‘In your perfect French?’

  ‘Don’t mock me, I saved your life!’

  ‘I suppose that means we’re finally equal now!’

  We both smile. We both get it. We both know how far we’d go for one another.

  ‘I also called Anna to tell her everything that happened. I explained you were in the hospital but you were OK, and I would update her when you were awake. Obviously she’s very worried.’

  ‘Oh, she must be. Thank you for calling her. I’m sorry, Ian, for taking the bike, and for storming off.’

  ‘No, you don’t have to apologize. I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m sorry about the letters. There’s no excuse. I don’t know why I … I guess I was annoyed at Sylvie. I lost my two best friends because of that trip. Maybe there was part of me that was jealous, too. I was envious that you had a girl who wrote you these wonderful letters. But I should have told you when we reunited. It’s just … to be perfectly honest, I don’t have that many friends and I was excited about this trip with you, and I just didn’t want to lose you again. When you mentioned you were back in touch with Sylvie, I was actually hoping I could help rectify my mistake, help you finally meet her.’

  I smile at Ian for his honesty.

  ‘It’s OK. I understand. And without you I wouldn’t have left the B&B, or had this adventure, which, as you say, might lead me to Sylvie, so I’m very thankful to you for that. Really.’

  ‘I’m sorry as well for saying what I said about you not living your life. I know the last few years must have been difficult for you.’

  ‘No, you were right with what you said. It is time I started living again. Although getting hit by a car is not the best way to begin that!’

  We stop talking as soon as we hear the door opening. I look up, but my neck twinges as I do so. A doctor – young, dark haired and ridiculously good-looking – walks in.

  ‘We are used to English patients here. But normally those with sunstroke, not people who have been hit by cars,’ he smiles. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘I think that’s what you need to tell me,’ I manage to utter back, feeling tired again already. Ian returns to his fold-down chair, getting out of the doctor’s way as he looks at his clipboard.

  ‘I’ve just had a look at your scans and you seem to be unscathed. You’ve got a nasty cut on your head, and some severe bruising to your body, but there are no broken bones. You were very lucky.’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it,’ Ian chips in.

  ‘You may experience nausea, blurred vision and headaches over the next few hours. The best thing to do is just try and rest.’

  ‘How long do I have to stay in for?’

  ‘We need to keep you here overnight, and then you need to rest at home for a few days.’

  ‘But we are cycling to Arcachon,’ I interrupt him.

  He looks at me like the concussion is worse than feared, and I’ve completely lost the plot.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s no way you’re cycling anywhere,’ the doctor replies.

  ‘But we need to be in Arcachon in two days to spread our friend’s ashes –’

  ‘– And we need to see Sylvie,’ Ian calls out, smiling.

  ‘I really wouldn’t advise cycling for a few weeks,’ the doctor says sternly now.

  ‘We don’t have a few weeks, we need to be in Arcachon for the fourteenth. And then I need to be back in England for my daughter’s wedding.’

  He looks at his clipboard again.

  ‘If I was you, I’d let us monitor you here, and then you can fly home when you’re ready, and take it easy for the next couple of weeks, try to avoid any stress, and enjoy your daughter’s wedding.’

  I look across at Ian, devastated, feeling like I’ve let Raj down.

  With his damning verdict, the doctor renders our trip a failure once again.

  47

  I say goodbye to Anna, put the phone down, and gently nod to Ian, who peers through the door to check that it’s OK for him to re-enter my hospital room. His face smudged up against the glass reminds me of him looking through our classroom door at school. I almost expect him to stick out his tongue.

  ‘Thanks for giving me some privacy,’ I say, as he walks back in with two glasses of water, passing me one.

  ‘How was Anna?’

  ‘Understandably worried, but reassured that I couldn’t be too badly hurt given I still made a couple of awful dad jokes.’

  ‘It could have been a lot worse.’

  ‘The jokes?’

  ‘The crash!’ He rolls his eyes.

  ‘Obviously, I know it could have been much, much worse, and I do feel fortunate that it wasn’t. But I’m still absolutely gutted that both times we’ve attempted this trip, it’s ended in complete and utter disaster. I’m so upset that we’re not able to get to Arcachon for Raj. If I hadn’t gone off …’

  ‘There’s no point in going over what we could or should have done on either occasion.’ Ian still loiters beside my bed. ‘I guess we’ll just have to finish the ride later in the year?’

  ‘But we wanted to be there for the fireworks again! That was the whole point.’

  ‘Next July then?’

  ‘Who knows what will be happening next year? We can’t leave it that long.’ I look across at Ian, exasperated.

  ‘And we can’t leave it that long for you to meet Sylvie either. You’ve waited quite long enough, no thanks to me.’

  ‘I don’t know. Don’t you think someone is trying to tell us something?’

  ‘What are they trying to tell us? That exercise is dangerous? That it’s much easier to fly to France?’

  ‘I just wonder, for whatever reason, maybe I’m not meant to meet Sylvie,’ I sigh, as a couple of nurses peek through the door window as they pass.

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘It’s been lovely getting back in touch with her, and it’s felt really natural. The other night when we were at the karaoke, for the first time I felt something else, something more.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Which is daft, I know, because we’ve still never met, and even if we did meet, there’s nothing to say she’d feel the same. But, I feel like that for the first time about someone again, and bang, look what happened. Maybe this is a sign from Caroline?’

  ‘A sign from Caroline? Are you being serious?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Please don’t tell me you actually believe that. I’m going to go and get the doctor back here right now if you talk any more nonsense like that. I don’t think your head can be all right.’

  ‘I just think someone or something is trying to stop me meeting Sylvie,’ I reason.

  ‘If Caroline was going to send you some kind of mystical, magical sign, trust me it’s not this. She wouldn’t put you in hospital! You didn’t get hit by a car because you fancy someone.’

  I simply nod, and then glance at the machine next to my bed which makes a strange beeping noise momentarily.

  ‘I know it must be strange, but you are allowed to feel that way. It’s been ten years now. You said Anna has been trying to set you up on dates, right? She thinks it’s OK for you to meet someone new. I’m sure Caroline would, too.’

  ‘Would she? I don’t know that. There was no lengthy process where she deteriorated over months, and we could have heart-to-heart conversations about what she wanted me to do, or for her to give me her blessing to move on. I hear what you’re saying, but I’m not sure if it’s as easy as you make out. That’s why I was saying the other day that I wasn’t sure about meeting Sylvie. I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do. I don’t know if I want to risk falling for someone.’

  ‘I can understand how difficult everything must be, but don’t let the past hold you back. You’ve got to look forward – even if forward is with someone from the past – oh, you get my drift!’

  ‘Anyway, this is all a pointless conversation. You heard the doctor, it’s all over.’

  ‘Maybe it doesn’t have to be over quite yet? I’ve got an idea …’

  48

  ‘Are you sure you’re comfortable there?’ Ian asks, as I gingerly shuffle across into the window seat.

  ‘Yes, I’m good thanks,’ I reply, trying to mask the pain.

  Ian lifts our bags into the overhead compartment, taking his new role as my carer very seriously. He tries to make the lifting look effortless, but he nearly topples over under the weight.

  ‘Have you got enough leg room?’

  ‘I’m fine, honestly. Thank you very much, though,’ I reply, encouraging Ian to sit down next to me, in case someone takes the empty seat, and before he injures himself too. The trip was meant to make us fitter; we can’t both return to the UK as invalids.

  ‘Arcachon here we come, hey!’ Ian smiles as he finally sits down at the table seat.

  The doctor may have said we couldn’t continue our journey by bike, but he didn’t ban us from using the train.

  And so, that’s how we find ourselves on the 14.47 to Arcachon. With an approximate four-hour journey time, we’ll have caught up with our lost days, make it in time for the fireworks, and be back on track to catch our flight home from Bordeaux in a couple of days’ time.

  Despite boarding early to make sure we got seats, the train is already busy; the aisle jammed by people likewise struggling to lift their baggage into the storage above their seats. There is also the inevitable confusion regarding seat reservations, and someone seems to be sitting in the wrong seat, or the right seat but the wrong carriage, which slows everyone else down. One man is sticking two fingers up, and I’m not sure if he’s looking for Carriage Two or he’s simply swearing at someone.

  I look out the window, watching the floods of commuters rushing along the platform – families arriving in La Rochelle, day trippers going to catch the bus onwards to Ile de Ré. I can’t help but chuckle as a love-struck boyfriend waves from the platform to his girlfriend, not realizing that she has moved to a different carriage and that he’s actually waving at a very flattered old woman who simply smiles back through the tinted glass windows, wondering who her new admirer is. He continues waving until he’s shouted at by an over-officious guard telling him to stand back from the platform edge, and the train slowly stutters out of the station.

  ‘Have you messaged Sylvie yet to tell her we are going to be in Bordeaux tomorrow?’

  Since admitting the truth about Sylvie’s old letters, he seems to now be as outwardly invested in our potential reunion as I am.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘What are you waiting for? I thought we decided that you were going to see her. We’re going to have two days in Bordeaux, so that’s plenty of time for you two to meet up.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I suppose I am just a bit nervous about it all.’

  ‘Pre-date nerves are normal.’

  ‘I told you, it’s not a date! It’s just two old friends finally meeting. Let’s just take things slowly. I’m just nervous about what happens if we don’t click in real life. I mean, this meeting has had a long build up! Talk about raising expectations.’

  ‘Well, you’re not going to find out unless you meet each other. Hurry up and invite her on this non-date date. Tell her you’ll meet her tomorrow by …’ Ian flicks his guide book open that he has on the table ready to read. ‘Meet in front of the Opera House.’

  ‘Should I say anything else?’

  ‘Well, you need to give her a time!’

  For some reason, we both look at our watches.

  Hi Sylvie. Sorry for the delay – had a rather crazy couple of days. I’m actually going to be in Bordeaux tomorrow. Are you free to meet in front of the Bordeaux Opera House at 12pm? It would be great to see you if you’re free.

  I finish typing and read the message aloud.

  ‘Do you think that’s OK?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  ‘Remind me again why I’m taking advice from you,’ I smile at Ian.

  We don’t have to worry about the girl opposite eavesdropping on our conversation. The teenager is listening to music through her headphones, but she has the volume so loud that the whole carriage can hear every lyric of the song that is playing. She holds her phone up and takes selfie after selfie, checking each one before discarding them and attempting a different pose – with the window in view, without the window in view, looking at the camera, looking away.

  Her camera flashes manically as we speed past fields and fields of sunflowers which merge into a blur of yellow.

  ‘Nice scenery, isn’t it.’

  ‘Yes, it’s beautiful,’ Ian looks out of the window too. ‘It’s nice we can appreciate it now rather than have sweat dripping down our faces.’

  We speed past the land that we covered last time by bike, and we try our best to look out and spot any familiar locations, but the train moves too quickly.

  ‘Why didn’t we just take the train the whole way?’ I laugh.

  ‘It does feel a bit like cheating, though, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I actually remember reading somewhere that in one of the early Tours de France there was a cyclist who was disqualified after he was caught using trains rather than cycling.’

  ‘I’m surprised Lance Armstrong didn’t try and get away with that one! We gave the cycling a good crack, for two old timers,’ Ian says, patting his hand against my leg before realizing he’s hurting me.

  ‘But we have managed to end our trip without either of our bikes, so I’m not sure we can count it as a complete success,’ I joke.

  ‘But, we are still both alive.’

  ‘And Raj is still with us.’

  ‘Winning, really.’

  My mobile vibrates on the table.

  ‘What did she say?’ Ian asks immediately, before I’ve even picked it up.

  You’re going to be in Bordeaux?! Tomorrow?! That’s more than a bit of a surprise! But yes, I can certainly be free at midday.

  I hold the screen in front of Ian’s face, who simply winks back at me.

  Perfect. I look forward to finally meeting you then. See you at 12!

  I quickly message back before I close my eyes and drift off for the rest of the journey to Arcachon, dreaming about our meeting.

  49

  THEN

  July 1975

  Simon stares incredulously at the sign welcoming the boys to the seaside resort of Arcachon.

  ‘What?! We were basically in Bordeaux! You’ve taken us in the wrong direction!’

  ‘It looked like we just needed to cycle straight so that’s what we’ve been doing,’ Ian shouts back defensively.

  ‘Yes, but clearly we’ve been cycling straight along the wrong road for the last two hours. You were meant to be looking at the map,’ Simon moans as a blue Renault 12 beeps and drives past the three of them as they loiter in the road.

  To avoid being run over, they decide to pull over. Raj quickly snatches the paper map off Ian, which he should have done three hours ago.

  ‘Look! When we came in from the coastal path, we were meant to turn left there, not right! I honestly don’t even know how you’ve managed this.’ Raj doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He moves his finger across from Bordeaux to Arcachon, to show Simon where they are exactly as he huddles behind him.

  ‘I knew we weren’t going in the right direction!’

  ‘I don’t know why you’re blaming me, you could have looked at the map yourself. Anyway, I wanted to come here,’ Ian looks across at the sign. ‘I’ve heard Archa … Arcachon is really nice.’

  ‘Yeah, who told you that?’

  ‘Just someone. You don’t know them.’

  ‘So you mean to say, you’ve not mistakenly led us miles out of our way when we could have been in Bordeaux by now? But in fact, you deliberately decided that we should visit and you just thought you’d leave it as a surprise?’

  ‘Yeah, exactly.’

  They both look at Ian, sceptical of every word which comes out of his mouth.

  ‘So I guess we’re going to have to find somewhere to camp here, and then head to Bordeaux tomorrow?’ Raj talks to Simon as he checks his watch.

  Simon nods back, disappointed that his union with Sylvie has been delayed.

  ‘Look how nice it is here. I just thought we could enjoy the beach first before we go to Bordeaux.’ Ian, oblivious to their conversation, continues to defend himself.

  As the boys look out across the beautiful sandy coastline, Ian’s eyes bulge as he taps Raj’s arm excitedly.

  ‘Now I see why you took us on a detour …’ Raj gawps as two topless women walk out of the blue water.

  ‘I told you, lads … trust me, I know what I am doing!’

  *

  ‘See! All these people must know it’s the place to come.’ Ian keeps up his pretence as the trio walk across the packed beach, in between hundreds, probably thousands of others. Some wave French flags in the air, others have colour coded their outfits in red, white and blue. There is a joyful, celebratory mood in the air.

  ‘It’s the fourteenth of July, it’s Bastille Day! France’s national day. That’s why it’s so busy,’ Raj says smugly.

  ‘How do you know so much? It’s weird,’ Ian laughs, as they find a patch of sand to sit on. ‘I’ve never heard of it.’

  As he finishes talking, a beach ball lands next to them, and they see a blonde-haired woman chasing after it.

  ‘Pardon, sorry,’ she says.

  ‘That’s OK,’ Raj blushes as he passes the inflated ball back to her.

  ‘You are English?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ah, that is nice. We are from Munich in Germany.’

  ‘Germany? Ian here is fluent in German, aren’t you?’ Simon turns to Ian.

  ‘Es ist schön dich zu treffen,’ the girl smiles at him.

  Ian freezes on the spot, much to Simon and Raj’s amusement.

  ‘Uhhhh, yes, sorry, ja.’

  The girl bursts into laughter.

  ‘Möchtest du uns beitreten? That means, do you want join us?’ She winks at Ian who is still dumbstruck.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26