Page 43 of Road Trip to the Riviera
‘Stay in touch?’ he says. And I nod, pass him my phone so he can type in his number.
‘You don’t have to go now,’ I tell him. It’s almost midnight.
But he gives me a grin. ‘I have found someone who is heading to Cannes,’ he tells me. ‘They want to set off tonight.’
I nod. ‘OK.’
Then he’s off, disappearing down the dark path. And I find myself alone, with only the moths who seem intent on killing themselves inside the glass column in the oil lamp for company.
I wake up to find myself still sitting outside, every part of my body aching and cold. Staggering into Betty, I fall down on the bed, grabbing my phone to check the time. It’s seven o’clock. Just as I’m flicking through my contacts to find Louis’s number, I feel a strange buzz in my trousers.
Sarah’s phone. I’d picked it up last night after her fall and hadn’t given it back. It’s ringing as I draw it out and the name ‘Peter’ is writ large on the screen. I pay enough attention to her to know that this is her business partner, so I answer it.
‘Sarah’s phone.’
‘Oh. Hi. Who’s this?’
‘Hal.’
‘Oh right! Hi, mate. It’s Peter. Sorry, I realise it’s early, just?—’
‘It’s fine. Listen, mate. Sarah’s in hospital.’
‘Oh my God!’
‘It’s OK,’ I reassure him. ‘She’s OK. She got an infection, something to do with the leg, and they’re keeping her in for a bit.’
‘Right.’ He’s quiet for a moment. ‘Do you think I should fly over?’
‘No, I really don’t think that’s necessary.’ Part of me can’t believe the guy’s temerity. Why would anyone want their colleague to fly to their bedside in a crisis? The last thing Sarah needs is someone asking her about this or that client when she’s trying to recover. ‘I’ll be honest, Peter. I don’t think she’ll be able to work for a few days at least.’
‘Of course! Of course. I wasn’t suggesting?—’
‘Listen,’ I say. ‘I haven’t called anyone yet. Her mum, Louis… I’d better?—’
‘Sure. Sure!’ he says. ‘And you know, tell her I said hi.’
‘Will do.’
‘And that I’m still looking forward to our date when she gets back.’
My heart feels suddenly as if it’s been doused in icy water. I keep my voice as steady as possible. ‘Sure. Of course.’
‘Maybe get her to call me when she’s feeling a bit better. But tell her not to worry about work, I’ll handle that.’
‘Thank you. That’s… she’ll be relieved.’
‘And you know, if anything… if she gets worse or anything, let me know. Because I can fly out… you know.’
‘Sure. No worries.’
I hang up. Sarah has never mentioned Peter in that way. But why would she? She’s got no reason to confide in me. It shouldn’t be a surprise that someone like Sarah has a guy in her life. And this isn’t the time to feel shit about that. In fact,I try to force myself to feel pleased about it. Sarah deserves a dependable, good guy. Someone with similar interests. Not a random guy from the past whose potential peaked over a decade ago.
‘Good,’ I say to myself. ‘Good.’
Then, taking a deep breath, I drop her phone and scroll through my own again. My thumb hovers over Louis’s name. But before I dial, I wonder whether it’s fair to dump this onto our son. His mum is in hospital, sure, but she’s going to be OK. And he’s getting married in just a few days’ time. Worrying him with the news that his mum might not be well enough to make it just isn’t fair.
Instead, I type the message:
