Page 49 of Road Trip to the Riviera
‘Well, honestly, it’s completely misplaced,’ he says. ‘I’m the one who’s always messing up.’
‘In what way?’
‘It’s like you said. I’ve been thinking about it a lot…’ He changes gears and Betty makes a crunch of protest. ‘I did most of the things you asked me when it came to Louis, raising him. But I never thought of doing anything youdidn’task me to do.’
I feel a pang of guilt. ‘I shouldn’t have said that, Hal. Forget it.’
‘No, but you’re right. And I don’t think you’re the only one to think that.’
Has he been speaking to my mother? ‘Really?’ I say carefully.
‘Yeah. Louis let slip that I haven’t exactly been the best dad.’
‘Louis?’
‘Yeah. Something about me never showing up on time.’ His eyes are fixed on the road but the sunlight shining through the side window reveals a glitter of moisture.
‘Ignore him. He’s just stressed about the wedding.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Definitely. And as for all the other stuff… Well, maybe. Maybe you could sometimes have shown more initiative. But, you know…’
‘Know what?’
I shrug. ‘I could have asked you.’
We fall into silence for a moment. The scenery speeds by at Betty’s maximum velocity. Admittedly it’s only about 60mph, but it feels jet-like compared to the pace of Hal’s normal driving. Occasionally the speedometer will creep a little higher, sending shakes through the camper’s chassis, and Hal will be forced to lift his foot from the pedal.
‘How far?’ I ask.
‘About four hours, I think.’
‘Do you mind if I shut my eyes for a moment?’
‘Go for it.’
When I wake up, Hal’s pulling into a parking spot in a roadside rest stop. It’s one of those places with a petrol station and several small food outlets: Paul’s bakery, a Burger King, some sort of restaurant chain with a red awning.
‘I’m going to grab a sandwich,’ he tells me. ‘Want anything?’
I straighten. ‘I’ll come with you,’ I say. ‘I could do with stretching my legs.’ I look down at the blue boot. ‘Well, leg.’
He helps me out, holding my crutch for me until I’m ready to take it. Then he offers his arm again. Part of me wants to refuse it, not because I couldn’t use a little support or because I’m annoyed at Hal or anything, but because I’ve begun to think of the five weeks – at least – I’ll be wearing the boot for. I’ve got to be able to cope with it all on my own. I won’t always have his arm to hold.
But then I see his eyes on me and realise that he wants to help me. So I take it, and in all honesty it’s a relief to be able to lean on him as I hop along.
The hospital warned me to be careful, that I must take my tablets on time. That I’m not out of the woods until the course is finished. But I’m feeling so much better than I have for almost the whole trip. The sun is beating down, and I think about Mum’s house, the cool swimming pool I can dip at least one set of toes into. Virgin cocktails under a parasol.
We reach Paul’s and the queue is so long that we decide to sit in. It’ll give us a break from the stuffy atmosphere in Betty’s front seats. Hal stands in the queue and waves at me from time to time, reminding me so much of Louis that it’s hard not to smile.
When he turns from the counter, he’s carrying a laden tray. Two coffees, both filled to the brim. A couple of enormous baguettes and a pastry on a plate. The whole thing is wobbling precariously, and he sticks his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he carefully walks towards me. A passing member of staff seems to sense impending disaster and offers to take the coffees, but Hal shakes his head. He’s got this.
Moments later, one of the coffees tips up, spilling its contents on one of the baguettes, down Hal’s front, onto the floor. The cascade of black liquid narrowly misses an old lady sitting at one of the smaller tables and she glowers at him as if he’s done it on purpose. The little dog at her feet starts forwards, wanting to taste whatever’s been puddled near him and she pulls him back. Hal has placed the tray on a nearby table and is trying to dab ineffectually at the stodgy mess with an inadequate paper towel.
The staff member who offered help before goes up and touches his back. He turns and she says something and he nods, drooping slightly. She gestures to his seat and he says something else, making her laugh.
Then he slopes back over to me, his T-shirt stained and his mission far from accomplished.
