The Women Who Ran Away - Sheila O'Flanagan Page 0,17
suited him.
Could he be the one? The question flashed into her head almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Could it be him? Was it fate meeting him here, now? What would Tillie think? What would she say?
Deira already knew, because even though Tillie hadn’t said it earlier, she’d said it more than once when she’d learned of Deira’s plans. ‘Don’t do anything crazy. Don’t make a rash decision.’
She squeezed her eyes closed. Part of the reason she’d decided to come away was to stop asking the same question every time she saw someone new. To put herself in a different place mentally and physically. And yet here she was, same old, sad old Deira. Gavin would laugh at her if he knew what was going through her head.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the stranger. ‘I thought you were feeling ill.’
‘I’m fine. Thank you.’
‘I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
‘It was kind of you to ask, though.’
‘It’s a bit choppy this evening,’ he said. ‘Sometimes it gets to people. But this wouldn’t be the best side to vomit from. The wind is coming from the west.’
‘Ugh.’ She smiled involuntarily at the image. ‘Do you do this crossing often?’
‘I used to do it more than I do now,’ he replied. ‘Always enjoy it. And you?’
‘It’s my first time,’ she said.
‘Are you driving far afterwards?’
She supposed this was a standard question on a ferry crossing.
‘I haven’t decided yet,’ she replied.
‘Flying by the seat of your pants.’ He grinned and pushed his hair out of his eyes. ‘I like that. Have fun.’
The door to the interior of the ferry opened and a family clattered out, the younger children shrieking in delight, their parents watching them closely as they ran along the deck.
‘I’d better get back in,’ said Deira. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘You too,’ said the man.
He took up her place at the rail.
She stepped inside again.
He was a random stranger.
He wasn’t the one.
It was considerably quieter now. Walking around the ferry again, Deira realised that many of the passengers had gone to the forward lounge, where there was music and entertainment, leaving other areas of the ship deserted. After buying some chocolate in the shop, for no reason other than something to do, she returned to the bar outside the restaurant, where she ordered the glass of wine she’d promised herself. She found a seat beside the window, then opened her iPad and selected maps.
If she stuck with her plan to go to Paris, the drive would take five and a half hours, excluding breaks, travelling via the motorway and main routes. It would be an hour longer if she chose to avoid motorways, but she reckoned it might be better to stick to the major routes for her first few hours on Continental soil. The last thing she wanted to do was wander around the back roads of Brittany without any clear idea of where she was. Obviously the satnav would eventually get her to her destination, but she and Gavin had once had a dodgy experience in Italy where the satnav in their rented car had chosen to bring them down some almost impassable local roads to reach their hotel when there was a perfectly good main-road alternative. (Afterwards she’d worked out it was because they’d selected ‘shortest route’ in the preferences. The local roads had certainly been shorter, but in Deira’s opinion, ‘avoid terrifying routes’ should have been an option too.)
She double-clicked on the map and brought up hotel suggestions for Paris. She didn’t want her journey around the French capital to be a hair-raising attempt to find a central hotel, so she looked at possibilities on the outskirts. If her dinner companion, the seemingly imperturbable Grace, was too terrified to drive through the city, Deira reckoned she’d struggle herself. In any event, it wasn’t as though she was a first-time visitor and needed to be in the centre. She’d been to Paris twice before with Gavin. On those occasions they’d taken the Métro from the airport to their chic boutique hotel. Staying outside the Périphérique would mean she could take the Métro again at first, and get her bearings before throwing herself at the mercy of the traffic.
Am I utterly bonkers to want to drive around one of the most chaotic cities in the world just because of a forty-year-old song? she asked herself. When I know there are plenty of things I can do no matter what age I am? What the hell is wrong with me?