yet here we are,’ Hal says.
‘Here we are.’
His eyes are filled with something I can’t read.
‘Maybe things just don’t work out that way for some people,’ I say. ‘I mean, we’re not complete failures, right? Both business owners. Both relatively successful in that way.’
He nods. ‘Good parents?’ he suggests.
‘Good enough, at least. Louis is a good kid. We did that. We made him.’
‘You did that.’
‘No. We did. Both of us.’ And I mean it too. I think back to what he said about Louis saying he was useless and I know that I probably had something to do with that. The times I’ve cursed Hal for not being around; blamed things on him when I was actually just stressed and letting off steam.
I believed it too, I think. Liked Hal enough but also felt angry with him a lot of the time. But being with him now on this trip, I’ve realised how unfair that was. What I did, back in those early days, I did because I had to. Louis would cry and I’d go to him. How could I not?
But Hal hadn’t had that. He’d had a son he could visit whenever he wanted, sure. Only to visit him, he’d had to bypass a disapproving grandmother, and a grandfather who was fiercely protective of his daughter.
It must have been terrifying in lots of ways I hadn’t appreciated until right now.
‘Still hard to believe we haven’t missed the boat,’ I say. ‘Especially me.’
‘Why especially you?’
‘Well, you know. Men your age – you can find someone ten years younger and kind of start from scratch. Me? I’ve got about four fertile years left if I’m lucky, then I’m on the biological scrap heap.’ It’s a joke. But it’s also very much NOT a joke.
He grins. ‘You could date down too.’
‘Doesn’t work in the same way though, does it?’
‘Maybe not. But would you want that anyway?’
‘What?’ I joke, ‘A hot younger lover? I think I could probably cope with that.’
He grins. ‘I was going to say, another baby. I mean, would you want to go through all that again?’
It’s not something I’ve given much thought to. But as he says it, I realise that I’m full of longing. ‘Sometimes I think I do,’ I say. ‘But it would be different, obviously, this time.’
‘You’d do it better?’
I shrug. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think recently. You know, in the hospital. I don’t think I’ve had that much headspace for a long time. And I’ve realised something: I’m not crap and neither are you.’
‘That’s a bold claim.’
‘Seriously. Hear me out. The only reason we feel crap is because we want to do our best so much. But nobody’s perfect. Our boy is loved. He’s in love. He’s building his own family. You know what, I think we did OK.’
Hal grins and sips his coffee. And although he doesn’t say anything, it’s clear he feels the same way.