Page 30 of Road Trip to the Riviera
‘I guess dating was the same, back then.’
She barks out a laugh. ‘What? I’m pretty sure the men I’ve dated don’t have remotes. Unless you’re developing something in a lab that you want to tell me about?’
I laugh. ‘I mean it was simpler. These days there’s too much choice.’ I think of the dating sites I’ve joined, flicking through women and making a match. But faced with so much choice, it’s harder than ever to know what you want, what you’re looking for. Because attraction and even love, they aren’t quantifiable in that way, are they? On paper, Sarah’s probably not my ‘type’ even though she’s gorgeous. But when we were dating all those years ago was probably the best time of my life. The closest to being in love that I’ve ever experienced.
‘Yeah. Know what you mean,’ she says. ‘All the men I’ve dated turned out to be dicks.’
‘Present company excluded?’ I ask.
She grins. ‘If you like.’ She shifts in her seat a little and I’m not sure whether she’s uncomfortable about our conversation or whether her leg’s hurting again. ‘But like you said, maybe it’s choice. Nobody wants to settle.’
I’m unable to suppress a snort.
‘What?’ She’s annoyed and I quickly put her right.
‘I’m not laughing at you. It was more… incredulity.’
‘What? Why?’
‘That you’d think anyone who wanted to stay with you – you know, longer term – was settling. In any way.’
‘Oh.’
‘I don’t mean… I’m not saying… It’s just, there’s no such thing as the perfect person. But I’d say you’re pretty close to perfection.’
And now I’ve made it worse.
‘Oh look!’ I say, ‘A cow!’ And now I’m a parent distracting a toddler by pointing at something out of the window. When I turn back to Sarah, she’s watching me quizzically.
‘Is this you trying to butter me up?’
‘What?’
‘You know. Shitty campsite upcoming. Better put her in a good mood.’
‘Ha. Yeah,’ I say, clinging on to the ‘out’ she’s given me. In all honesty, I’m not sure where the words came from. It’s sitting with someone day after day, I guess your inhibitions break down a bit. I’ve already almost given her a cup of pee to drink, after all. There’s no getting my dignity back. But I stand by what I said. Over the years where I’ve messed up relationship after relationship, I’ve watched, astounded, as men treat Sarah like shit, or ghost her, or leave her. I ‘get’ that women run for the hills as soon as they uncover the ‘real me’. But I’m a disaster. Sarah, in comparison, is a bloody goddess. High maintenance, maybe. But worth the effort. She’s right. Men are dicks.
A couple of hours later, we’ve found our pitch on the new site, which is actually not nearly as bad as I feared. We’ve settled Betty in and had a well-deserved glass of wine and, as is often the case after a drink, everything feels pretty much perfect.
It’s noticeably hotter here, on the verge of uncomfortable, but Sarah seems content. She’s managed to fashion a makeshift sunlounger from one of the wooden chairs and a box that she lugged out of Betty when I was at the shop. She’s changed into a bikini and looks amazing, although I’m obviously trying to keep my eyes on her face.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind me doing the hike?’ I ask. I had resolved to stay with her and not be the kind of asshat who goes off on a jolly while his other half waits around with nothing to do. Not that Sarah’s my other half, obviously, but still.
But Sarah brought it up after seeing it on the itinerary and has insisted I go. I’m not sure whether this has more to do with being nice to me, or whether she simply wants to get shot of me for a couple of hours.
I’ve changed into shorts and hiking boots, prompting Sarah to call me a ‘Scout Leader’ – not the look I was going for. But now that I’ve got the map out and have planned a route, I’m actually quite excited about it.
‘Right,’ I say, getting to my feet. ‘I guess I’d better get on with it.’
‘Wait!’ she says and I stop. ‘Could you grab my laptop for me please?’
I settle her to work, making sure she has everything she needs in easy reach, then finally shoulder my backpack containing water, a map, a compass (although I also have my phone and am simply following the trail through the chestnut forest, so doubt I’ll need them), and begin the walk down the slight slope to the campsite exit.
When I glance back, Sarah is on the phone, the laptop open in front of her. She’s still in a bikini and the juxtaposition between her holiday attire and the serious face she’s making as she talks legalese to some lucky client makes me smile.
I’ve realised in the last day or so that a lot of what I thought about Sarah is based on snippets of information. Brief exchanges, and the knowledge that she’s in this high-powered career. I found her intimidating, if I’m honest.
But she’s still Sarah. Under it all, there’s still the girl I knew when she was seventeen. And rather than being an awkward journey, I’m beginning to wish I could make this trip last even longer.
