The Women Who Ran Away - Sheila O'Flanagan Page 0,26
manage to put your hands out to stop yourself in time. You’re lucky you didn’t smack right down on your face.’
‘I guess so.’ Deira winced and gently rubbed her side as she finally succeeded in sitting up. The man had been joined by some of the café’s staff, including a young woman whose badge said ‘Chantelle’ and who asked her, in English, if she needed medical assistance.
‘No,’ said Deira. ‘Thank you. I’m OK.’ But she winced again.
‘It was an awful fall,’ said the man.
‘There was nothing on the floor for you to fall over.’ Chantelle, who seemed to be the manager, looked anxious.
The man shrugged. ‘There could have been a small spillage.’
‘We are very careful,’ said Chantelle. ‘We clean all the time.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Deira said to the younger woman. ‘I’m not going to sue you. It was an accident.’
‘Can I get you another coffee?’ Chantelle asked.
‘No thanks,’ replied Deira.
‘You should have something,’ the man told her. ‘Give yourself a few minutes before you get back into your car.’
Deira thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘A tea, please,’ she said.
‘Black?’
‘Um . . . do you have peppermint?’
‘Of course.’
‘That would be perfect. Thank you.’
She made an effort to get to her feet, assisted by the man, who supported her as he led her to a table. The knot of people who’d been watching dispersed. Deira released a slow breath and then allowed herself to sit on one of the plastic chairs.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ the man asked.
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Deira.
‘Would these help?’ He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and handed her a strip of foil-wrapped Nurofen.
Deira was about to say that she didn’t need them when another sharp pain in her side made her realise that she probably did. After Chantelle had left her with the peppermint tea and a strawberry macaron ‘on the house’, she swallowed two of the tablets.
‘There must have been something on the floor no matter what she says.’ The man looked sceptical.
‘I didn’t see anything,’ said Deira. ‘And the fact that I went face down makes me think I simply tripped over my own clumsy feet.’
He laughed. ‘You don’t look clumsy.’
‘I can be.’ She took a sip of the tea and felt her shoulders relax.
‘Have you decided where you’re going yet?’ he asked.
‘Bordeaux,’ she replied.
He looked concerned. ‘That’s another five hours. It’s a long drive, especially if you’re in pain.’
‘Do you know the route?’ she asked.
‘I’ve driven it a few times,’ he replied. ‘It’s pleasant enough, but do remember that the French will drive up behind you and expect you to get out of the way if you’re in any of the outside lanes. They take no prisoners on the motorways, you know.’
Deira smiled. ‘I’ll be careful. Are you going that way yourself?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m off to Paris.’
If falling had been a sign, perhaps she should abandon her decision to go to Bordeaux and revert to her original plan of driving to Paris instead, thought Deira. And perhaps she could meet up with her knight in shining armour for a drink later. Because bumping into him again had to mean something. Didn’t it?
He stood up.
‘If you’re sure you’re all right, I’ll be off.’
‘I’m much better now,’ she told him. ‘Honestly. And thanks for looking after me.’
‘No problem,’ he said. ‘Au revoir.’
‘Au revoir,’ she repeated as he walked away.
Her eyes followed him out of the café and across the car park. He unlocked a medium-sized red van and got in.
It hadn’t been a sign.
He still wasn’t the one.
It was another fifteen minutes before she returned to her own car. Alone again in the café, her hands had begun to tremble and she’d suddenly felt a lot shakier than she’d done when she’d been insisting she was fine. She told herself it was the coffee that was making her shake, not the shock. But she took her time before leaving.
She grimaced as she slid gingerly into the driver’s seat. For someone who’d once prided herself on her insights and competence, she’d turned out to be pretty shit at both. If Gavin were here, he’d laugh at her. But he wasn’t.
She blinked back the ever-ready tears as she started the car and flicked to the satnav menu, entering Bordeaux as her destination. It was nearly five hundred kilometres away, and the (still nameless) man from the services was right: the journey would take about five hours. Hopefully, she thought, the Nurofen would keep her pain-free till then.