He took a step back and looked over his shoulder. Hattie realised that they had an audience, including Alphonse, Yvette, Solange and Bertrand. She caught sight of Fliss, who gave her a quick thumbs-up.
‘Fliss was right,’ she growled.
‘Fliss? Who’s Fliss?’
‘I am an enabler. It’s me that keeps enabling you to rely on me. But you’re not my responsibility. You have to do things for yourself. I can’t make you better.’
‘I can do things for myself.’ He was suddenly belligerent. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’
‘Yes, you are.’ Hattie nodded sadly. Here because he wanted something. ‘It’s over, Chris. I’m not coming back.’
She heard a cheer and spotted Solange and Fliss doing an incongruous fist bump.
‘But … but …’ Chris’s face crumpled in familiar distress but this time she steeled herself against it, determined to be honest with him – and herself.
‘I’m in love with someone else.’ As soon as she said the words, lightness settled on her.
Solange beamed at her like a proud mother hen.
‘I need to go to the hospital,’ she said, more to herself than to him, and ran towards the table where she and Fliss had set up their base. Grabbing the basket, she rummaged frantically for her car keys. Where were they? She tipped the basket upside down and pawed her way through the contents. They weren’t there.
She turned to find Chris on her heels.
‘My car keys. I can’t find them,’ she said in a panic.
Solange barrelled over, almost knocking Chris out of the way in her haste. ‘No need. We’ll take the minibus. Dorothea hasn’t been drinking.’
When had Solange become so bossy? Hattie found herself hustled along to the ancient red minibus, which was supposed to be taking the wedding party to the restaurant and sandwiched in the first row of seats between Solange and Leonora. Dorothea climbed into the driver’s seat and tossed her high heels into the passenger footwell.
‘Don’t worry about Marthe,’ said Leonora, patting Hattie’s hand. ‘She’s very strong. Like an old vine.’
‘You fool, Leonora. She’s worried about Luc. She’s in love with him.’
‘Ah,’ said Leonora, sighing and straightening up, as if realising she had a part to play in a drama. ‘Put your foot down, Dorothea. This is like one of those romantic films where you have to stop the hero flying away.’
‘Luc isn’t going anywhere. He’ll be sitting in the emergency waiting room,’ snapped Solange.
Hattie closed her eyes, praying that he was okay, vaguely aware of the three women bickering. A memory of Luc’s stricken expression as the ambulance doors closed played over and over in her head. Dorothea, obviously deciding that she wanted to play her part too, had put on her racing stripes and applied her foot to the accelerator. She swung the minibus round corners at speed as they hurtled down the country roads towards Reims. They narrowly missed a white van coming the other way and passed within a paper’s width of a cyclist but all Hattie could feel was gratitude and urgency. She had to tell Luc she loved him, that she wanted to stay. That he wouldn’t be on his own. That she needed him as much as he needed her, even though he’d never said it. That was why she loved him. He didn’t ask anything of her she didn’t want to give.
Dorothea’s handbrake turn in the car park of the hospital pulled Hattie out of her thoughts.
‘Go, go, go,’ said Leonora, pushing her out of the minibus. Hattie didn’t need to be told twice. She ran into the hospital and in stumbling French asked about Marthe Brémont.
‘Are you a relative?’ said the middle-aged receptionist in perfect English.
Hattie shook her head. ‘No but…’
‘I’m very sorry but we can’t give out information to anyone who isn’t a close relative.’ The woman smiled, her eyes softening with kindness even though Hattie knew she probably had to say the same thing every day of her working life.
‘I know. Her nephew is with her. It’s him I want.’ She couldn’t help but let her desperation show.
‘All I can suggest is that you check the waiting room. If he’s not there he’ll be with her or with the doctors. But I think he’ll be back soon. Why don’t you take a seat?’
‘Thank you.’ Hattie nodded. Before she turned away the woman was already busy answering the next enquiry.
The emergency waiting room, like any other she’d ever visited, was almost full and she scanned the faces, mostly grey thanks to the harsh, unforgiving overhead lights. She spotted him almost immediately, hunched up in the corner, the bottle of champagne at his feet and his head in his hands, the protective curl of his body reminded her of an armadillo trying to keep scary things at bay. She’d never seen Luc look so vulnerable. He was always so sure of himself. Confident in his own skin.
She walked over to the row of shiny grey moulded plastic chairs and sat down, the silk of her dress whispering as she settled next to him. Without hesitation, she put a hand on his arm.
