Despite the fact that we’re in an area famed for its rustic landscapes, volcanic rock, gorges and rivers, the road we’re walking along is ordinary to its core. A strip of tarmac, flanked either side by high grass and bushes, over which it’s impossible to see anything of interest. I’m trying to keep track of how far we’ve come, but it feels as if the road might stretch on forever at this point.
‘Jealous!’ I say out of the blue.
Sébastien glances at me, confused.
‘Sarah. She gets jealous,’ I explain between ragged breaths. ‘She’s very controlling. You wouldn’t like it.’
He stops again, and this time I do bump into him a little bit.
‘Hal,’ he says, regarding me with his big, brown eyes. ‘I think I know what this is.’
‘You do?’
‘You do not want me to do this?’
‘What? No! Of course. Go ahead!’ I say, trying my best to give him an encouraging smile.
‘Why are you doing that?’
‘What?’
‘Baring your teeth,’ he says. ‘Like a wolf.’
Am I? ‘I’m smiling!’ I tell him. I touch my mouth as if to confirm, and let my lips slide back over my teeth.
His brow knits together and then, as though someone has given him a dose of instant Botox, smooths out. He grins and nods enthusiastically. ‘I understand! You love her.’
‘What? No! Of course not!’
‘But you do not want anyone else to be with her. You say she is beautiful. You have been lovers before and friends for decades…’ He counts off the evidence on his long, tanned fingers. His nails are perfectly short and white, I notice, as if he’s a fan of manicures rather than wild sleeping.
‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean…’
‘It’s more than that, though,’ he says thoughtfully, resuming his walk. ‘When I see you with her. You’re attentive, careful. You look at her sometimes as if she is the sun.’
I don’t point out that you’re not actually meant to look directly at the sun because of blindness. ‘Do I?’
‘Hal,’ he stops and puts his arms on my shoulders, his eyes fixed on mine. ‘You love her.’
‘No, of course I don’t.’
‘You love her.’
‘But why would you?—’
He nods. ‘You love her, Hal.’
And whether it’s just that I’m very suggestible, or the fact that I’m ten minutes away from heatstroke, or something to do with well-defined calves, or whether it’s Sébastien’s soothing tone and big brown eyes, something sinks inside me and I realise he just might be right. ‘I do,’ I say, incredulous. ‘I really do.’ Then, ‘Oh My God, don’t tell her!’
He laughs, but before I can ask him why, we turn the corner and suddenly everything opens out. We’re in front of a gentle river, flowing over rocks and widening to form a vast pool in front of a beach-like area made of grey, smooth stones. People are lying on towels or sitting on sunloungers they’ve brought with them. Some children are splashing in the shallows, and there are a few determined swimmers making their way under the bridge that spans the whole river. The sun beats down on the water, creating a pattern of shimmers and dips, and the thick,warm air takes on a thinner, fresher feel as it’s cooled by the water.
As soon as we’re on the edge of the rocks, Sébastien strips to a pair of tiny red trunks that give me flashbacks, and drops his backpack and clothing as if he has no further need of them. He strides to the water’s edge and, after peering over and checking the depth, slips into the water as easily as an otter. His head emerges, hair flattened by moisture, and he’s laughing. ‘Hal!’ he cries, seemingly oblivious to the ten or so people between us. ‘Take off your clothes!’
I get out my towel and try to drape it around myself as best I can. Like Sébastien, I’ve worn my swimming shorts under my regular shorts, so there’s really no risk of exposure. But old habits die hard – something about removing clothing in public brings out the wilting wallflower in me.
But at last, I’m ready. I put my clothes in a neat pile close to Sébastien’s and try as best I can to make my way across the rocks. Sébastien, of course, made this look effortless. I look more like a kid walking on hot tarmac or a mime acting out a tiptoe. It’s worth it though, when I get to the water. I dip in a foot, then lower my leg slightly, before stepping fully in. A couple of paces, and I’m up to my chest. I push forward in a gentle breaststroke and it’s as if the water is caressing me. There’s a gentle current, a warmth to the top layer and a delicious coolness underneath. I swim to where Sébastien is and flip over onto my back, and we both float and gaze up at the clear blue sky. We’re both otters now.
An incredible feeling of peace comes over me. I think about Sarah, about what Sébastien said. Could he be right? And something about that place and the soothing water and the fact that every ache and pain and stinging burnt patch on my body feels comfortable and caressed helps me to finally admit that yes – maybe I actually do.
