Page 53 of Road Trip to the Riviera
‘And that is your problem,’ she says. ‘You don’t think. Never have.’
‘Hang on a minute!’ Because although I agree that this trip has not been great for Sarah’s health, Vivian doesn’t really know me. She can’t judge my whole character simply from two – albeit pretty fucked-up – incidents in the past. Yes, I banged up her seventeen-year-old daughter and yes, I made her thirty-nine-year-old daughter ill by insisting on driving the scenic route in a clapped out… no,vintagecamper. But I’m not all bad.
Besides which, I’d planned this trip before I knew Sarah was coming with me. If things had panned out as planned, she’d have flown first-class to Nice and arrived a couple of days before me. Surely, I should get some credit for saving the day.
‘No, you hang on,’ she says. ‘I tolerate you because you’re Louis’s father. And I know it’s important to the child that you turn up for him tomorrow. But know this; you have been nothing but bad news for this family from the minute you showed up. And I will smile and say the right things for the next few days, but the sooner you disappear after the wedding, the better!’
Vivian has always smiled – albeit coldly – and said the right things when we’ve crossed paths over the last couple of decades. I’ve always had the impression she didn’t think a lot of me, but to have it confirmed so vehemently is both surprising and painful. ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I tell her. ‘I’m Louis’s father. And I’ll always be there for him, whatever you might think of me.’
She gives a short bark of laughter, leaving me in no doubt about the low opinion she has in that regard.
‘And yes, maybe I messed up here with Sarah. But I’ve tried to look after her.’
‘Well—’ she begins.
‘Perhaps I haven’t always shown it, but I do love her,’ I say. ‘She’s the mother of my child and the most important woman in my life. And I would never have done anything intentional to hurt her.’
‘What a shame,’ Vivian hisses, ‘that you’re so good at hurting her unintentionally then.’
I open my mouth to retort, although God knows what I’m going to say, when Sarah’s door opens. ‘Are you coming?’ she says.
‘Sorry, dear.’ Vivian’s mask returns to her face. ‘Well,’ she says, pointedly. ‘Good luck. And see you in an hour or so. Sorry about your…’ she searches for an adequate word,‘camper.’
‘Thanks, Vivian,’ I say as if she hasn’t just crushed my self-esteem into a messy pulp. ‘See you soon!’
She gives me one more pointed look, then climbs into the driver’s seat and moments later the engine revs as if to sayThisis what a decent vehicle sounds like!Although I could be reading too much into that. She turns with a slight screech on the gravel, then the car shoots into the road. Sarah, sitting in the passenger seat, gives me a little wave.
I fix on a smile and wave back; clearly, she didn’t hear anything from my argument with Vivian and I’m glad.
Then I go to sit in Betty, sweltering in the humidity inside the cab, and wait for someone to come and rescue me.
25
SARAH
‘I don’t know what that man was thinking,’ Mum tells me as we draw closer to Nice. She’s got the air conditioning cranked up to maximum, and I have to admit sitting in the leather seat of her Audi is a hell of a lot comfier than Betty’s rather worn-out passenger seat. After our initial hellos, we’ve been sitting in near silence, listening to a playlist streaming from Mum’s iPhone. I’m not a great fan of Lionel Richie, but it’s been peaceful drifting in and out of sleep to his music for the past forty minutes.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Well, taking you in your current state in that awful VW. I’m surprised it didn’t break down earlier on the journey.’
‘Mum, he didn’t have to bring me with him at all!’ I protest.
She huffs. ‘Well, OK, I realise Hal’s a kind man,’ she concedes. ‘But Sarah, he’s thoughtless. He hasn’t changed a bit as far as I can see.’
‘Is that such a bad thing?’ I think back to my teen years, how much more fun I used to have; how I didn’t take life as seriously as I do now. I wouldn’t mind still feeling like that – that optimism, that excitement for the future.
‘Sarah, he’s middle-aged. It’s time to grow up!’
‘You’re not being fair, Mum. Halhasgrown up. He’s… I mean, he’s actually changed a lot. Yes, he’s still got some of his quirks. But he’s really caring, thoughtful.’ I trail off, realising she’s barely listening.
‘Well, I dare say.’
I decide to look out of the window rather than continue this line of conversation. Mum’s not the easiest person to disagree with, and this is as much of a concession as I’ll ever get out of her.
We’re passing through La Trinité with its neat, peach-coloured buildings, white-edged and shuttered, each house surrounded by neatly trimmed shrubs and bushes. Ahead, I can see the dark trees that cover the hills rising up towards the azure sky.
When Mum decided to move here shortly after Dad died, I thought she was running away from her grief. But the more I’ve come to visit, the more I can understand her wanting to spend her twilight years in this place, with its clement weather, slower pace of life, beaches and scenery to die for.
