Page 20 of Road Trip to the Riviera
I’d met her mum a few times before of course, and she’d seemed nice enough. A little more formal and sharp-edged than my mum – not the sort of mother you can imagine hugging, more of a feather-kiss on the cheek and a waft of perfume. But she was OK.
When we told her that day, I actually thought her head might explode. Her face got so red that I wondered how the rest of her body could support itself on the tiny bit of blood it must have left. Sarah’s father simply sat looking broken and sad, as her mum ranted at us about precautions and promiscuity.
She’s mellowed out since, of course. Dotes on Louis now. Christ, she’s hosting his wedding at her house!
But at the time, the bottom fell out of both of our worlds. I just wish I’d stuck it out for the next bit. Had seen it more through adult eyes than the eyes of the scared kid I still was back then.
I must have fallen asleep after all, because the next thing I know, the sun is streaming in and the whole back of the van feels fuggy and thick-aired. There’s a space beside me where Sarah was, and my pillow is damp with drool. I hope she didn’t notice before she got up.
I crack open a window and begin packing the bed away. My watch reads 10a.m., and if we want to get to the next stop in time to set up properly, get some food and then go see the lakes, we’ll have to get a move on. It’s only after I’ve folded the bed back intoitself and done a bit of half-hearted cleaning that I realise I can hear talking.
Sarah’s on the phone.
I know you’re not meant to listen to people’s calls, but she is talking quite loudly, plus I’m naturally nosy. Besides, she sounds upset.
‘What do you mean “like Hal”?’ she says. ‘He’s nothing like Hal.’ She stops for a moment. ‘Christ, Mum, he’s twenty-two; he’s a grown man. Well, yes… Yes, I know. No! It didn’t. No, I didn’t mean it’s your fault. Of course I know you’ve done the best you can. Yes, I’m grateful that you helped with… Why would you say that?’
It sounds as if they’re arguing, but Sarah’s voice isn’t the frankly terrifying one I’ve experienced when she loses her temper, but more pleading and childlike. As if she’s back to being a kid and her mum is once again telling her she’s let her down.
‘Eight more days,’ she goes on, her tone slightly more settled. ‘Yes, it’s OK. Apart from the leg. Yeah, remember, it’s broken. Yes, I did tell you! Mum, why do you think…? OK… OK… Yes, I’m looking forward to seeing you too. OK, Mum. Yes, give Louis a cuddle from me. And get him to call when he’s back? OK. Yes, love you too. Bye.’
I wait a couple of minutes to let the silence settle, then step out of Betty. Sarah is perched on a rock, her leg sticking out uncomfortably. She’s staring at her phone.
‘Everything all right?’ I ask innocently. What I really want to know is:why did you mention me?But that would be giving myself away.
She jumps, despite the fact that I made sure my appearing was as noisy as possible so she’d realise I was there. ‘Christ! Hal!’ she says. She flicks her hand briefly under her eyes and turns tome. Other than a slight pinkish hue to her skin, it doesn’t look as if she’s been crying. ‘Yes, fine, thank you.’
‘Good.’ But I can’t help myself. ‘Who was that on the phone?’ I ask innocently.
‘Oh. Just Mum.’ She grimaces. ‘I’d love to know why I feel the need to call and check in with her when… well, you know.’ I take this to mean that her mother never seems to reciprocate.
‘Complicated,’ I offer.
‘Just a bit.’ She gives me a watery smile.
‘Is Louis OK?’ I figure it’s OK for me to ask this as he’s staying with Vivian, so it’s a natural question. All the same, there’s a prickle of unease in the air.
‘Yeah. Fine. I didn’t talk to him. But he’s going to call us back.’
I nod and decide not to pry further. If she’s fighting with her mum, she’ll probably open up about it in her own time.
Instead, ‘Want to shower here, or set off?’ I ask.
‘I think,’ she says, rolling her eyes at the distant shed, ‘I’d probably be cleaner if I didn’t use the facilities here.’
‘Good call.’ I step one foot into Betty’s side. ‘Want a coffee before we go?’
‘Now you’re talking.’
As I clamber over the bed and kneel up at the kitchenette, I glance back briefly and see sadness settle over her face again. Maybe it’s just the leg, or maybe she’s sick of this odd little holiday. But I can’t help but feel something else is going on.
11
SARAH
‘So, what do you think? Bit of a contrast with the last one!’ Hal says.
I nod in agreement. After the last campsite, and the rudimentary farm front drive that we ended up spending the night on, Camping La Grande Tortue feels like coming back to civilisation. Sure, a civilisation that’s full of screaming kids, and cyclists who seem determined to be squashed by our VW, but civilisation nonetheless.
