Chapter 25
SARAH
‘I don’t know what that man was thinking,’ Mum tells me as we draw closer to Nice.
She’s got the air conditioning cranked up to maximum, and I have to admit sitting in the leather seat of her Audi is a hell of a lot comfier than Betty’s rather worn-out passenger seat.
After our initial hellos, we’ve been sitting in near silence, listening to a playlist streaming from Mum’s iPhone.
I’m not a great fan of Lionel Richie, but it’s been peaceful drifting in and out of sleep to his music for the past forty minutes.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Well, taking you in your current state in that awful VW. I’m surprised it didn’t break down earlier on the journey.’
‘Mum, he didn’t have to bring me with him at all!’ I protest.
She huffs. ‘Well, OK, I realise Hal’s a kind man,’ she concedes. ‘But Sarah, he’s thoughtless. He hasn’t changed a bit as far as I can see.’
‘Is that such a bad thing?’ I think back to my teen years, how much more fun I used to have; how I didn’t take life as seriously as I do now. I wouldn’t mind still feeling like that – that optimism, that excitement for the future.
‘Sarah, he’s middle-aged. It’s time to grow up!’
‘You’re not being fair, Mum. Hal has grown up. He’s… I mean, he’s actually changed a lot. Yes, he’s still got some of his quirks. But he’s really caring, thoughtful.’ I trail off, realising she’s barely listening.
‘Well, I dare say.’
I decide to look out of the window rather than continue this line of conversation. Mum’s not the easiest person to disagree with, and this is as much of a concession as I’ll ever get out of her.
We’re passing through La Trinité with its neat, peach-coloured buildings, white-edged and shuttered, each house surrounded by neatly trimmed shrubs and bushes. Ahead, I can see the dark trees that cover the hills rising up towards the azure sky.
When Mum decided to move here shortly after Dad died, I thought she was running away from her grief. But the more I’ve come to visit, the more I can understand her wanting to spend her twilight years in this place, with its clement weather, slower pace of life, beaches and scenery to die for.
We’re picking up pace now, the roads feeling more familiar; the smooth tarmac route cut sharply into the rocky hillside, leaving exposed stone on one side and the endless blue of the Med on the other.
I watch the sunlight flicker on the water as it moves gently, making the navy-blue water look like the glittered page of a child’s drawing book.
Mum’s house is on the edge of a small village called èze, just a short drive from Nice.
The village itself is gorgeous; parts of it have barely changed from medieval times, apparently.
There are stone steps and little houses dotted along narrow walkways.
In the centre, modern buildings and cafés have been tastefully painted in cream and peach, and it’s so close to the ocean that you can smell salt in the warm air.
We drive through and the car begins to climb towards the hill where her house is situated. And then we’re there, passing through the open black iron gates, down the small driveway, and parking in front of the renovated barn Mum’s called home for four years.
Her small dog, Peaches, runs up and she pets its scruffy head, giving it more of a welcome than she gave me, in many ways. ‘How are you, my darling,’ she says. ‘Have you missed Mummy? Have you?’
I struggle out of the passenger seat, just as a man exits the front door and begins striding towards me, his smile enormous. And everything in my body and mind simply relaxes and floods with joy at the relief of seeing my son looking so well.
‘Mum!’ Louis says, helping me straighten up. He looks down at my boot and his face creases briefly with concern before softening again as he raises his eyes to me. ‘Nice boot.’
‘I know. It’s very this season.’ I’m weary, but joking and laughing with Louis again comes naturally and makes me feel at home. I realise suddenly how much he’s like Hal in that way. He’s worried about my leg, his face gave that away, but he masks it with a joke and a grin.
‘Hi, Sarah,’ says a voice, and I see that Summer has followed Louis out. She’s dressed in a loose sundress, thin straps over her nut-brown shoulders. If she’s showing at all, it’s lost in the floral folds of material.
‘Summer,’ I say, and reach out an arm to hug her, the other firmly on the crutch, keeping balance.
She smells of vanilla and an all-too-familiar scent of sun cream that takes me back to the holidays Louis and I have shared over the years.
The struggle to get him to protect himself from the sun, the mixture of sand and lotion on his back as he wriggled out of my arms, desperate to play.
Twenty minutes later, I’m in my room. One of Mum’s four guest rooms, with its neatly tiled floor, double bedstead and small en suite.
It feels impersonal, almost like a hotel, but I quite like its clean lines and lack of clutter.
I lie back on the bed and feel my body sink gratefully into the soft mattress, the thick feather-down pillow.
It’s been too long since I’ve been in a proper bed and it feels like heaven.
I check my phone – still no word from Hal – so scroll through my contacts and dial his number.
‘Hey.’ He answers on the first ring. I can hear the traffic in the background and remember the heat thumping down on that little lay-by.
He must feel absolutely awful and I wish he were here with me, able to finally relax, drink cool water, consider whether it’s yet time to go sit by the pool with Louis and Summer.
‘Hey,’ I reply. ‘Still no rescue?’
‘Yeah, the guy’s here. He reckons it’s a problem with the cooling system.’
‘Betty has a cooling system?’ But my joke doesn’t land.
‘Yeah, I know. She’s a heap. But I love her,’ he says and I feel suddenly guilty.
Despite my leg, it’s been quite fun spending time in Hal’s camper.
If I’d been well, it could have gone so differently.
Now he’s there, being roasted in the unrelenting heat while I lie on feathers and down and make jokes at his expense.
‘I know, Hal,’ I say. ‘Sorry. Hey, I’ve started to fall for her a bit too.’
‘You have?’ He sounds so pleased that I feel a rush of affection for him.
‘So what’s the prognosis?’ I ask.
He sighs. ‘Well, the guy doesn’t speak a lot of English, and you know my French is…’
‘Non-existent?’
He laughs, but there’s a weariness to it. ‘Yeah. But I think he’s trying to do a temporary repair. Add coolant. Do enough to get us to èze. Then I’ll have to find a garage to do proper repairs.’
‘So you’ll be back on the road soon, hopefully?’
‘Yep! So get your mother to make some of her iced tea. I am going to need a gallon.’ Someone says something to him and there’s a muffled exchange of franglais. ‘Gotta go,’ he says. ‘He’s managed to get her started and thinks we’ll make it OK.’
‘Call me, won’t you, if anything goes wrong?’
‘What, so you can race out on your gammy leg and rescue me?’
I laugh. ‘Hey, I’ve got the boot remember. My leg’s stronger than a regular leg.’
‘Still, not the best for running, I imagine.’
‘I’m going to give it a miss.’
After we hang up, I lie back for a moment more, then, unable to rest knowing that Hal’s overheated and driving in a pretty dodgy camper, slip into some fresh clothes and hobble to the pool.
Mum’s set it up like a holiday camp – there are sunloungers with individual parasols, little tables for drinks and sunglasses.
Some of Summer’s things are on one of the loungers, but there’s no sign of her.
Just Louis, who’s doing laps in the pool.
He covers its modest length in just a couple of strokes.
The sound of his regular turns, the splash of his limbs in the cool water makes me feel relaxed at last. I sit down heavily on a lounger, then lift my booted leg into position.
I’m careful now, making sure I take my medication, taking my temperature if I feel a bit off.
But so far, so good. It looks like I can finally start to heal.
Seeing me, Louis climbs out of the pool and, wrapping a towel around his waist, comes over and sits drippily on the edge of my sunlounger, which tips a little before settling down again.
‘I’m so sorry I got here late,’ I tell him. ‘Your dad too. It’s been… well, not everything has gone to plan these last few days.’
‘It’s OK,’ he says and I hope he means it.
‘Are you all ready for tomorrow?’ Something catches in my throat when I think of the wedding.
He nods. ‘Yeah, Gran has it all under control. Summer and I just have to turn up.’
‘I bet,’ I say, grinning. Mum is an organisational dynamo, and I’ll bet she’s enjoyed making sure everything runs like clockwork.
‘It’s not real, you know,’ he says.
‘What isn’t?’
He sighs. ‘Well, the wedding. I mean it is a wedding, don’t get me wrong. But we’re not French, haven’t been residents here, so we can’t get things properly signed off with the mayor. We’ll have to do a registry office wedding when we get back. You know, to make it legal.’
‘Oh. Well, that’s OK. The promises you make to each other are the important bit.’
‘Yeah,’ he says.
Something in the curve of his back as he sits, little droplets running down that I long to dry off with my towel as I would have just a few short years ago, makes me ache for him. ‘Louis,’ I say, ‘are you OK? I mean, with the wedding and everything?’
He turns abruptly. ‘Yes. Bloody hell, Mum.’
‘What?’
‘Gran said you’d be like this.’
‘She did?’ I feel myself stiffen.
‘Yeah. That you might try to talk me out of it.’
‘Why? What? How dare she!’
‘But she’s right, isn’t she, Mum? If I said I wasn’t certain… well, you’d support me, wouldn’t you?’
I shift up onto my elbows, look at my son, astonished as I always am at the smoothness of his skin, the youth of him. ‘Louis, I’d support you no matter what. You know that. So yes, I suppose Gran’s right. If you were having doubts, I’d support you. Why wouldn’t I?’
He shrugs. ‘Yeah, but maybe I shouldn’t be let off the hook.’
‘What?’
‘You know. Summer’s pregnant. She’s happy – we both are – but we’re kind of terrified too. And I… well, it takes two to tango, you know. I have to do my part.’
‘Yes, of course. But there are lots of ways to be a good father. You don’t have to rush into—’
He puts a hand on my arm, stopping me mid-sentence.
‘Mum, I love Summer,’ he says and the simplicity and openness of hearing him say those words makes something crack a little inside me.
‘I know I want to marry her. Maybe it’s sooner than I’d have planned.
But you know. We’d have got there eventually. ’
‘Well, good. That’s good.’
‘And now I have responsibilities. I have to grow up. You know. I can’t be like…’
I stiffen, anticipating his words. ‘Like who?’
‘I’m not going to do what Dad did. I’m not going to abandon Summer, leave her to it. I love Dad, but…’ He trails off, his implication clear.
‘Your dad’s a good man,’ I tell him softly, touching his arm.
‘I know.’
‘He’s a good father.’
‘Yeah. I know.’
‘We were seventeen, a lot younger than you guys.’
He nods. ‘Still.’ He stands, holding his towel. ‘I’d better get back.’
‘OK,’ I tell him softly. I watch my son walk towards his grandmother’s house and everything in my body aches. I want to make it all better, easier for him. But he’s right in one sense. He’s a man now. An adult. And I can no longer protect him from life; I have to let him navigate his own course.