Page 72 of One Last Thing
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Mum doesn’t let go of my hand. I don’t even notice until I finish telling my sad, sorry tale and I realise that my hand is still clamped in hers. I don’t pull it away, though. Her grasp is unexpectedly warm and comforting and essential. She says things I’ve heard before, mostly from Marisa and Dad, but they make me cry because it’s my mum saying it. I nod and we hug and then Laurence says he’s sorry for interrupting but would we like to look at the view because it really is spectacular and this balloon ride is very expensive and so far all we’ve seen is the four walls of the basket which we could have done on the ground. He’s right. And Mum was right, too. All this storytelling from both of us has been welcome and distracting.
Letting go of me, Mum gets to her feet, picks up the box of ashes and holds out her other hand for me to take again. I swallow nervously.
‘Do . . . do you think I can do it?’ I squeak.
She inhales deeply through her nose, looks out at the view, smiles and then turns to look down at me again. ‘Your dad thought you could.’
I shakily reach out to take her hand and she pulls me to my feet, putting her arm around my waist to hold me up should I go to collapse again.
‘Look across, not down,’ she advises.
I do as she says. It’s the most beautiful, peaceful, breathtaking view I’ve ever seen. Mountains, lakes, lined green vineyards, yellow sandy beaches, sparkling blue ocean that goes on forever. It stuns us into silence for a few moments.
‘It fills you with wonder, doesn’t it,’ Mum says eventually. ‘That we are part of something so vast and beautiful, a world that seems so precious from up here.’
I frown. ‘I told you not to say anything profound.’
She chuckles and holds me that little bit tighter.
24
DAWN
I’d have to be dead not to notice that Laurence is flirting with me. Since the moment I climbed into the basket, I’ve noticed his lingering eye contact, his subtle smiles and the way his questions are directed mostly at me. The attention ismostwelcome.
Laurence is probably my age, maybe a little older, and incredibly sexy. He’s undeniably handsome with those amazing green eyes, tanned skin and sophisticated, well-trimmed greying facial hair, and the French accent is working wonders on me. Not to mention the man oozes charm. And his arms, my god, I couldn’t work out if it was the late evening sun, my MS or his flexing muscles as he steered the balloon that was making me hot under the collar earlier when we came into land, but I was forced to get out my little electric fan and direct it at my face as I watched him control the burners and pull on the ropes.
When we cracked open the champagne after climbing out, he poured me a glass and said, ‘Madame,’ in a low, growling voice that sent my pulse accelerating, and when Megan was taking a moment to steady herself now she was back on land, he asked me if my partner would be joining us at any point?
‘There is no partner, Laurence,’ I said, before I held up my glass to toast his.
Our gaze locked, his smile became deadly, the air between us charged and intense.
Now that Megan has had a few minutes to collect herself, she’s looking a lot better, a broad grin taking over her face, her eyes wild with joy that we’ve returned in one piece.
‘I did it. I can’t believe I did it!’ she’s saying as Laurence happily pours her a glass too and she downs the whole thing in one.
‘Goodness!’ I exclaim with a light laugh as she refills her glass herself. ‘That adrenaline is pumping through your veins.’
‘Oh yeah,’ she confirms, taking another large gulp. ‘I survivedthat.’ She points a finger at the balloon in the field. ‘I would never, ever in a million years back myself to go on a hot air balloon, especially without any Valium, but I did. Never again. I’ll never do it again. But I now have nothing to prove. If anyone comes at me, like, “Hey, why do you never go on flumes at water parks? Are you scared?” I’ll be like, “Whatever, I’ve been in a hot air balloon.”’
Giggling at her frazzled, frantic behaviour, I raise a glass to her bravery and she whoops before taking another drink, her hands shaking a little.
‘Fuck,’ she says breathlessly, leaning a hand on the bonnet of Laurence’s truck. ‘I did it. I actually did it. I’m alive.’
‘You’re alive.’
‘It was beautiful, too. The view was—’ she exhales, running a hand through her hair‘—I could see for miles and miles. It was so fucking quiet up there.’
‘Yes,’ I agree, admiring this fascinating version of Megan, inhibitions forgotten for a moment, a smile so wide it’s mesmerising. ‘You faced your fear. You should be proud of yourself. Well done to your father for getting you to do it.’
‘And to you for getting me through it,’ she adds.
‘Oh.’ I look down at my glass modestly. ‘I did nothing. It was all you.’
She checks her phone. ‘Nico will be here in a minute to pick us up.’
