Page 29 of One Last Thing
True to her word, I find that Megan has paid her half of the bill on the way out, I think making a point that she will not be indebted to me on this trip if she can help it. I pay the rest, pick up the box to return it to my bag, and I wander down the steps to the harbour, strolling slowly to a main road to find a taxi. I thought about going to look at the house, but I’m too fatigued both physically and emotionally. I can’t handle it now, either way. I find a taxi but refuse it when I realise it’s not air conditioned, standing my ground until I hail one that is. The heat has made me a little dizzy, and I refuse to sit in the back of a stranger’s car feeling nauseous and sweaty. Thankfully, it doesn’t take me long to find an appropriate car and soon I’m on my way back to the chateau.
When I arrive back, I’m desperate for a shower. The sea water has made my hair crunchy and dry, and I feel like my skin is covered in an unpleasant mixture of salt and sun cream. Swinging the straps of my bag over my shoulder, I march into the chateau with purpose, heading straight for the stairs.
I notice her behind the desk and stop in the middle of the reception hall.
She glances up, her contented expression faltering.
‘Françoise,’ I say, my voice croaky from tiredness.
‘Hello, Dawn.’
Nico’s aunt smiles earnestly at me. As though happy to see me. I can’t bear it.
She looks very well. Her light brown hair is shorter now, cut just above her shoulders and it suits her. Her cheekbones are still enviously sharp and, if anything, time has merelyadded to her air of elegance. Henry found it funny that we got on so well. ‘Your chaos and her serenity shouldn’t work, but it does,’ he said once, a comment that irked me but with hindsight I think he was being equally as complimentary about us both.
As I examine her now, she examines me. I relax my shoulders and lift my chin confidently to give the impression that time has been good to us both.
‘I heard you were staying for a few days, I’m so pleased you’ve returned,’ she says.
‘Yes. Well, not by choice.’
‘I was so sorry to hear about Henry.’
I nod curtly. ‘Thank you.’
We fall into silence. It’s not a comfortable one. Too much has happened. Too much time has passed. I am trying not to look at her, but I can feel her eyes fixed on me. I clear my throat, gesturing up the stairs with a strained smile.
‘I should . . .’
No need to finish my sentence. With one hand relying heavily on the banister, I begin to make my way up the stairs.
‘If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask,’ she calls up, watching me go.
‘Thank you.’
No matter how much you prepare to see someone after a long time, there are some people who will always floor you and it would seem that Françoise is one of those fuckers for me. My stomach is turning and when I get to the safety of my room, I practically fall across the floor to the bed. I sit on the edge of it, grabbing fistfuls of the bed sheets as I hang my head and attempt to control my breathing.
It’s infuriating that her presence has thrown me like this.
If I were writing that scene, my focus would be on how she looked at me. There would be a bit of waffle around capturing her character, which would be easy enough. She’s confident and stylish. Like Henry, she comes from money and has the natural sophistication that affords. She doesn’t say much. You feel like you want to impress her because you have no idea what she thinks about you. She’s the sort of intimidating woman I tried to be at some point in my early twenties before realising that being so dignified and aloof was too much work for the likes of me.
But thelookshe gave would be harder to describe. There was an instinctive joy there, controlled and managed but there all the same. She was happy to see me. I imagine that’s because, somewhere beneath the prickly pride and resentment, we like each other. But there was also a flicker of sadness in her eyes. I do not need her to feel that on my behalf.
Damn Henry for bringing me back here.
‘I don’t know what you want from me,’ I mutter bitterly, knocking my bag from the bed, hearing the clunk of the box hitting the floor.
Getting up to draw the curtains, I plunge the room into darkness and return to curl up on the bed, my legs stiff from the swimming today, my forehead damp with sweat. Somehow amidst my all-consuming thoughts of regret and guilt, I promise myself to do better, and eventually I fall asleep.
***
2025: Thirteen months ago
When Henry arrives, he calls my name several times as he makes his way through the house and finds me in tears on the floor of the upstairs bathroom. He crouches down andclasps my hand in his. My leg spasmed, I tell him. It spasmed, I repeat through sobs. He doesn’t say anything, he nods in that warm understanding way of his and moves to put an arm around my waist and help me to my feet. He guides me downstairs to the sofa, but after a while, when I’ve calmed down, I ask if we can sit in the garden so I can smoke.
‘You don’t smoke in the house?’ he says surprised.
‘I don’t smoke.’
