Page 64 of One Last Thing
I tense, scowling. ‘He didn’t want us to talk about it when he was alive.’
‘But—’
‘Do you thinkIwas the one avoiding it?’ I interject. ‘Make no mistake, Françoise, Iwantedto talk about it. I wasdesperate to talk about it. Maybe not at first, but over the years...’ I swallow, blinking back tears as I think about the times Henry and I squabbled as I begged him to discuss it. ‘He wanted to protect Megan. That’s how he saw it. That’s whathewanted.’ I sigh, repeating quietly, wearily and resentfully, ‘That’s what he wanted.’
‘And how do you see it? What do you want?’
I stare at her, her eyes glistening with determination. ‘I always wanted Megan to know who her parentsreallyare. I trusted her. But it wasn’t up to me. Henry had to be the one to make the decision.’
Her hands on her hips, she bows her head, glowering at the floor.
‘Thank you for the drink, Françoise,’ I conclude in a low, firm voice, and then I turn and walk out the door, my breathing shaky and shallow as I make my way back down the path through the vineyard back to the chateau.
21
MEGAN
The next morning, I go to see Dad’s house. Nico has informed us that we aren’t needed for today’s assigned activity until late afternoon, so the morning is wide open and while Mum decided to rest in her room despite having only just woken up from a night of rest, I mustered the courage to book a taxi to take me to Collioure.
And now here I am, standing in front of it, not sure why I came. It’s not like I can go inside, I don’t have the keys. So instead, I stand on the cobbled street outside of it, taking off my sunglasses and squinting up at the blue shutters, feeling a troublesome mixture of joy and sorrow that soon I’ll finally get to step inside, but I won’t get to step inside with him.
You did it, Dad.
I start crying but I’m smiling, too, so proud of him buying this bloody house.
If anyone passes me right now, they’ll think I’m crazy, staring up at a house, grinning and sobbing at the same time. Grief has made me act strangely in public more than once. The first week after Dad died I was in Sainsbury’s, and I realised at the checkout that I’d forgotten to bring a shopping bag with me. I’d put it by the door but must have forgotten it on the way out. I started crying about it. I told the bewildered woman at the checkout through stifled sobsthat I was so sorry, I’d forgotten a reusable bag and would need to buy a twenty pence plastic one.
‘It happens to us all,’ she said, wide-eyed and panicked, offering the bag to me.
I’ve become much better at holding it together in public, but sometimes fall apart without any warning. I read somewhere that that’s how it goes. One minute you think you’re getting nicely through the day and thenbama memory hits you out of nowhere and all public etiquette is out the window. You’re a crying mess in a supermarket or bawling in a bar.
Sometimes I have to concentrate so hard to remember his voice, wishing I had taken more videos of him. I have pictures, but I want to hear him. He hated videos. He wasn’t the type to enjoy the camera. There’s only a few of him, blushing when the waiter brings out a birthday cake, telling me to ‘sod off’ when he realises I’m filming him on a day out somewhere, the random one I have of him when a goose took a liking to him in the park and he spoke to it like he was bickering with an old friend: ‘Don’t you honk at me like that. I’ve had a day and all.’
Even if they make me look like I’m losing it, I like memories I thought I’d forgotten popping into my head out of nowhere because my biggest fear of all is forgetting. The sight of him, sound of him, smell of him fading, yet the pain of losing him goes on and on and on.
But standing outside this house, the memories are not unexpected. Here, I know I will find him. I remember where he stood, his posture, his expression. The soles of his shoes were on these same cobbles, his eyes gazing upwards like mine are now, dreaming and hoping that one day he might live in this pretty blue-shuttered house so he might be visitedby his daughter and together they’d take a boat out and eat delicious food and laugh and talk, and the best moments would probably be the ones that didn’t feel that special at the time but always make you smile when you think of them. Like the moment I think about now, the one when he’d dragged us here yet again and I was whinging at him tocome onbecause I wanted something, ice cream probably, and he jabbed his finger up at the house and said, ‘I think I quite like this house’, and I rolled my eyes and Mum down the way groaned, ‘For Christ’s sake, weknow, Henry!’ and he grinned broadly, chortling at successfully winding us up.
Exhaling a shaky breath, I wipe the tears from my cheeks with my hand.
I slide my sunglasses back on.
Smiling up at the shutters, I whisper, ‘I think I quite like this house,’ and then I stroll away down the street with nowhere to be just yet and time on my hands.
***
That afternoon as I wait in reception, I acknowledge that the chateau is busier than it’s been all week. With the festival celebrations kicking off tomorrow, there’s an excitement in the air and more guests seem to be trickling in and out through the doors. I haven’t seen Nico, even though he’s due any moment to drive us to whatever we’re about to embark on, and Françoise is behind the desk, going through some documents.
We’ve already said hello, but it feels weird not talking to her at all. I get the feeling she’s a bit awkward around me. I get it into my head that it’s because she knows I fancy her nephew and then I blush furiously even though she’s givenme no inclination that that’s the reason – if there even is a reason in the first place.
‘The chateau looks great! Ready for the festival to begin,’ I squeak, suddenly wanting to be in her good books and relying on the age-old technique of flattery to get me there.
She glances up at me and smiles warmly. ‘Yes. It’s exciting.’
‘The ball is going to be amazing. Such a great idea.’
‘That’s all Nico.’
‘Right.’ My face is on fire. ‘I hope you won’t hold it against me for choosing the roséhepreferred last night. I honestly didn’t know who was gunning for which.’
