Page 79 of One Last Thing
‘Maybe he doesn’t know we’re here.’
‘Surely Françoise or Nico has told him. I don’t know, something’s off.’ She shakes her head before addressing me again. ‘Anyway, if you’re not going to tell me what’s going on with you and Françoise, at least take my advice and try to control your face a bit more around her.’
‘There’s nothing going on and I do control my face! I’m very discreet.’
She snorts.
‘Okay, I’m discreet when I want to be,’ I correct, my feathers ruffled. ‘I’ll have you know that I was once told I’m a difficult nut to—’
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Nico calls out across reception, interrupting us as he hurries over, Françoise following him, the clack of her shoes echoing off the walls. ‘There was a problem with the flowers for the ball, but it’s sorted now.’
‘No worries,’ Megan says, spinning round to face him.
He stops in front of her, dimples appearing as he beams at her. ‘Hey.’
‘Hey,’ she says.
Without meaning to, I catch Françoise’s eye and we share something of a smile that means we’re both aware of what’s happening here and isn’t it lovely. It’s nice to share that sort of moment with her but then I can’t help but think of the events of the final summer we spent here and my brain clouds with the sadness and anger that came barrelling towards us afterwards. Neither of us reached out to the other, and I don’t think we ever forgave each other for that.
I drop my eyes to the floor, dragging the straps of my bag that have fallen down my arm back up to my shoulder, feeling the weight of Henry’s ashes.
‘Are you ready to go?’ Nico asks.
‘Yes,’ I say with a polite smile. ‘We’re ready.’
‘Oh!’ He grimaces, clicking his fingers. ‘I meant to say, you should bring your swimsuits.’
‘Swimsuits.’ Megan glances at me, looking as confused as I feel. ‘Why would we need those?’
***
2011: Fifteen years ago
‘I don’t want an argument, Henry,’ I say tiredly, knowing that we’re heading for one with the mood I’m in.
My publisher sent me my latest monthly sales figures today, despite me repeatedly asking them not to send them at all. Failure is hardly conducive to creativity and I’m trying to plot my next book, but every month I get the same cheery email that makes me want to pack it all in, move to the mountains and keep goats or something.
‘We don’t have to argue about this, Dawn,’ he replies, his tone cold and clipped. ‘We don’t have to fight everytime we disagree on something, we can discuss it like grown-ups.’
‘That’s my point, you never seem to want to discuss it! You’ve made up your mind,’ I cry, flinging my hands up in the air and accidentally knocking my wine glass, which shakes but I catch it before it falls and breaks.
‘For god’s sake, it’s a holiday, you don’t need to be this dramatic!’
‘I’m not being dramatic, I’m being expressive. You should try it some time.’
A muscle in his jaw twitches. It was a spiteful thing to say, but he makes me so mad.
‘Look,’ I say, cheeks flushing, ‘I know it’s a lovely problem to have, but won’t you even consider going on holiday somewhere else? It’s a bit strange to always—’
‘Dawn, you have sprung this on me out of nowhere and I don’t think I’m being unreasonable to want to stick to our original plan, the plan we decided on together.’
‘That’s mypoint,’ I argue, my voice a little calmer now, feeling guilty about my previous jab. ‘We didn’t decide on this together.Youdecided. You always decide, Henry. Every single summer, we go to France, the same place, the same people. I think we should do something different. There’s a whole world out there that we could explore!’
‘The chateau has everything we need, and Megan loves it.’
‘She might love somewhere else, too, if we gave her the chance.’ I sigh, leaning on the kitchen table. ‘I don’t understand, Henry, you never used to be so . . . set on one place.’
‘You’re talking about it as though you don’t love it at the chateau, too,’ he points out glumly. ‘Are you telling me that you don’t enjoy our holidays there?’
