Page 83 of One Last Thing
And then one of his friends slaps him on the back enthusiastically and the sudden jolt snaps us back to the moment at hand. He lowers me back into the water and hugs his mate, who then comes over to high-five me. My face flushes at our spontaneous public display, but no one seems to have noticed or cared or maybe they’re not surprised. The people on the beach are still cheering as someone through a speakerphone, I think, declares us the winners in rapid French and there’s a fresh eruption of applause and cheers. I’m swarmed by the other teammates, hugging them even though I don’t know them but we are now forever bonded by this momentous achievement.
Mum is still holding up Dad’s ashes, singing ‘We Are the Champions’, and I spend the rest of the day with my jaw hurting from smiling so much while every inch of me physically aches to be up in Nico’s arms once again.
28
DAWN
The busking world will be in mourning when I announce my new intention to be some kind of admiral. I can now envision it, a life at sea, perhaps commanding my own fleet. What freedom to be on the water! What joy to be part of a crew with one set goal. I wonder if there’s some kind of sailing course I can sign up to while I’m here. I’ve proven today once again that there’s no need for MS to deter any physical-activity ambitions I might have. Perhaps I should push back my flight a few days and give it a go. Why not?
Megan went through a phase of saying that when she was little. It made us laugh because she didn’t know what it meant so would say it willy-nilly.Why not, why not.‘Good night, Megan,’ I’d whisper as we closed her bedroom door having just put her down and she’d say, ‘why not’ back and we’d have to stifle our giggles as we crept away.
It was so sweet.
She was in her element on that raft today, the moment that god-awful horn blared, a fierce resolve took over her and I’m telling you, Iknewwe were going to win. Kudos to Henry for getting her up on that thing and involved in something so silly. Before this trip, I never would have expected her to be a part of such an event, but as soon as she decided she was going to do it, there wasn’t any hesitation on her side, she really threw herself into it.
The girl has grit.
I think she may get that from both of us.
Megan and I are in good spirits on our way back to the hotel, completely drenched but flushed with joy, having celebrated our win with a coffee and fresh pastry, the melt-in-the-mouth kind you canonlyget in France. Despite being energised from the win and adoring crowds, I found myself flagging as we sat in the shade of the café afterwards, the fatigue creeping through my limbs until I could no longer ignore it.
Nico was keen to get back anyway because there’s plenty to be done before the black-tie ball tonight and, as much as he trusts his staff, he wants to oversee all the last-minute details. Bless him, he’s so nervous about it, I can tell, but it’s going to be fabulous. For a start, the chateau is a fairy-tale setting for a ball with its long driveway through the vineyard and the striking white turrets; and with all the string lights that have been hung for the evening as well as the extravagant yet elegant arrangements of flowers dotted around the place, there will no doubt be a sense of magic the moment a guest arrives at the door. And Nico tells me the band has been one of the most expensive elements of the evening, but that it is a big name and known to create a brilliant party atmosphere. He thinks it’s the band that has helped sell so many tickets, but I think it’s more than that. I think that we all want a great night with food and drink and dancing, but when it comes down to it, everyone really just loves the idea of going to a ball in a castle.
‘See you later,’ Megan says to Nico, smiling shyly as he leaves us in reception to go tick off the rest of his list.
When he’s disappeared round the corner, I notice her quickly turn and stealthily check her appearance in themirror, seeming disappointed at the result. But she shouldn’t. She may not have a perfect face of make-up and, yes, her hair is still damp and tangled from the sea water, but she looks radiant. I consider telling her that. Iwilltell her that. Everyone likes to hear that. It will be one of those treasured precious mother-daughter moments.
‘You lookradiant,’ I say, beaming at her.
She frowns at me. ‘Are you being sarcastic?’
‘No! I mean it! You really do.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Yes, you do.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ she mutters as she passes me on her way to the stairs.
I was right. What a moment to treasure forever.
Deflated by the failure of my bonding attempt, I follow her upstairs and make my way to my room, remembering something I’ve been meaning to ask her as we get our keys out.
‘What are you wearing tonight for the ball?’
She hesitates. ‘Uh. I . . . I’m not sure. I’ve got a couple of dresses I could throw on.’
‘Black-tie dresses?’ I check, peering at her.
She shrugs. ‘No, but I figured that wouldn’t matter.’
‘What?’ I balk at the suggestion, putting my hands on my hips as I swivel to face her down the corridor. ‘What do you mean? It’s a black-tie event. You can’t show up in any old dress. That’s against the rules!’
‘Whose rules?’ she asks, bemused at my reaction.
‘The . . . ancient rules of civilisation!’
Her lips twitch as she fights a smile. ‘Right, of course, those ancient black-tie rules.’
