Page 74 of Road Trip to the Riviera
She shakes her head. ‘I don’t even know, really. She was a bit upset that I’m leaving so soon; I accused her of leaving me in the lurch when she moved here.’
‘Well,’ I say, giving her shoulders a squeeze. ‘She kind of did. I mean, your dad… it wasn’t long after your dad… and I remember… well, it was a hard time for you, right?’ I hate myself instantly for glossing over everything, for avoiding saying the word ‘died’.
She sighs. ‘Yeah, but it was hard for her too. Anyway, I didn’t mind. I understood. And it’s not as if…’
She doesn’t need to finish the sentence. It isn’t as if Vivian was the greatest help in any case. She’s not one of those mums who worries whether your fridge if full, or if you’re getting enough sleep. She isn’t one for girly shopping trips or gossip, or heart-to-hearts over a glass of wine. Sarah’s mentioned moments when her mother’s let her down – not physically or financially, but emotionally – before. ‘I’ve had to accept she’s just not like that,’she told me once.
‘Yeah, I know,’ I say.
Then, ‘We can always stay a couple more nights, if you think that would help?’ I offer. In truth, I’m looking forward to getting back on the road, but it’s not as if we’re slumming it at Vivian’s. Soft, memory foam mattresses, a private pool, plenty to eat and drink. And pretty decent Wi-Fi.
Sarah looks at me. ‘We?’
‘Well, yeah. I know I said we’d leave tomorrow, but I suppose there’s no rush.’
‘But—’
‘Only if you think it would help you,’ I add.
‘But Hal,’ she says. ‘Sorry, I thought you realised. I’m not going with you. I’m taking the train.’
This for some reason hadn’t occurred to me. When you give someone a lift, you expect they’ll travel back the same way. But why would she? Our French journey had hardly been relaxing for her. ‘Oh,’ I say. Then realise I hadn’t told her of my change of plans. ‘Oh, it’s the route!’ I say, ‘No. Listen. I’m going to drive back in one fell swoop. Marcel says it won’t be a problem.’
‘Marcel?’
‘The mechanic.’
She cocks an eyebrow. ‘First name terms already? You two hit it off?’
‘Actually, I think it’s Betty he’s actually fallen for.’
She wipes a remaining tear from her cheek. ‘No,’ she says. ‘It’s OK. I’ve ruined your holiday enough as it is with all my collapsing in French markets and hospital dashes and complaining about uncomfortable seats.’
‘But…’
‘I’ve booked a train in any case. It’s paid for now. And I’ll be able to catch up on work while I travel.’
This really is a firm no. ‘OK.’ I nod.
‘Thank you, though. You know. For offering.’
‘No problem.’
I should be pleased. If someone had told me a week ago that I’d get Betty to myself for the journey back, I’d have been over the moon. But now the thought of meandering through France in Betty, or even driving in one go, seems a lonely, almost pointless endeavour.
I leave Sarah’s room and softly close the door before changing into my swimming things and making my way to the pool. As I approach, I slow up, seeing Vivian has taken residence on one of the loungers, a book held up in front of her.
She looks up and it’s too late now to avoid her. I notice that her face is set, not teary like Sarah’s was. ‘Hi, Vivian. All right if I take a swim?’
‘Be my guest.’ She turns the page of her book, pointedly. As if sayingI’m busy, do as you will. You’ve got to hand it to her; the woman is stoic to the last.
I lay my towel out on another lounger and stop for a minute, pretending to be stretching a hamstring. ‘Everything all right?’ I ask. ‘Sarah was saying?—’
‘Yes, quite all right, thank you,’ she snaps.
‘It’s just?—’
Vivian looks up from her book again, one eye closed against the sun, the other squinting. ‘Hal, if it’s OK with you, I think it’s better you stay out of family business. Don’t you? Sarah and I can sort it out between us.’
