‘No.’ Esther tosses a small, flat pebble into the sea. ‘I was basically paying sixty quid an hour to be told to write a gratitude journal.’
Charlie smiles. ‘I think you sound like you were an excellent adolescent.’
‘Why, thank you, darling,’ she says in a jokey voice.
He looks at her with her red hair blowing around her face, thinking, if he had a gratitude journal he could fill it a million times over. ‘I love you,’ he says, before he can stop himself.
‘I love you too, Charlie. You’re my best friend.’
‘And you’re mine,’ he says, meaning it. They hug then, in the dark, on the deserted beach.
Esther pulls back, smiling broadly. ‘I want to get in the sea. Do you?’
She knows all about his thing, his fear of it. But he doesn’t feel bullied or embarrassed at all. He looks at her and then at the sea, sparkling in the moonlight. ‘Charlie, come in the sea with me,’ Esther says.
He turns his gaze to the vast expanse of shimmering water. This isn’t Mexico with his mum and dad. It’s a tiny Hebridean island with Esther and they’re here to work, unearthing tiny fragments of ancient pottery. That day in Mexico used to be vivid in Charlie’s mind – like a film he saw only yesterday. But it’s fading now, into the past.
‘Youcanswim, can’t you?’ Esther says with an encouraging smile.
Charlie nods. His stomach is swirling, not in fear but in excitement about his life opening up. Living here until winter and being involved in the dig, making friends, discovering fragments of things that people drank from and cooked with thousands of years ago.
It’s mind-boggling. Even more, almost, than the stars above. Being here on the island, Charlie feels as if his head could explode – in a good way.
‘Come on then!’ Esther has jumped up and pulled off her jeans. She’s standing there in her knickers and vest.
Charlie pulls off his T-shirt and jeans so he’s just in his boxers. He looks at her, filled with happiness. He doesn’t even feel the cold. The sky above is glittering with a million stars.
She grins at him as if challenging him to do this. Then – ‘Race you!’ Esther yells, and something about her exuberance makes him jump up and think, fuck it, what’s he been so scared about? And they kick up sand with their bare feet as they charge towards the sea.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
LAUREN
This time in Corsica is probably the best time. I know we all think of the most recent time as the best time, but it really is. Even though Charlie isn’t here. But I know he’s having his own adventure and that makes it okay. In fact it makes it better than that. I can tell he’s happy, from the pictures he’s sent of him and Esther on that Hebridean island, the two of them all muddy and messed up from working on the dig all day.
And it makes me happy to think of them together.
It’s wonderful here too, in a way that I’ve never experienced before. Being with James, I mean. The two of us together, growing closer and closer all the time. I love just being with him, doing our own thing, and the way he is with Mum and Dad. He just fits right in, and he ‘gets’ Dad in the way that few people do.
‘I like the way he turns an apology into an insult,’ he says as we find ourselves alone in my parents’ kitchen.
‘What d’you mean?’ I ask.
‘That thing with Minnie and the little terrier.’ He’s referring to a moment last night, when the four of uswent out to Camille’s restaurant. We’d taken Minnie along too because Camille always makes a big fuss of her. But there’d also been a small brown and white terrier at the restaurant and Minnie had been a bit barky and not especially friendly, I have to say.
‘Sorry, she’s not good with little rat-like dogs,’ Dad had announced loudly, clutching his glass of red wine.
‘You know what he’s like,’ I say, laughing – because by now, James actually does know him, and Mum too. He knows Dad has never learnt French beyond the basic phrases. He can order a croque monsieur, have a new battery put in his ancient car and call a plumber. But he loves it here, if he’d only admit it: the climate, the wine, the food and, of course, my mum.
He has a small collection of friends too: elderly men who get together in the local bar and watch football on the blaring TV. My parents are happy, and I am too, especially when I check my phone to see a message from Charlie. ‘James,’ I call out, ‘Charlie says they’re coming here.’
‘What? Who’s coming?’
‘Esther and Charlie,’ I exclaim. ‘They’ve booked flights. They’re coming tomorrow!’
‘I thought they were meant to be on their dig?’ he says, but I know he’s delighted.
‘They just fancy a few days in the sun, he says.’ I look at James, who’s slicing figs for the sweet pie I’m planning to make for dinner. This is a dish that will definitely go into my book.
