‘Calling you—’
‘I said seven, remember? You promised you’d be here on time. It’s gone nine and our flight leaves in, well, we’ve probably missed—’
‘I’m not coming, Dad.’
‘What?’ Realising I’m clutching a cup half filled with cold coffee, I dump it on a sticky table.
‘I’m not coming. I’m sorry. I mean, I’m sorry you were worried …’
My heart is racing. She’s alive, and she sounds fine – unhurt, uninjured. Thank Christ for that. My eyes are moist, and I rub at them with my fingers. ‘I’ve been so, so worried.’ I lower myself onto a seat.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says, her voice cracking a little. ‘Butafter what you said last night, after that conversation we had …’
‘About Miles not coming with us?’
‘Yeah. We were, like, really upset …’
Theywere upset? For the past hour I’ve been panic-stricken.
‘He’d have paid for his own flight,’ she offers. ‘It wouldn’t have cost you anything.’
‘It wasn’t about money …’
‘We just thought, y’know, it’d be a good opportunity for you and him to get to know each other properly …’
‘I’m not going on holiday with Miles,’ I snap.
‘You wouldn’t have been goingwithhim. He’d have justbeen there,’ she points out.
I exhale slowly, trying to keep it together. I’m not even angry; it’s gone way beyond that. I’m just overwhelmed with relief. ‘You could’ve called me two hours ago to tell me this,’ I say levelly. ‘I’ve messaged and called you so many times. D’you realise what it’s been like, thinking you’re lying dead in the road?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmurs. ‘I just didn’t know what to do.’ A pause. ‘What’re you going to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ I reply flatly. ‘I doubt if I’ll catch the flight now …’ I slide my gaze towards the departures board. All around me people are strolling towards the gates, chivvying children along, giggling in big groups. Happy people all heading off on their holidays.
I see now that my flight has been delayed. If I hurry now I could still catch it. Her mother is always on at me to be spontaneous – to ‘live a little!’ as she puts it.
‘I feel so bad about worrying you,’ Esther says. ‘But Miles really wanted me to stay with him, and I felt torn between him and you, and—’
‘I’ve got to go now,’ I cut in, grabbing at my case.
‘What?’
‘I’m going now. Bye, Est—’
‘Dad!’ she exclaims. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Corsica,’ I reply.
CHAPTER FIVE
LAUREN
‘It’s probably because Remy’s not here,’ Mum suggests as we potter in the garden together. ‘He just wants to be with his friends. That’s natural at his age, isn’t it? This pulling away from you thing, I mean?’
Of course it’s Charlie we’re talking about. He’s still in a mood, currently reading in his room with the curtains firmly shut, lest a chink of Mediterranean sunshine should force its way in. After yesterday’s wasp incident I’m giving him a wide berth, and being out here with Mum, tending her potted herbs in the dappled shade of the fig and eucalyptus trees, is making me feel a whole lot better.
‘You’re right,’ I reply. ‘That’s what Kim says too.’ My best friend has reminded me that her twin daughters, Bella and Scarlett, ‘turned sour like milk left out overnight’ at thirteen years old. So in fact I’ve hadbonusyears. ‘I’m just sorry he’s not being his usual sunny self,’ I add.
