Chapter 11
MEGAN
For some reason, I tell Nico the story about Mum trying to find the best spot in the restaurant for Dad’s ashes.
He’d only asked how lunch was and I should have said the food was nice.
But I’m too far into it now to give up or do it half-heartedly.
I’m going all out with the details and eye rolls as I paint the picture for him.
Thankfully, he laughs. I don’t think it’s out of politeness.
I’m hit with a surprising wave of satisfaction that I’ve made him laugh.
‘And where did the box of ashes go in the end?’ he asks, his eyes straight ahead as he drives the boat slowly through the water, safely away from the harbour.
‘Both boxes stayed with us.’
He nods, shooting a quick grin at me. ‘That’s good.’
‘Mm.’ I reach up to tie my hair back using the band on my wrist.
I’m sitting up at the front with him. At first, I sat at the back, but it seemed a bit weird now that Mum isn’t here, like I’ve hired him for the day to drive me around the coast. Which, I guess is kind of what’s happening, since Dad obviously hired his services, but I don’t want it to feel that way.
It never felt that way when we came on holiday here.
Nico’s aunt and uncle would often come sit with us at dinner, or join us on boat days if they could.
We were so loyal to holidaying at their chateau, we became more like family friends than guests in their hotel.
Right from our first visit there Dad talked to Mathieu and Francoise like they’d been friends for years, which they did become, in the end.
But then Dad was able to do that quite easily and quickly with people – forge a connection.
Mum was good at being the fun. Everyone loves her at parties.
She’s always made people laugh so easily.
Dad had the gentle aura of a natural confidante, though.
I think people told him everything before they realised what they were doing.
I am neither fun nor gentle. I don’t think people would describe me as someone they seek out at parties for a good time or as someone they can talk to. I guess people would describe me as that friend who cancelled her wedding.
‘How are things between you and your mum?’ Nico asks, speeding the boat up a little as we move out to the open water.
As he pushes the throttle lever forward, I find myself admiring his toned forearm tensing with the action. I blush even though he hasn’t noticed me perving on him, embarrassed that I’m so pathetically susceptible to the effortless sexiness of a strong arm.
‘As strained as they’ve always been.’
‘I don’t remember it being like that between you two,’ he says with surprise. ‘I always thought you were close. You giggled together a lot.’
‘Did we?’ I raise my eyebrows. ‘Well, we don’t anymore.
We don’t talk much at all. And definitely not about anything real.
In fact, I’m not sure my mum has ever talked about anything real to anyone.
’ He shifts at my bitterness and I feel embarrassed for making him uncomfortable.
‘Dad and I were close, though. Really close.’
‘You must miss him.’
‘I do. I feel stupid that I didn’t know he came out here and bought a house and saw you and organised all of—’ I gesture around hopelessly ‘—this.’
‘You shouldn’t feel stupid. He wanted the surprise.’
I snort. ‘You make it sound like a birthday party.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it sound . . . smaller than it is.’
‘No, it’s okay. He obviously wanted us to enjoy the trip. Make it some kind of weird celebration of things he loved. Although, if he did want us to enjoy it, I don’t know why he’d make us do it together. But, hey, we’re here now.’
I sigh, turning to gaze at the stretch of cliffs we’re passing to my left.
‘Did he tell you he was ill?’ I ask Nico quietly.
‘Sorry?’
He can’t hear me over the noise of the boat.
‘Did he tell you he was sick?’ I say clearer, annoyed at myself for wanting to know.
‘Oh. No, he didn’t. But I guessed,’ he admits.
He slows the boat down so we don’t have to talk so loudly and to make driving it more relaxed.
‘When he was last here, he looked different. Thinner. Tired. And when he told me that you and your mum would be coming without him and he asked me to book all these things for you once you arrived, I was confused. It was odd, all the arrangements. It felt like he was telling me something was going to happen but he didn’t want to talk about it. ’
‘He didn’t like talking about it with anyone.’
‘He did like talking about you, though.’
I snap my head up to look at him.
Nico smiles, pleased at the reaction. ‘Whenever he visited, he told me all about you. Your career, your big life in London, your success. He was very proud.’
‘That’s . . . embarrassing.’
He laughs. ‘You should be embarrassed. He wouldn’t shut up about you. The way he spoke, you were the smartest, most powerful, brilliant person on the planet. No one could compare. You ruled London.’
‘Oh god.’ I bury my head in my hands. ‘Please stop.’
‘It is how a father should speak about his daughter, I think,’ he says through chuckles.
‘Yes, well, major exaggerations, I assure you.’
‘I don’t know.’ He shrugs. ‘You’re doing well.’
‘So are you.’
‘Ah, but I was given the chateau to run. I didn’t get there all by myself.’
‘It’s still not an easy job. And you love it, right?’
‘I do. What about you?’
‘Do I love my job?’ I check.
He nods. I stare straight ahead at the swells and dips of the water we’re cutting through as I think about it.
‘I love what it gets me, the life I get to lead. I like the responsibility. And I like how I feel when I deliver a deal and everything comes together. I’ve brought in new business, I’ve hit the targets.
It’s satisfying to do a good job and meet expectations.
I guess I like my job. Love is probably a stretch. ’
He pulls a face. ‘But it’s not your passion.’
‘All right, nepo baby, not all of us are born into our dream job.’
He bursts out laughing, keeping one hand on the wheel but using the other to shake his finger at me. ‘There, that is more like you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The sharp, funny comments.’
‘What?’ I laugh in confusion.
‘Do you remember the time we found that old barn?’
‘The one with the rope swing. You hurt yourself, didn’t you?’ I recall, as though the memory isn’t pierced into my brain. The shock, the sound, his cry of pain.
‘I broke my arm.’ He winces at the memory. ‘You came running over and I remember you leaning over me and saying, “You jumped off too early, you idiot.”’
I gasp in horror. ‘I did not say that!’
‘You did, I remember it very well. You were right though, I did jump off early. I was an idiot, showing off.’
‘Oh my god. I’m so sorry. Not very sympathetic of me. As if I knew any better.’
‘You did. You always did.’ He smiles earnestly at me. ‘I liked that. I’ve missed it.’
I look down at my sandals, scrunching my toes up.
‘When Henry told me you were successful in your business, I believed him,’ he adds.
‘I’m sorry he bored you with all of that.’
‘I didn’t find it boring. It was nice to know you were happy.’
‘Did he tell you about the wedding?’ I blurt out.
I think about why I’ve asked and I conclude that it’s because I don’t like the idea that Dad has painted a picture of my perfect life to Nico. I like the idea of other people thinking that about me, but somehow not Nico. He would see through it.
‘He mentioned it.’ Nico glances cautiously at me. ‘I’m sorry.’
I shrug.
‘He only said it was happening and then the next time he came, he said it wasn’t,’ Nico explains, defending my dad, refusing to let me think he was gossiping about me.
Nice that he has such loyalty to him, really.
‘It’s okay that he talked about it,’ I assure him.
I watch a sailing boat passing by. Two masts. Dad would have liked that one. He used to ask us to pick the boat we would want from any harbours we’d ever find ourselves in, and he would pick sailing boats that had two or three masts.
‘I hope you’re okay,’ Nico says, tense now.
‘I am, yeah. I’m fine,’ I say with an awkward smile because I’m thinking too much about it to make it a proper one.
‘Good.’
We fall silent, him focusing on driving the boat, me feeling embarrassed about my shitty smile and that I brought up the topic of my failed engagement when I don’t want to talk about it.
I’ve talked so much about it that I’m bored of it.
Poor Marisa had to suffer me talking about it for weeks after.
‘This isn’t how it’s meant to go,’ I would whisper to her, my nose running, my face splodgy from crying. ‘It’s not meant to go like this.’
‘I know. I’m so sorry,’ she would say, looking helpless and pained.
I remember there were moments when I didn’t think I’d make it through, but because of Marisa and Dad I felt I had to.
I tried to be strong for them until one day I realised I wasn’t trying anymore, I was just .
. . okay. I was bruised and achy and had flares of anger, but I could laugh at myself again.
I found I could look forward to things like dinner with friends.
Work seemed purposeful and interesting again and I didn’t wake up every day with that weight on my heart that I’d grown used to battling against in order to physically get up out of bed.
Yes, I realised suddenly, I’d come through the worst of it.
That’s when I bought myself this emerald ring.
It would probably be described as a statement ring – big, unique, eye-catching – and that would be accurate.
I am making a statement by wearing it and the statement is: I got through this and I could do it again.
When I look at the ring, I’m reminded that, despite the pain and my initial resistance, this is how it was meant to go all along.
I said that to Marisa once and she said, ‘Ah, the power of the ring.’
‘Tolkien may have been on to something,’ I replied drily and she laughed so hard she snorted, even though it wasn’t snort-level funny.
I think she was just relieved I was making jokes even close to snort-level again.
Nico gestures out to the horizon. ‘It’s going to be a beautiful evening,’ he tells me.
‘Looks like it.’
‘Remember when we took the boat out at night?’
‘All the grown-ups would get pissed and we’d go swimming,’ I say, acutely aware that it’s embarrassing for a grown-up to use the term ‘grown-ups’.
‘Swimming?’ He quirks a brow. ‘I remember you’d jump in, scream about the cold and get out again very quickly.’
‘I remember you being too afraid to jump in because it was so dark, so I’d always have to jump first.’
He hesitates. ‘Yes, I remember that, too.’
When he glances at me, I smile. A proper one this time.