Page 56 of Road Trip to the Riviera
‘Your dad’s a good man,’ I tell him softly, touching his arm.
‘I know.’
‘He’s a good father.’
‘Yeah. I know.’
‘We were seventeen, a lot younger than you guys.’
He nods. ‘Still.’ He stands, holding his towel. ‘I’d better get back.’
‘OK,’ I tell him softly. I watch my son walk towards his grandmother’s house and everything in my body aches. I want tomake it all better, easier for him. But he’s right in one sense. He’s a man now. An adult. And I can no longer protect him from life; I have to let him navigate his own course.
26
HAL
‘Please, please, please,’ I say to Betty as she chugs slightly. We’re just nearing Vivian’s – the i-GPS reckons we’re five minutes away – but she’s sounding a bit reluctant as we climb the steep road. I glance at the ocean to my right and it shimmers. It’s hard to appreciate though with Betty struggling as much as she is. I just need to make it to Vivian’s, then I’ll be able to tinker with her and get things right. ‘Come on, old girl,’ I say, patting the dashboard.
I think about Vivian’s words to me when she picked Sarah up and feel slightly sick. I’ve always known the woman wasn’t my top fan, but hadn’t realised just how much resentment she was still carrying. Or maybe she was just worried, I tell myself. Maybe it was the worry talking. Sarah’s her daughter, and clearly ill. And I was the only person there to shoulder any blame.
Finally, finally, I’m here. I bump down the little gravel driveway and see Vivian’s Audi shining in the sun, top down, sleek and expensive and perfect. ‘Don’t worry, Betty,’ I say softly, tapping the camper’s dashboard again as I turn off the engine. ‘Newer isn’t always better.’ Then realise what I’m doingand wonder if, after all, I might be getting too attached to the camper.
I hop down onto the gravel and look around. The house is gorgeous – its enormous windows spotlessly clean, perfectly pointed stonework, hanging baskets green and lush, somehow defying the beating sun’s attempt to dry them out.
So this is where Vivian’s been spending her widowhood, I think. And honestly, I can’t blame her. As I walk towards the front door carrying my rucksack, I can hear a splash from the pool out back and my whole body has to resist the urge to simply run there, strip off and dive into the cool water.
I’m just reminding myself that I already have ground to make up with Vivian, and appearing in her back garden in my underwear before even saying hello is probably not going to get me into her good graces, when there’s a flurry of activity.
A tiny thing moves at rocket speed and with a growl, fastens its teeth to my trouser leg.
I’m normally a dog person. And I’m always sure that dogs can sense that. They usually come up to me for a pat or belly rub within moments of meeting me. But this trip, something has shifted. First Princesse, and now this little rat-like thing. I shake my leg, trying to loosen the dog’s pincer-like grip.
‘Peaches!’ comes a voice and there’s Vivian, looking on in horror as I appear to kick out at her dog.
The dog lets out a whimper and rushes to its owner’s ankles, peering from behind them like a shy toddler.
‘Oh. It’s you,’ Vivian says, rather coldly. ‘You got here then?’
‘Yes. Hello.’
‘Your van’s fixed?’
I open my mouth to explain the cooling system, the fact that I’ll need to find a local mechanic. But then decide against it. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘All fixed.’
‘Well, good.’ She turns, leading me into the house. ‘I’ll show you your room.’
‘I don’t suppose I could get a drink of water first?’ I ask, sounding more like a prisoner than a guest.
She nods. ‘Kitchen, then,’ she says. ‘Come along, Peaches.’
Peaches trots at her heel, stealing the odd glance back at me. Soon we’re in a beautiful kitchen – all polished wood and tile, and Vivian is filling a large glass from a dispenser on her fridge. ‘Ice?’ she asks.
‘No, thanks.’
She passes me the tall glass and the moment the cool water reaches my lips I gulp greedily, feeling it move around my body’s own cooling system and realising just how dehydrated I’d become in the roadside heat.
Vivian’s watching me as I set the glass down on its coaster. She opens her mouth and I assume she’s about to direct me to my room. But something in me wants to clear the air. There’s a wedding tomorrow, and the last thing Louis and Summer need is an atmosphere of animosity.
