Page 47 of One Last Thing
‘Argh,stop it!’ I seethe.
She cackles with laughter and then something catches her eye up over my shoulder. She stops laughing immediately, her eyes widening, her mouth falling open with a mixture of shock and horror. She whispers, ‘M-Megan,’ and points at something behind me.
At first I think she’s having me on, but the colour has gone from her face, so I decide to check. When I turn round and look up to where she’s pointing, I gasp and stumble back to stand next to her, blinking to make sure I’m not imagining it. There, high up in the tree, is some kind of vulture with a nude Rigby & Peller bra clasped in its beak.
We both stand still, staring at it in disbelief.
When it takes flight, its trophy flapping in the wind as it soars up and away, Mum and I slowly turn to look at each other before bursting into hysterical laughter. Tears run down Mum’s cheeks, I have to bend over to clutch my stomach, and we don’t stop laughing until Nico comes overto ask what’s happened and if we’re okay. Through wheezes we tell him we’re fine, desperately trying to collect ourselves as everyone else starts looking over.
Every now and then on the horse ride back to the stables, Mum and I will catch each other’s eye, smirk and then erupt into more giggles, the vision of the vulture with the bra flitting through our heads.
16
DAWN
Clamping my liberated breasts with one arm, while holding onto the reins for dear life with the other, I trek back the way we came yesterday on my horse, harumphing whenever it gets bumpy, wondering whether this little adventure has been a success or failure. I suppose it has been both. When we finally reach the stables and the relief washes through my limbs, I conclude that whatever the successes were, they outdo the failures.
Praise be to vultures. That pilfering thief created a special moment between Megan and I, one that can only be concocted naturally and never forced. One of thoseyou-had-to-be-theremoments. The sort you tell your friends in an overzealous and exuberant manner through giggles, but you still can’t capture just how brilliant and joyful it was. Those are the moments that create connections. Megan and I haven’t shared one of those in a while.
‘You did it,’ Nico says, coming over to help me dismount. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Sore. Disgusting. In desperate need of a shower. Henry’s dream house better be worth all this nonsense. If it’s not, then I will sue.’
He looks quizzically at me. ‘You will sue Henry?’
‘Now is not the time to be pernickety over the details. Let me rant freely.’
‘You did well and you look great,’ he says with a grin.
‘Nico, as kind as that is, there’s really no need for such fibbing,’ I say, unclipping my helmet and taking it off, running my fingers through my hair.
‘I mean it,’ he insists, patting my horse’s neck. ‘Your face, everything, you look . . .’
He trails off searching for the word.
‘Bedraggled?’ I suggest. ‘Dishevelled? Muddied? As though I’ve been captured and held hostage, potentially tortured, released after much international and political negotiation, and just stepped off the plane to be greeted by my family after three months apart?’
He laughs. ‘No,’ he says, his eyes twinkling at me. ‘Brighter. You look brighter.’
***
When we get back to the chateau, preparations have begun for the Saint Vincent festival. Colourful bunting is hanging along the walls and over archways, winding up the banister of the sweeping staircase, and more flower arrangements have appeared around the place, bringing a hint of sweet perfume to every room.
‘Goodness, Nico, it looks fantastic!’ I exclaim as we stroll into the reception. ‘Did you organise this?’
‘You think this was me?’ He chuckles, bemused by the idea. ‘This is all my aunt.’
‘Ah. Yes.’ I admire the vase of bright-coloured flowers on the reception desk. ‘She always did have an eye for these sorts of things.’
Nico nods. ‘She’s very creative.’
‘Hm. Well, I don’t know about you two, but I plan on spending the rest of the day bathing so I no longer smelllike horsehair,’ I declare. ‘I trust that’s permitted in the itinerary.’
Nico confirms that it is. We are off the hook until tomorrow morning.
Thanking him for the ‘experience’, Megan and I traipse up to our rooms. When she reaches her door and slides the key into the lock, I stop by mine down the way and sigh heavily to get her attention before I say, ‘These rooms’, gesturing to my door. She knows what I’m saying. She pauses, one hand still holding the key in the lock.
‘I know,’ she says. ‘I can’t work out if it’s a good or bad thing.’
