I correct him. ‘There’s nothing to rebound.’
‘You’re trying to make him jealous, though.’
‘Maybe, sorry.’
I shrivel into myself just a bit. He’s right, I am, and it’s unfair to use him like that. I look up in shame, ready to apologise profusely, but he remains cool and collected.
‘I’m not mad at it.’
He turns off the grill, shoving his phone in his pocket before starting up the path. After a moment, he looks behind him and chuckles softly at the sight of me, still frozen where he left me.
‘Come on,’ he says, tucking me under his arm the second I appear next to him. ‘It’s getting late and it’s about time you put those bags down. Let me show you to your new room.’
. . .a bright-blue goodbye
‘Easy there.’
Sam’s hand flies to cuff my elbow, stopping me from stacking on the rocks for maybe the fifth time in forty minutes. I nod in appreciation, too out of breath to speak, and he smiles knowingly before linking his arm through mine.
‘Maybe you should keep hold of me. Save me from fishing you out of the water.’
‘You think I’d make the fall?’
‘I’d rather not find out.’ He grips me tighter.
I take a moment to glance down at the steep drop to our right, nothing but a trail of low, uneven rocks between us and the crashing waves of the ocean. The UK could never – there’d be railings and fences everywhere. But here we are, South of France, roaming free and perilous.
‘Whydidyou wear Birkenstocks?’ he asks.
I yell in defence: ‘They said we were going to the beach!’
‘Hikingto the beach. The “hike” part was very clear.’
He powers on, the strength of his hold pulling me along with him as he subtly aims to catch up with the rest of the group. Thanks to my footwear and general lack of athletic ability, we’ve created quite a gap between us and the people in front. I didn’t realise just how bad it was, but, following his eyes now, I can barely distinguish anyone. I scan the distant blob for Noah’s curls, try to make out his backpack, but it’s no use. I can barely tell they’re people from here. I take a deep breath and pick up the pace.
Sam and I ended up awake most of the night, so I was somewhat delirious when El burst in our room and shared today’s plan. I heard ‘beach’ and ‘leave in thirty’ and jumped straight into the shower, packed a towel, book and water, and threw my new sundress (bought for me by Sara) over my bikini. What I apparently missed was the fairly vital titbit that said beach we were visiting was in Villefranche-sur-Mer, a nearby village a mere ten minutes away by train or, for the sadists, a two-hour hike.
‘If it helps, there’s not much of this left,’ he says.
‘Of the hike?’ I perk up.
‘Of these rocks,’ he says guiltily. ‘Didn’t mean to get your hopes up like that, sorry.’
‘It’s all good, I think the lack of sleep is making me cranky. Thanks for last night, by the way. You really didn’t have to help me like that.’
He shrugs it off. ‘It was nothing, I was happy to help. You gonna talk to him today?’
Now it’s my turn to shrug. ‘Ishould, shouldn’t I? Get it out of the way.’
‘But . . .’
‘It’s so much easier just avoiding him,’ I say.
‘You can’t avoid him for ever. Especially with what you’ve decided.’
‘I know.’ I shudder just at the thought of telling him what I decided last night. ‘But I can try.’
Then we start on the steps. The two hundred and fifty-four steps. The two hundred and fifty-four shadeless steps, in the blistering heat. And almost immediately, any thoughts about Noah or El or Sam are brushed aside, replaced with nothing but torment and agony. I don’t know how we get to the top – I’ll admit I think I blacked out – but eventually we continue single file down a poor excuse of a pavement next to a considerablybusy road. I hear someone ahead complaining about this being the ‘least scenic part’ but I couldn’t care less. I’m just happy to finally have some flat ground.
