Page 78 of Road Trip to the Riviera
‘You could do worse. He’s kind. Adores Louis. Seems to like you a hell of a lot. Love you, even. And I’ve seen him in the pool, and I hope you don’t mind me saying that that man has quite a perky little bottom on him.’
‘Mum!’
She laughs. ‘I suppose I’m just saying, never say never.’
‘Noted,’ I say, wondering whether I should tell Hal about my Mum’s appreciation of his rear end, or whether that might be the death of him.
We sit silently and I lean into her, resting my head on her shoulder briefly, like I used to do when I was much younger. She’d be watching TV with Dad, and I’d come in in my pyjamas and sit between them, cuddling up to one or the other, quietly hoping to be allowed to stay up a little later.
She raises a hand and pats my cheek gently. ‘You know, your father was such a natural communicator.’
‘I know.’
‘And so very funny.’
‘Yeah. He was hilarious.’
We sit for a moment, remembering.
‘What do you think he’d make of us now? The mess we’ve made of things?’ she asks.
‘I think,’ I say carefully, ‘that he’d look at us right now, and he’d say, “What took you so long?”!’
She laughs. ‘Oh yes! I can see it. “Do I always have to sort everything out around here?”’
‘Poor Dad.’
‘Yes.’
‘And poor us. Having to manage without him.’
She nods. ‘Well, perhaps it’s time we made a better job of it.’
‘Definitely.’
‘And you know, a friend of mine – Maud, from singing group – often tells me that I should be grateful for the sadness too.’
‘What?’ I sit up. ‘She thinks you should be grateful for being miserable? Grateful for grieving? Is she insane?’
Mum laughs, pats my knee affectionately. ‘It sounds absolutely dreadful when I say it. But she’s got a way with words, has Maud. When she says it, it seems to make perfect sense.’ She pauses, her forehead creased. ‘That’s it!’ she says after a beat. ‘She says that I’m only sad because I was so very, very lucky. That grief and sadness are the price we pay for love. Yes, it’s horrible to grieve, to feel lonely or sad. But how wonderful that we had someone in our lives who is worth grieving for.’
I nod, feeling something well within me. On good days, I can think about Dad and smile. But some days my grief still feels like a weight I have to carry, a heaviness in my heart. He was more than just a kind person, a great dad. He was the glue that held our family together.
‘We were so very lucky,’ I murmur at last.
‘Yes,’ she says, squeezing my hand. ‘We really were.’
‘I’ll do things better from now on,’ I tell her. ‘I’ll try to be more open with you. With myself.’
‘Me too.’
34
HAL
It’s late morning and I’ve packed most of my stuff into Betty.
I haven’t slept much. I tossed and turned last night despite Vivian’s top quality bedding. I tried to kid myself that it’s just the journey – I’m restless to get started – but I think I knew deep down it was more than that.
