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‘This is Plémont headland, before they tore the holiday resort down. It looks completely different now.’ He flicks on through the pages to a picture of my mum standing in front of a hut by the sea. ‘This must be the Écréhous, these huts are still all there.’
He tells me where each photo is taken. This is exactly the kind of intel I need if I’m to retrace their steps – take the same journey that the coin took my mother on.
‘Listen, how would you feel about being my island tour guide tomorrow? I want to go to all the places in these photographs.’
He shuts the album and hands it back to me.
‘I’m afraid I only drive some evenings.’
‘Oh, right, never mind. It was just a thought.’ I can’t hide my disappointment. I guess there will be other cab drivers who know the island just as well as Beardy McCastaway. ‘Can I just write down some of the names you said in my phone? How do you spell Play Mont?’ I unlock my phone screen to make notes, my other hand reaching for my pendant, twisting the chain. When I look up, waiting for him to answer, he’s looking right at me with those intense eyes of his.
He sighs. ‘I’ll take you. You won’t find half these places on your own.’
‘Are you sure? I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’
‘It’s not a problem. Shall we meet in the morning?’ He pulls out a card from the glove box and hands it back to me. It has ‘Gerald Palmerston, St Ouen’s Cabs’, and then a contact number printed on the front. ‘Wait, I’ll write my mobile number on there.’ He takes the card back, finds a pen in the driver’s door, and scribbles it down.
‘You’re Gerald, then?’ I ask, biting my lip. There shouldn’t be anything funny about the name Gerald, but I wouldn’t put Beardy McCastaway down as one.
‘Gerry’s my dad.’
‘Family business?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Well, I’m Laura,’ I say.
‘Ted,’ he replies. Yes, Ted, that suits him much better.
Back in my room, I order a club sandwich from room service and google ‘J. Le Maistre’ to see if I can find a likely candidate or a phone number. When I have no success, I call Vanya.
‘Hey, chick. How was the flight?’
‘Fine—’
‘Hey, I just remembered that literary and potato-peel pie film is set in Jersey, isn’t it? Maybe you should join a book club, meet some hot farmers. Worked for Lily James.’
‘That was Guernsey, different Channel Island, plus that was set eighty years ago. Listen, Vanya, can I ask you something?’
‘Always.’
‘If I told you I picked up the wrong suitcase from the airport, and the case’s contents made me feel like they belonged to the person I’m supposed to be with – would it be insane to try and track that person down?’
‘I knew it! I knew something like this would happen. Didn’t I tell you my Spidey senses were tingling? Oh Laura, you would be insane not to track him down!’ Her voice swoons down the phone.
‘That’s what I thought.’
I can always rely on Vanya.
When my club sandwich arrives, I feel a sense of eager anticipation – mainly about the sandwich, because I’m ravenous – but also because somewhere on this small island is J. Le Maistre – my potential soulmate – and tomorrow I am going to find him, and the next chapter of my life can finally begin.
