Chapter 32
HAL
Luckily the mechanic speaks English. What’s more, he actually seems to love Betty. Rather than scratching his head or giving me a look that means either this is going to cost, or what are you doing in this rust-bucket, he’s genuinely excited when I drive onto his forecourt.
‘You like VWs?’
‘Like them?’ he says in almost perfect English. ‘I love them! I have two at home. But Betty is one of the original models, non?’
‘And you think you can fix her? It’s something to do with the cooling system, I think.’
‘Of course. And it will be a pleasure. An honour, even,’ he tells me.
So I’m not only relieved, I’m feeling quite proud as I leave him to his work and make my way to the seafront. I’ve been to Nice a couple of times over the years, but never to the quartier du port where Betty’s new biggest fan resides.
It’s hot and the heat feels more uncomfortable on the city streets, bouncing back at me from the hard pavement and making me sweat despite the fact it’s only nine in the morning and the day has yet to properly kick in.
The plan is to find a café, sit with a couple of drinks, then meander back in the hope that Marcel has solved Betty’s problems and I can go back to Vivian’s and pack.
It’s farther than I thought, and my legs are aching a little by the time the road opens out onto a wide walkway that runs parallel with the road.
Just beyond, there’s a fence-like structure made of concrete or stone and beyond that, the blue of the sea broken only by the sails and hulls of a variety of boats.
I cross the road and lean on the fence, taking in the sights and smells; the slap of the water against concrete, the buzz of conversation from passers-by.
I watch a man cleaning the deck of his boat with a mop and bucket and wonder whether he’s a cleaner, or a proud boat owner shining up a prized asset.
It occurs to me that I could one day get a boat.
Betty mark two. Only maybe more seaworthy; something modern that isn’t full of rust.
By some miracle Marcel does manage to restore Betty to full working order.
He assures me that we’ll easily make the nine hundred-mile trip and I decide to trust him, while handing over the best part of 2,000 euros.
It strikes me that if he’s lying, I will be a few hundred miles away by the time I find out.
Back at Vivian’s, everything is still. I park Betty up and look out over the garden, marvelling at the life-changing event that took place there yesterday.
The pool is empty but ripples tantalisingly in the midday heat.
I’ve sweated down the back of my T-shirt and long for a moment to rip it off and dive into the blue of the waiting water.
Instead, I head to my room to retrieve my swimming shorts and slap on a bit of sun cream. I’ve learned from bitter experience not to go without either of these things.
I’m just grabbing my towel from the bathroom when I hear a sound from Sarah’s room. I knock and peek my head around; she’s sitting on the bed, reading something on her phone. Her eyes are red and it’s pretty clear she’s been crying.
‘What’s up?’ I ask.
‘Nothing.’ She wipes a hand across her face. ‘I’m fine, honestly.’
I step into her room and sit next to her. ‘Yeah, I’m not buying.’
She gives a deep sigh. ‘It’s silly. Just Mum and me. Having one of our arguments. You know.’
‘What about?’
She shakes her head. ‘I don’t even know, really. She was a bit upset that I’m leaving so soon; I accused her of leaving me in the lurch when she moved here.’
‘Well,’ I say, giving her shoulders a squeeze. ‘She kind of did. I mean, your dad… it wasn’t long after your dad… and I remember… well, it was a hard time for you, right?’ I hate myself instantly for glossing over everything, for avoiding saying the word ‘died’.
She sighs. ‘Yeah, but it was hard for her too. Anyway, I didn’t mind. I understood. And it’s not as if…’
She doesn’t need to finish the sentence.
It isn’t as if Vivian was the greatest help in any case.
She’s not one of those mums who worries whether your fridge if full, or if you’re getting enough sleep.
She isn’t one for girly shopping trips or gossip, or heart-to-hearts over a glass of wine.
Sarah’s mentioned moments when her mother’s let her down – not physically or financially, but emotionally – before.
‘I’ve had to accept she’s just not like that,’ she told me once.
‘Yeah, I know,’ I say.
Then, ‘We can always stay a couple more nights, if you think that would help?’ I offer. In truth, I’m looking forward to getting back on the road, but it’s not as if we’re slumming it at Vivian’s. Soft, memory foam mattresses, a private pool, plenty to eat and drink. And pretty decent Wi-Fi.
Sarah looks at me. ‘We?’
‘Well, yeah. I know I said we’d leave tomorrow, but I suppose there’s no rush.’
‘But—’
‘Only if you think it would help you,’ I add.
‘But Hal,’ she says. ‘Sorry, I thought you realised. I’m not going with you. I’m taking the train.’
This for some reason hadn’t occurred to me.
When you give someone a lift, you expect they’ll travel back the same way.
But why would she? Our French journey had hardly been relaxing for her.
‘Oh,’ I say. Then realise I hadn’t told her of my change of plans.
‘Oh, it’s the route!’ I say, ‘No. Listen. I’m going to drive back in one fell swoop. Marcel says it won’t be a problem.’
‘Marcel?’
‘The mechanic.’
She cocks an eyebrow. ‘First name terms already? You two hit it off?’
‘Actually, I think it’s Betty he’s actually fallen for.’
She wipes a remaining tear from her cheek. ‘No,’ she says. ‘It’s OK. I’ve ruined your holiday enough as it is with all my collapsing in French markets and hospital dashes and complaining about uncomfortable seats.’
‘But…’
‘I’ve booked a train in any case. It’s paid for now. And I’ll be able to catch up on work while I travel.’
This really is a firm no. ‘OK.’ I nod.
‘Thank you, though. You know. For offering.’
‘No problem.’
I should be pleased. If someone had told me a week ago that I’d get Betty to myself for the journey back, I’d have been over the moon. But now the thought of meandering through France in Betty, or even driving in one go, seems a lonely, almost pointless endeavour.
I leave Sarah’s room and softly close the door before changing into my swimming things and making my way to the pool. As I approach, I slow up, seeing Vivian has taken residence on one of the loungers, a book held up in front of her.
She looks up and it’s too late now to avoid her. I notice that her face is set, not teary like Sarah’s was. ‘Hi, Vivian. All right if I take a swim?’
‘Be my guest.’ She turns the page of her book, pointedly. As if saying I’m busy, do as you will. You’ve got to hand it to her; the woman is stoic to the last.
I lay my towel out on another lounger and stop for a minute, pretending to be stretching a hamstring. ‘Everything all right?’ I ask. ‘Sarah was saying—’
‘Yes, quite all right, thank you,’ she snaps.
‘It’s just—’
Vivian looks up from her book again, one eye closed against the sun, the other squinting. ‘Hal, if it’s OK with you, I think it’s better you stay out of family business. Don’t you? Sarah and I can sort it out between us.’
‘Can you though?’ I ask, wishing instantly I hadn’t let myself say it.
She glares at me and I can feel myself shrivel in the intensity of her death stare.
‘I mean…’ I stumble. ‘I know you two find it… difficult sometimes.’
‘Yes, well. Families can be complicated.’ She turns a page but she’s not fooling me, she hasn’t read a word on the last one.
‘But they don’t need to be.’
‘In all honesty, Hal, you’re hardly in a position to talk.’
‘Aren’t I? Well, how come I have a great relationship with my parents? And Louis and I are pretty good. And Sarah; bearing in mind she’s my ex and most people can’t spend any time with someone they used to date without having a screaming match, I think I’m doing pretty well.’
She huffs, crosses her arms. But I sense impending victory.
‘And it’s more than that,’ I say, sitting down on the edge of the lounger next to her. She regards me with one eye, eyebrow raised. ‘I can see what it’s doing to Sarah, to you. And like it or not, I am family—’
She opens her mouth to protest, and I hold up a hand. To my astonishment, she closes it and seems to be waiting for me to continue.
‘Yes, I know I didn’t marry Sarah. But we share a child. I’m Louis’s father, you’re Louis’s grandmother. We’re connected whether you like it or not. And things between you and Sarah… well, they affect him. And her. And so they affect me.’
She lays her book on her lap and folds her arms. ‘OK, Mr Family Expert. So what do I do to make things better?’
This is unexpected and suddenly my words desert me. ‘Ah, um, well…’ I say. ‘Well, you could talk to each other. Properly, I mean.’
‘Talking is what got us into this mess.’
I shake my head. ‘But you and Sarah. You don’t talk. Not really. You kind of… skate around stuff. Like, do you know how hurt she was when you went to France?’
Vivian looks ready to speak again. But I plough on.
‘No, you don’t. And it’s not your fault. How could you know if she never told you?’
‘Well, quite! That girl never—’
‘And how was Sarah supposed to know that you felt lonely out here?’
‘Hal 184. I am not lonely! I’ll have you know I have plenty of things to keep me occupied here. And lots of friends too.’
‘Yeah, those things are great. But they don’t stop you from being lonely.’
‘So suddenly you’re a counsellor as well as an IT expert?’ she snaps.
‘No. But I happen to know a lot about being alone. Think about it: I work for myself, always have. I’m rubbish at relationships.
Yes, I’ve got my parents, but they’re in Essex.
I only see them a couple of times a month.
And they’re getting older. It’s not… things are shifting in our relationship there.
I know a lot about loneliness. Because I’m lonely. OK? I am.’
I’m not sure where the words are coming from, but it strikes me that every single one is true.
I’d never have described myself as lonely before.
But something about spending time with Sarah and then finding she was ditching me for the return trip has left me realising what I’m missing out on.
A bit like putting on a winter jumper, then taking it off again and missing its softness and warmth.
‘Oh, Hal. I am sorry.’ She reaches a hand towards me, perhaps aiming for my leg. We both look at it and she thinks better, withdrawing it.
‘Don’t be. This isn’t about me, not right now. This is about you. How is Sarah supposed to know you miss her if you don’t tell her?’
‘I—’ she begins but I stop her.
‘Come on, Vivian. Of course you miss her. You miss your family. Seriously? You missed people so much that when your grandson came for a holiday, you ended up paying for an impromptu wedding, just to get people to visit.’
She colours, drops her head and I feel a sympathy I never thought I’d be able to muster for Sarah’s mum, the woman I’ve been terrified of for years.
‘So talk to her,’ I say. ‘Just tell her how you feel. Maybe she’ll do the same. And you know, what have you got to lose?’