The Women Who Ran Away - Sheila O'Flanagan Page 0,32

she saw that it was late afternoon, and although her side still ached, she felt considerably better. She took a long shower, which eased the pain in her ribs, and felt herself relax even more. Afterwards she changed into a pair of cotton trousers and a light T-shirt from her case, swallowed a couple of paracetamol and went downstairs.

The sun was still shining and she took a short stroll around the hotel grounds. But beyond the river in the distance, there was very little to see, so she sat at one of the outdoor tables and scrolled through her phone. There were no further missed calls or messages from Gillian, although Deira’s home alarm app had sent a notification that showed the alarm being disarmed a couple of hours earlier, so she knew they’d arrived. Once again she felt a spurt of irritation that Gillian had put her in this position, as well as unease at the idea of her sister sleeping in her bed. She told herself that Gill was right and that as sisters it was perfectly reasonable for her to sleep in Deira’s room. But the point was, Deira thought, it wasn’t really just her room; it was still hers and Gavin’s, no matter what had happened. And Gill staying there was weird. Also – the thought made her shudder – she was pretty sure that even if Gill didn’t make a forensic examination of all her possessions, she’d still pull open the drawers in the chest against the bedroom wall, and examine the clothes in her wardrobe, and investigate the contents of the bathroom cabinet. She wouldn’t be able to help herself.

I should have been more forceful, thought Deira. I should have said no.

In her professional life she never had the slightest problem saying no, or telling people why an idea wouldn’t work. But as soon as Gill opened her mouth, Deira reverted to younger-sister mode, unable to stand up for herself in the face of Gill’s strength of personality.

‘Nothing I can do now,’ she muttered. No point in thinking about it.

She opened her phone and began to scroll through photographs of the French countryside on Instagram, but she couldn’t help running over her sister’s actions in her head. She rehearsed what she’d say to Gill the next time she saw her, while knowing that she’d forget all of it as soon as they actually met. Irritatingly, she only ever thought of the right words when it was too late.

A shadow fell across the screen and Deira looked up. When she saw it was Grace, she checked the time on her phone and was horrified to realise it was almost six thirty.

‘It’s unbelievable how much time you can waste doing nothing useful with your mobile,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise it was so late.’

‘My stomach told me it was time to eat.’ Grace smiled at her. ‘But if you’re busy . . .’

‘Like I said, just wasting time.’ Deira put the phone, and her thoughts of Gillian, away. ‘Have you got a plan for this evening? Did you want to eat here or in town?’

‘It’s a few years since I was last in Nantes,’ said Grace. ‘My husband and I went to a nice restaurant near the river that time. It’s about ten minutes by car.’

‘I don’t mind driving,’ said Deira. ‘I was in agony when I arrived, but I feel a lot better now and I’d like to test how my side feels.’

‘If you’re sure,’ said Grace. ‘Because I’m quite happy to drive too.’

‘Absolutely.’

The two women walked across to the parked car.

‘Nice wheels,’ said Grace as she looked at the Audi.

‘I know,’ said Deira in a brittle tone that startled Grace. But then she smiled and said it was a joy to drive, before asking Grace if she had an address for the restaurant so she could put it in the satnav.

‘I looked it up on Google Maps,’ Grace replied. ‘I’ll direct you.’

It was nice to have someone in the passenger seat beside her, thought Deira. It wasn’t that she couldn’t cope on her own, but it was good to be able to chat. And Grace was chatty without being overpowering, telling her about the last time she’d stayed at the Hotel Atlantique with her husband on their way back from their apartment.

‘You used to drive from Dublin to Spain as well as doing your camping holidays?’ Deira said. ‘You must love being on the road.’

‘I quite enjoy the trip,’ agreed Grace. ‘But neither of