Page 58 of Road Trip to the Riviera
‘Married her? We were teenagers! It didn’t occur to me. And come on, Vivian, do you really think you’d have supported that decision if we’d made it? Really? Because I probably would have, if I’d even thought it was possible. I’d have done anything for Sarah. Anything.’
She shrugs, unconvinced.
‘In all honesty, it was you who drove a wedge between us. All those times when I’d turn up and you wouldn’t let me in because Louis was sleeping, or Sarah was resting. I was only a kid and I was… back then, I was terrified of you.’ I don’t add that I am stillpretty scared. Vivian is a formidable woman, one who makes me shrink into myself.
‘I would have supported a wedding, because it would have been the right thing to do,’ she insists. ‘Children should be born into a loving family unit.’
And suddenly something inside me drops. ‘Is that what you said to Louis?’ I ask. ‘Did you tell him he had to get married because Summer is pregnant?’
She looks shifty. ‘I may have advised him?—’
‘Vivian!’
‘That boy,’ she says, ‘is nothing like his father. He wants to marry Summer. He wants to be a present dad. He’s owned up to his mistake and he’s standing by her. Just as a man should. He’s not going to ruin his girlfriend’s life then swan off into the distance.’
I can feel sweat beading on my palms and clench my fists slightly at my sides. ‘Well, I’m sorry that you have such a low opinion of me. But I really don’t think I’m the monster you’re painting me as.’
‘Perhaps not.’ She looks at me; her brow softens slightly. ‘Fine. I know you were a nice boy. I dare say you’re a nice man now. But it doesn’t change the fact that your actions sent Sarah’s life off the rails. And when it came to picking up the pieces, stepping up, you were nowhere to be found. You took your place at university even when Sarah had to defer hers. You graduated with a first and Sarah was juggling her studies, getting average grades. Like it or not, if Sarah hadn’t been a young mother, she would have been at a top university. She would have got a first! She would have been snapped up by a top London law firm immediately. It may not have been your intention that her life should become less than it could have been, but it was your fault.’
‘Vivian, we were teenagers. Wouldn’t you like to go back and change some of the things you did and said at that age?’
She harrumphs but doesn’t reply.
‘And I don’t understand why you keep saying Sarah’s life was ruined. Or acting as if Sarah is such a disappointment to you. You don’t seem to see her for what she is! Sarah’s not a child any more. And yes, perhaps her education was interrupted for a while. But look at her now! Sarah is a lawyer. She runs her own firm. She has a house! She’s brought Louis up beautifully. You should be so, so proud of her.’
And I set my glass down firmly, pick up my bag and leave the kitchen, hoping I’ll be able to work out which of the guest rooms is for me.
Turning the hallway corner, I see movement. It’s Sarah, hobbling quickly into her room. And I wonder how much of the argument she has heard.
27
SARAH
It’s evening and I’m sitting on a stool in Mum’s kitchen, helping her make a salad for tonight’s meal. She’s chopping radishes, the only thing she’s managed to grow in her garden so far, and I’m tearing lettuce leaves and slicing tomatoes. She’s streaming some music through her smart speaker, and I recognise some of the tunes from years ago – it’s Paul Simon, one of Dad’s favourites. Somewhere in my brain these tunes are directly wired to memories of him, and it’s bittersweet to hear the lyrics again after so many years.
I wonder whether it’s a deliberate choice on Mum’s part, or whether she just likes the music. Is she thinking about Dad too? Her face, bent over the granite chopping block, reveals nothing.
‘Big day tomorrow,’ I say, breaking the silence.
‘Yes.’ She scrapes the radishes into a dish and then, wiping the board with a tea towel, picks up a cucumber and begins to slice it.
‘Do you think they’re ready?’
She turns her face sharply, her expression softening when she realises that I don’t have an agenda; I’m not criticising her for hosting the wedding, for letting them move it forward.Turning back to the cucumber, she says simply, ‘Is anyone ready for anything, ever?’
I laugh quietly. ‘That is very true.’ All of my adulthood, I’ve been searching for the feeling of being ‘grown up’, for the knowledge and experience that I’d assumed came with reaching that milestone. But so far, I’ve noticed little change.
‘You know, your father and I, we were married about the same age,’ she says.
I nod. ‘Yes, I know.’ Mum was twenty-three and Dad twenty-five when they tied the knot. ‘It was different then, though, wasn’t it?’
‘Different how?’
‘Well, people grew up faster. They used to get married sooner!’
Mum lets out a noise that’s something between a snort and an incredulous laugh.
‘What?’
