Chapter 41
SARAH
So I hobble out and wait for a taxi.
The hospital is in Salon-de-Provence, just two hours from Mum, but I can’t think of going back to her place. I want to get a good night’s sleep. Then, if Hal hasn’t changed his mind in the morning, I’ll just get the train and get back to normality.
The hotel I’ve selected turns out to be in a repurposed old house. It’s pretty and quaint and if I hadn’t been mentally and physically exhausted, I’d have been charmed by the old stonework, the picturesque entrance hall.
A woman meets me and shows me to my room, and I flop down on the bed the minute she leaves me to my own devices.
I haven’t eaten since this morning and my stomach growls, so I decide to rest for a few minutes before finding out whether they do room service and, if not, where the nearest fast food place is.
The next thing I know, I’m freezing, lying stiffly on the bed.
The light outside is stark, the way it is first thing in the morning.
I move a little and everything aches. Groaning, I move myself properly into the bed, pulling the enormous heavy counterpane over me.
It’s cold, but heavy and thick, and gradually I begin to warm up.
Pulling out my phone I see that it’s five in the morning. I’ve slept for about nine hours, and although I still feel achy and sore, now that I’m conscious, my mind has turned up the volume again and I’m sure I won’t get back to sleep.
I run myself a bath in the rather decadent tub that’s set in the corner of the room and add a tiny bottle of bain moussant from a little basket on the dresser.
The water froths and looks so inviting I decide to get in as it fills.
Gingerly, I pull back the Velcro straps on my boot and open up the plastic front.
Inside, my leg is very pale and squashed and hairy and sorry for itself.
I know that it’s OK to remove the boot to bathe, but I’ve avoided it as much as possible so far. I feel too vulnerable without it.
With careful slowness, I sit on the edge of the bath, put my good leg in then carefully lower myself down using my arms and the side of the bath. And I’ve done it! I’m sitting in a bubble bath, and it feels absolutely glorious.
I let the water run and lean back, feeling each and every one of my muscles begin to unknit itself.
And I think about Hal and his words yesterday.
He’d just come out of anaesthetic, he’d had a shock.
He was feeling sorry for himself. There’s no wonder he wanted me to go.
But I’m pretty confident he’ll be glad to see a friendly face when visiting hours start at 10 a.m.
After half an hour, I carefully clamber out, glad that I don’t have an audience because it’s far from dignified.
But I manage to get myself back onto the chair without incident.
I gently towel dry my poor defective limb, then clip it back into its boot before drying the rest of myself and getting dressed.
It’s still only 7 a.m. when I hobble out into the street, trying to lean on the boot as much as my crutch, to get myself used to supporting myself again. The doctor told me that eventually I’d be able to give up the crutch altogether, but I’m not ready yet.
In all the chaos of yesterday and after spending hours sitting in artificial hospital light, it feels surprising that it’s still summer; the early morning sun gently warms my skin as I make my way down the road and turn the corner towards the boulangerie I’ve earmarked for breakfast. My hotel serves food from 8 a.m., but I’m too hungry to wait.
Plus, it’s nice to be out and about and to remind myself that the world is still turning.
I’d imagined a bigger place, but the boulangerie turns out to be a diminutive building, with red signage, tucked between a dry cleaner’s and a florist. A queue spills out of its door and along the pavement.
Now and then a second door will open and a customer will exit carrying a baguette or paper bag of pastries.
For some reason I’d imagined that I’d be able to buy coffee and a pastry quite easily, but there’s no way I’m standing in that queue. I’ll topple over from hunger before I reach the till.
Instead, I find a small supermarket and buy a bottle of water and a packet of ready-made croissants.
Sitting on a bench in the early sunshine, I break off a corner of one of the pastries.
No doubt, if I’d waited, I’d have got a much better deal.
But at this moment, feeling this hungry, the dried-up little croissant feels like the food of the gods.
Two hours later and I’m making my way back to Hal’s room. I knock, and hear him answer, ‘Oui?’, clearly thinking it’s a doctor or nurse.
When I peep around the door, he’s sitting up in bed, his colour much better. He’s got a tray on a little trolley near his bed with the remnants of a bread roll and a cup of coffee on it. ‘Oh!’ he says when he sees me.
‘Yep. It’s me,’ I tell him.
A smile spreads across his face, his features soften. ‘I thought you’d be back at home in sunny Cambridge by now.’
‘Nah. That place is overrated.’ I pull up a plastic chair and perch on it. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Bad, but better than I did,’ he offers. ‘Apparently my fracture is behaving itself. And I don’t have a temperature so far.’ He crosses his fingers; holds them in the air.
‘Good.’
‘I’m aiming to be out of here tomorrow.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Well, my doc wants me to stay a week, but I’m hoping to be released on good behaviour, if I promise to present myself at a hospital back home as soon as I arrive.’
I’m about to ask whether he’s sure that’s a good idea. But then realise it could work out really well for us. ‘So we could travel together after all?’ I offer.
He gives a tight-lipped smile. ‘No. It’s OK. You should get off. Honestly. I’m only going to hold you up.’
‘Hal, stop being a martyr. Mum gave me the number of the private car hire place she used. Pretty sure she hasn’t been blacklisted after your stunt!’ I give him a grin, but the smile he returns appears forced. ‘It makes sense to share one, right? With our matching broken legs.’
He shakes his head. ‘Wouldn’t it be better, if—’
‘Hal, come on. It’s just a lift. It’s not a marriage proposal.’
He flushes and I wish I’d used any other comparison. ‘Well, maybe. But I’m paying,’ he says.
We talk a bit about Louis and the wedding, and Mum and her meddling. I ask again whether he can remember why he was chasing me, but he’s still drawing a blank.
An hour on, he gets tired and I decide to leave him to it. I’ll pop back later. I grab myself a drink in the hospital café, and give Mum a call, as I’ve promised her an update.
‘How’s the poor lad?’ she asks the minute she picks up.
‘Yeah. I think he’s pretty good, considering.’
‘Not too cut up about that van of his?’
‘Not at the moment. I’m trying not to mention it too much. You know.’
‘Yes, seems rather cruel. Although maybe now he can get himself a decent car,’ she says, her voice brightening at the thought.
‘Maybe.’ I think it’s more likely Hal will pick himself another camper, but I’m too exhausted to get into it.
‘Well, give him my love,’ she says.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me how I am?’ It sounds a bit churlish coming out of my mouth, but in fact I’m trying to do what we promised we’d do. Rather than resent the fact she hasn’t asked me, I’m pointing it out.
‘I’m sorry. How are you?’
‘I’m OK.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ Mum’s smiling. ‘And, you know… well done.’
‘For what?’
‘Forcing the question. You know, I don’t know what’s wrong with me sometimes.’ She goes silent for a moment. ‘Your father used to be the one in the background, giving me prompts when I slipped up.’
‘It’s OK.’
She’s silent. Then, ‘And has Hal managed to speak to you at all?’
‘Oh. Yes. He’s chatting away. Nothing wrong with his speech.’
‘No. I didn’t mean… I… Has he spoken about anything significant?’
‘We had a chat about Louis?’
She laughs. ‘Not quite what I had in mind.’
‘What are you getting at?’
‘Haven’t you thought to ask him why he was chasing the car in the first place?’
Does she know something? ‘Of course I have. I asked him. But he’s had a bang to the head.’
‘Ah, I see. Amnesia.’ There’s something in Mum’s tone that makes me wonder.
‘Do you know what he was doing?’
‘No, I couldn’t say.’
But I’m familiar with Mum’s avoidance. ‘Couldn’t say or don’t know?’
‘Just ask him again, Sarah.’
And I can’t get her to engage with it any more.
I give Peter a ring and update him. He’s sympathetic and tells me not to worry about work.
I have one of my paranoid moments where I worry that everything is going rather too well without me.
I prefer to think of myself as irreplaceable.
But then I remember it’s my firm, so nobody’s going to be firing me.
Then, seeing that it’s past lunchtime and afternoon visiting hours will be starting, I make my way back to Hal’s room.
At first, when I knock and there’s no answer, I wonder whether he’s asleep. After one more tentative knock, I turn the handle and push the door open gently. Only to find a vacant bed, made up for the next patient.
I check the number on the door – it’s definitely right – then walk to the nurses’ station. There’s a man in scrubs tapping away on a computer and I wait for a moment for him to finish. He looks up. ‘Oui?’
‘Monsieur Noakes?’ I say. ‘Um. He’s gone?’
He shakes his head, not understanding.
I try an elaborate mime, me opening the door, the room being empty. ‘Hal Noakes.’ I add slowly.
‘Ah!’ A smile of understanding breaks out over his face. ‘Monsieur Noakes!’ He nods his head.
‘Yes. Where is he?’ I say slowly, putting my hand above my eyes and miming looking around.
‘Parti.’
‘Gone?’
‘Oui. Gone.’
I’m just wondering how to mime the phrase ‘Where has he gone to?’ and trying to imagine how on earth I’ll understand any reply, when a nurse I recognise returns to the station.
‘Madame Noakes?’ she says.
‘Yes,’ I lie.
‘Ah, your husband has just left. You must have missed him.’
‘He’s been discharged?’
She makes a face from which I ascertain she wasn’t thrilled at the fact he’s left. Nor am I if I’m honest. And what is he doing leaving without calling me. I check my phone, but there’s nothing.
Smiling to cover my embarrassment, I thank her and make my way to the lift, my crutch clicking on the shiny floor. Hopefully he’ll just be waiting in reception for me. Perhaps he’s giving me a call right now.
But the reception is empty apart from an elderly lady pushing another woman in a wheelchair.
I speed walk past them and through the double doors. There are cars, one or two people in scrubs, a taxi. An ambulance has pulled up and someone is being unloaded on a gurney. But no sign of Hal.
I try to call but his phone rings out. I send a text. WHERE ARE YOU? Then I realise, of course, that his phone’s still somewhere in the crushed hulk that used to be Betty. The thought of it brings a lump to my throat. It so easily could have been worse.
With nothing else for it, I decide to return to the hotel to wait him out.
I’ve just made it to the end of the driveway at the front of the building, however, when I see a familiar figure in the distance, travelling slowly on two crutches.
He’s just at the corner of the road, but it’s definitely him.
‘Hal!’ I call. But he’s too far away.
I think about hailing one of the taxis. But he’s too close for that. His progress is slow and although I’m almost as incapacitated as him, I know with a bit of a concerted effort, I can catch him up.
I begin hobbling like I’ve never hobbled before.