Chapter 13
MEGAN
My mother is confident that the next activity on Dad’s list is a luxury spa hotel.
‘While the chateau was his first love, of course, Henry adored the spa in Saint-Cyprien and would tell me he’d stay the night there every now and then,’ she’s saying from the backseat of Nico’s old Renault, having insisted that I sit up front.
‘It makes sense that this would be next on his list. Why else would Nico ask us to pack a spare pair of clothing and toiletry bag for today?’
‘I don’t remember Dad being a luxury spa hotel kind of guy,’ I say without looking up from my phone as I read through a work email. ‘Why would we need “comfortable footwear” for a spa?’
‘Well, it’s not like we’ll need heels,’ she argues brightly.
‘And believe me, Henry may have pretended he was happy to slum it, but that man was partial to high-end comfort. His bedsheets? Egyptian cotton. His pots? Le Creuset. And don’t get me started on his tea preference.
It was loose leaf or nothing. God forbid you served him a Yorkshire Gold. ’
I try to suppress a smile, stealing a glance at Nico.
He catches my eye and smirks, before returning his attention to the road.
‘Mum,’ I begin, as I prepare to send a response to the email, ‘it’s a stretch that just because a man has Le Creuset pots, he’s the type to book himself into a luxury spa hotel for a night. I think you need to lower your expectations of what he has in mind for us today.’
As if to further my case, Nico turns off in a direction that is definitely not towards Saint-Cyprien. Mum doesn’t seem to notice, she’s too invested in her own imagination.
‘Darling, trust me, we have a fabulous day of pampering ahead,’ she trills. ‘I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: that man knew me better than I knew myself.’
***
‘That bastard didn’t know me at all!’ Mum cries, slamming the car door shut.
Ignoring her, I follow Nico towards the stables where a small group of people are gathered, fellow tourists like us in their jeans and T-shirts, overnight bags at their feet.
I break into a wide grin as I watch a blonde-haired woman lead out a chestnut horse.
There’s something fascinatingly contradictory to me about horses.
They’re these big, majestic animals, but desire affection and attachment as much as we do, which makes them vulnerable.
‘This is the next task,’ I conclude once Nico has let the owner know we’ve arrived and come back to stand with me in the yard. ‘Horse riding.’
‘Horse riding through the Pyrenees and camping for the night,’ he says, as I eagerly stare at the horses being led out one by one.
‘Camping? Camping.’ Mum throws her head back and lets out a loud, ‘HA!’
‘We did it once,’ I say quietly. ‘You remember, Nico?’
‘It was a lot of fun,’ he confirms.
‘I have never in my life gone horse riding and camping here,’ Mum says, shuddering at the thought.
‘You must have stayed back at the chateau with Francoise,’ I say, thinking back on our one-time adventure. ‘It was me, Nico, Mathieu and Dad. I think . . . I think it was my idea. You remember when I was really into pony club?’
‘For about two years, yes,’ Mum says, heaving a sigh.
‘We signed you up for it when you went through the classic phase of wanting a pony, I think inspired by those little toy ones you had with the pink hair. I thought if you had to experience the hard work of being around a horse, you might go off the idea without me having to be the bad guy again.’
‘But it didn’t work,’ I say, grinning. ‘I didn’t mind clearing out the stables and doing the grooming if it meant I could be around the horses. I love their smell.’
‘Me too,’ Nico says.
‘All I smell is shit,’ Mum mutters, wrinkling her nose as she points to a pile nearby.
‘It was Mathieu who looked into treks around the area when he found out I was into horses,’ I recall, ignoring her, ‘and he very sweetly gave me all this information. I begged Dad if we could book this one because it meant two days of riding.’
‘Two days?’ Mum groans.
‘You ride to the campsite, stay the night, ride back the next day.’
‘Absolutely not,’ she states firmly. ‘Look Nico, I can understand if Henry wanted Megan to get back up on a horse. Once upon a time she was all for it, and it’s adorable that he thought she should get back in the saddle—’
‘It’s been years,’ I smile in a daze.
‘—but there must have been some mistake about me coming along,’ Mum continues brazenly.
‘I don’t do horse riding. I respect them, they are very pretty to look at from a distance and cheer around a course, but I do not and will not haul myself up on top of one.
And I’m sure this will come as no surprise, but I’m not exactly a camper, either. ’
‘Henry’s instructions were clear,’ Nico tells her apologetically. ‘The trek and camping overnight is for both of you to do together. I’m sorry, Dawn, but there’s no mistake.’
While Mum’s jaw drops in horror, I find myself wandering over to the nearest horse, putting my hand out beneath her nose so her soft whiskery lips can nibble at my palm, using my other to stroke down her nose and then pat gently at her muscly neck.
‘Hello, you,’ I say to her quietly, as though we’ve met before. ‘You’re a stunner, aren’t you. Look at that shiny coat.’
‘She likes you,’ Nico comments, coming over.
I dismiss his claim with a quick shake of my head. ‘I imagine these horses are just good with strangers. Do you do a lot of horse riding?’
‘You can ride along the beach and I’ve done that once or twice, but not really,’ he admits, stroking the horse’s neck. ‘It’s a nice excuse to do it again.’
‘You’re coming along with us?’ I ask, pleased at not having to go it alone with Mum.
‘Henry thought I might be needed,’ he says in a low voice, before glancing over his shoulder back at Mum, who is standing in her white linen trousers and orange top with her hands on her hips and a stern expression.
We watch one of the stable hands approach her to suggest she come meet her horse. She whips off her sunglasses and points them at the horse he’s gestured to.
‘If you try to put me on that, it will be the last thing you do,’ she says flatly.
The stable hand looks confused.
I grimace. ‘God. Let’s hope his English is bad.’
‘Don’t worry, this will be fine,’ Nico maintains, as the horse turns her head to nibble at the hem of his shirt. ‘She’ll do it. I’ll go speak to her.’
‘I’m not sure you’ll be able to change her mind. She seems to have made her decision,’ I say, watching her march on her heel back to the car.
Unfazed by Mum’s behaviour, Nico shrugs. ‘I can be persuasive.’
With a secretive smile, his eyes meet mine and a warmth courses through me.
***
There are two things I can say with absolute certainty that will be engrained in my memory forever after today: one, the sight of Nico pulling himself up on a horse and taking control of the reins with such ease that my mouth ran dry; and two, the sight of my mother mounting a horse with the grace of a drunk panda, two stable hands aiding her ascension, whilst she was screeching that this will be the death of her.
‘Someone get me a Valium! Now!’ she cried as the horse shifted slightly. ‘Nico, is Valium called Valium in French? Or should I be asking for something else?’
‘I don’t think it’s a good idea to have drugs when horse riding,’ he said calmly.
‘What about vodka?’
‘Dawn, you are fine. Look, you’re a natural,’ he insisted as she gripped on for dear life, gasping loudly as her guide led the horse a couple of steps forward.
‘If I survive this, I will kill you,’ she hissed at Nico, but he didn’t seem to mind.
Working in hospitality, he’s probably used to occasional dramatics from a dissatisfied customer.
It was quite the start to our expedition and I think a few of the other tourists were entertained by the scene.
I imagine they were wondering why I’d force my mother to do something she’s so obviously averse to.
I was asking that very question of Dad when we first set off, feeling genuinely sorry for her, she was so nervous.
But with a great guide giving her tips and explaining the sure-footedness of the Mérens horses along the difficult terrain, combined with Nico’s relaxed, convincing encouragement, her confidence has steadily grown.
When I last glanced back, she was a little more relaxed in the saddle, even managing to look out at the breathtaking scenery.
I don’t remember it being this beautiful.
I guess when you’re a kid you don’t appreciate nature in the same way, or I certainly didn’t anyway.
We walk along green pastures and rolling hills to a blue, sparkling lake at the foot of the mountains, a sight that makes you feel humbled and small and insignificant but special and part of something at the same time.
Stopping to drink it in, I don’t realise I’m crying until Nico asks me if I’m okay, pulling his horse up next to mine. I quickly wipe the tears away with the back of my hand, mortified that he’s seen them. I pull myself together.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ I assure him.
He nods, gazing out at the view, too. He doesn’t press for more, but it feels weird to leave it there.
‘I’d forgotten how much I love horse riding, you know?’ I say, appealing to him with a weak smile. ‘It would have been a long time before I’d remembered if Dad hadn’t . . .’
I gesture to my horse before reaching forward to pat her neck.
He doesn’t say anything straight away, but after a while says, ‘I wish he were here.’
‘Me too.’ I hesitate. ‘I mean, he sort of is. He’s in my bag, so. This is what he wanted, to come along, too. Even if, when you think about it, it’s a bit—’ I wrinkle my nose ‘—creepy.’
‘Yeah,’ Nico says, a playful smile on his lips. ‘Creepy but nice.’