Page 53 of One Last Thing
‘Yes,’ he says with a smile. Fuck, thosedimples.
I exhale. ‘Wow, Nico, I don’t know. That’s averybig ask.’
‘It is, it is. I could provide cheese and charcuterie too? Would that help?’
‘Hm. I suppose thatmighthelp.’ I sigh dramatically. ‘You know what? I’m feeling generous today. I’ll do it, but only because I’m an extremely charitable person.’
‘I always said that about you. You do God’s work.’
‘A modern-day saint.’
His grin widens. ‘Are you ready now?’
‘Yeah, let me put on some shoes.’
‘I’ll wait out here. Take your time.’
Closing the door, I take a moment to try to get a hold of the sparks of excitement coursing through my body, making my hands tingle and my heart flip. Tossing my phone on the bed, I grab my sandals and sit down to put them on, before treading into the bathroom to spritz my wrists with perfume. Checking my reflection once again, I grab my room key and go to open the door again where I find Nico waiting, leaning against the wall of the corridor, his hands in his pockets. He straightens when I appear and his face lights up.
His face lights up with every guest, I tell myself so I don’t get excited.
But I think it’s too late anyway.
I don’t realise I’ve forgotten my phone until much later in the evening when he gets up to go to the bathroom and I reach for it to busy myself. Surprised at myself, I make do with looking out at the view instead, tapping my fingernail on the base of my wine glass.
***
2011: Fifteen years ago
I put on my gold hoop earrings and then take a step back from the mirror, checking all the angles of my reflection. I’ve been saving this emerald-green dress all holiday. Mum bought it for me from Liberty when she was in Soho a couple of weeks before we came to France. Annoyingly, I love it. It has a V-neck and delicate spaghetti straps that cross at the backwith a swishy skirt. I take a deep breath as I stare at myself in the mirror, breaking into a nervous smile and biting my bottom lip. I’ve taken longer than usual to get ready for dinner this evening. I’ve applied my make-up meticulously and used gold shimmer across my collar bones like in a YouTube video I watched.
I’m nervous.
Things have been different this summer. My crush on Nico is officially out of control. Last year, I was all shy around him and he kept asking me if something was wrong. He obviously didn’t catch on that he made me nervous. But this year, his behaviour has changed, too. I think he’s been flirting with me. I hope so anyway. I couldn’t sleep last night because all I could think about was whether he might kiss me today. I’ve never kissed anyone before. It’s so embarrassing. I have to go back to school in September having at leastkisseda boy.
And I’ve decided I want that boy to be Nico.
‘You look beautiful, Megan,’ Mum says when I emerge from my room to find them waiting in the corridor.
Dad frowns. ‘Don’t you want to put a jacket or a jumper on over that?’
‘No, Dad,’ I say, rolling my eyes as Mum smirks.
It’s quite nice to be on the same side as her for a moment. That hasn’t happened much this holiday. Her favourite thing to do seems to be to either embarrass me as much as possible with her attention-seeking or highlight the fact that I seek no attention whatsoever and make it out like that’s a bad thing.
A few days ago, she interrupted my reading to suggest we go to a bar in Argelès-sur-Mer with the karaoke.
‘We can invite Nico if you like,’ she added, waggling her eyebrows.
I almost died.
I had to tell her that Iliterallycouldn’t think of anything worse and to please never suggest anything like that again. Then I got back to my book, blushing furiously. She’d raised her hands and said, ‘All right, it was only a suggestion’, as though I was the aggressor in this situation, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice.
You’d have thought that an author would be happy that her daughter was big on books, but apparently, I got stuck with the only one in the world who disapproves of it. It used to upset me that she made it so obvious she wished I was more like her, but now I don’t care. I’m proud to be different. Still, it’s nice to have moments when we’re on the same page, like when we can smile together over the fact that Dad still thinks I’m a little girl.
We have dinner outside on the patio of the hotel restaurant, joined by Françoise, Mathieu and Nico. They’ve made the effort to join us for our final dinner at the chateau – for tomorrow, our final night on holiday, Mum has annoyingly made a reservation for just us three at some fancy Michelin-star restaurant. I’m desperate for a fun night with Nico to forget about the fact that it will be another year until we’re back.
Nico and I have shared looks and smiles across the table all evening when one of the adults says something embarrassing. Then, when dinner is finished, an opportunity arises. Mum and Françoise have moved their chairs nearer to each other and Françoise is giggling hysterically at something Mum is saying to her, which is always fun to witness because usually Nico’s aunt is so composed. And Dad and Mathieu are in a deep conversation about the art exhibition they went to yesterday, both of them trying to sound cleverabout it. Nico catches my eye and jerks his head towards the patio doors.
