The Women Who Ran Away - Sheila O'Flanagan Page 0,24
sane.’
How would she and Gavin have coped with a small boy who was bored? Deira wondered. She would have been well prepared in advance with books and games to keep him amused, but would she have caved in on sweets or biscuits or other rubbish to keep him quiet? She accepted that children got fed up in a car. So there might have been tears and fretfulness and arguments. All the same, she was sure she would have managed.
But there were no children to take into account, and Gavin had planned a series of exclusive hotels for this holiday. Chateaux and country houses, no campsites. Yes, I want to do Brittany again, he’d said, but no, I don’t want to rough it. I did the camping thing once and that was enough. Nothing but the best this time. Leave it all to me. So she had. But then he’d dropped his bombshell, and there was no more talk of spending idyllic nights in French chateaux.
He’d said he was sorry.
And that, pretty much, was that.
Her fingers tightened around the waxed cup and the coffee almost sloshed over the side with the pressure. She willed herself to relax once more. But the rage still balled inside her, hard and unforgiving.
She took her phone from her bag. The missed-call notification was still on the screen, and even as she looked at it, the phone rang again with the same caller ID that she hadn’t recognised earlier.
‘Yes?’ Her tone was cautious.
‘Bonjour! It’s me.’
‘Tillie!’ She sighed with relief. ‘What number are you ringing from?’
‘Long, boring story about smashing my phone last night and having to borrow one,’ said her friend. ‘I thought I’d call and see how you were doing. I missed you earlier.’
‘That was you ringing me at the crack of dawn?’ exclaimed Deira. ‘You scared the life out of me; I’d no idea who it was.’
‘I went for an early-morning jog,’ explained Tillie. ‘Sorry if I startled you.’
‘I thought it might be . . . Well, I’d no idea who it might be,’ said Deira. ‘But it’s lovely to hear from you.’
‘So . . . how are you? Are you OK to talk while you’re driving?’
‘I’m grand. The weather is gorgeous. And you’ve caught me while I’m having a coffee at a service station, so it’s fine to talk.’
‘How much longer to Paris?’ asked Tillie. ‘Have you decided where you’re going to stay?’
‘Not yet,’ replied Deira. She watched some more passengers from the ferry walk to another enormous camper van. She’d never considered a camper van holiday. She still wouldn’t. But at least their owners had ready-made accommodation. ‘I was looking at TripAdvisor last night. You know me, hopeless at choosing anywhere.’
‘Pick the first place that doesn’t look like the Bates Motel,’ advised her friend. ‘You can always change after the first night. Any word from you-know-who?’
‘No,’ said Deira. ‘And hopefully I won’t hear from him until he realises the car is gone.’
‘Maybe not even then,’ said Tillie.
‘He’ll figure it out eventually. But feck it, Tillie, we were going to come here in this car together. Why shouldn’t I take it?’’
‘No reason at all.’ Tillie gave the same assurance she’d given from the moment Deira had told her about her plan. ‘I was wondering, though – he doesn’t have some kind of webcam alarm on it, does he?’
‘Is there such a thing?’ Deira thought of Gavin tracking her and felt sick.
‘I dunno,’ replied Tillie. ‘The world is full of so many gadgets, it’s not impossible, but you would’ve seen it, I’m sure. Anyhow, I sent you my most positive vibes this morning, so I promise everything is going to be fine. I went to my favourite spot in the woods behind my house and drenched you in sunlight and good thoughts.’
‘Thanks.’ Even though Deira didn’t believe that Tillie’s positivity would have the slightest effect on her life, she was grateful for her friend’s unconditional support.
‘I sent thoughts that you’d be happy and maybe meet someone but not do anything mad.’
And there it was, thought Deira. Tillie’s inevitable warning.
‘If there’s an opportunity, I’ll take it,’ she said. ‘I don’t have that many, after all. I’m thirty-fecking-nine, Tillie. I’m positively geriatric.’
‘You’re not, you know you’re not. You’re a strong, confident woman—’
‘Ha!’ Deira’s snort interrupted her.
‘You are. So have a great holiday,’ Tillie added. ‘Just . . . you know . . . take care.’
‘I might check out Airbnbs around here instead of hotels in Paris.’ Deira changed the subject.