I woke up with a conviction that I was going to do something. I need to convince Sarah to come with me. I can’t bear the thought of her travelling on the train alone. We can go quickly if she needs to get back to work; France isn’t going anywhere; I can visit another time.
In truth, I can’t bear the thought of saying goodbye to her. Not right now. In all the parenting to-ing and fro-ing, I forgot something really important. There was a reason that Sarah and I got together all those years ago. We got on like a house on fire. We laughed at the same things. With everything that happened since, having a kid together, we were kind of forced into each other’s lives so much that we forgot there was ever a time when we chose each other.
I never thought I’d say it, but I’ll miss her. I’m not ready for the holiday to end yet.
I notice Vivian out in the garden. She’s kneeling on a rubber mat, working the dry ground with a trowel. The sound of the kettle boiling in the kitchen alerts me to the fact that Sarah’s in there alone. I tell myself it’s now or never.
As I walk into the kitchen, Sarah turns to me and her face breaks out into an enormous smile.
I smile back. ‘You look like the cat who got the cream!’ I say.
‘I kind of am!’ She smiles. ‘Guess who’s got a fully paid-for car with chauffeur coming to pick her up and drive her back to Cambridge in style!’
My mouth drops open. ‘Really? That must have cost a fortune.’
‘Yeah, I guess so.’ She beams at me, the joy just emanating from her.
Peter’s coughed up for a luxury lift home for her. And of course he’s completely right. Sarah shouldn’t be taking the train, or slumming it in Betty. Not with her leg and after everything she’s been through. I feel a curious mix of admiration and hate. Admiration for Peter and his resourcefulness, and hate for myself.
Yes, it would have been expensive. Probably at least a couple of grand. But I have the money. It’s sitting in the bank doing very little. I could easily have done this for her. Only I didn’t think. As usual, I was considering my own needs, not hers. Offering her a lift in Betty, rather than thinking about what would make things easier for her.
I might have the means to provide something like this, but I don’t have the wherewithal to think of it. And I realise, with a sinking heart, that this is a sign. I need to step aside; the better man has won.
Sarah doesn’t just need someone to love her. She needs someone who sees her, understands her. The smile that’s spreadacross her face is happiness, but it’s also relief. She was worried about the train journey and she’s been rescued.
‘It’s brilliant,’ I tell her. ‘Why not travel in style, eh!’
‘Thanks.’ She pours water into a cup, adds a teabag. ‘Sorry, did you want anything?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘No, I’m fine.’
‘It’ll be weird,’ she tells me. ‘Being on my own. I’ve kind of got used to having you around.’
‘Yeah, I know. Me too,’ I manage.
I smile at her as she watches the green tea bleed into the hot water. Then I go back to my room. Everything in there seems duller, heavier. But at least I have my answer. And it’s fine. Well, it’s not exactlyfine, but I’ll learn to live with it. Without her. Without the little seed of hope I’d allowed myself to nurture.
Her car arrives two hours later. It’s a black Mercedes, the back windows blacked out as if Sarah’s a celebrity who needs to be shielded from public view. The guy driving is properly dressed up too – navy suit, even a hat. He holds the door open for her, and she hobbles in as gracefully as she can.
I lift her luggage into the boot for her, brushing off the chauffeur’s offer to help. Vivian stands at the open rear window and says her goodbyes. ‘Don’t be a stranger,’ she tells her.
‘I won’t, Mum.’ Sarah’s voice is soft. She holds her hand out to her mother and Vivian catches it, puts it to her cheek. It’s such a gentle, loving gesture that I’m momentarily taken aback.
Then Vivian steps back and it’s my turn. I lean in and kiss Sarah on the forehead. ‘Take care of yourself, OK?’
‘I’ll try.’
‘And you know. Make sure Peter doesn’t let you work too hard.’
‘He won’t,’ she tells me. ‘Don’t worry. He said he’s going to go easy on me.’
I nod. ‘Well, good.’
Sarah gives a little wave to both of us before closing the window. I’m confronted then with a vision of myself, standing in my creased T-shirt with my messy hair, looking every inch the loser I suppose I am.
Vivian and I stand and wave as the Mercedes purrs off into the distance, taking a bit of each of our hearts with it.
Then, when the engine sound has faded and there’s no point standing there any more, I clap my hands together. ‘Right!’ I tell her. ‘I’d better be off.’
