The Women Who Ran Away - Sheila O'Flanagan Page 0,71

and she felt the visceral stab of longing that had pierced her every day since Gavin had left her. The man was tall and well built, his skin mocha brown, dark hair neatly buzzed to his scalp. His arms bulged beneath the short sleeves of his grey T-shirt, and his legs – visible because he was wearing shorts – were muscled and strong. Could he be the one? Deira wondered as she pictured herself in bed with him, imagining him moving inside her, slowly at first and then faster and faster. Could he give her what she needed? She could already see the baby that would grow inside her, a beautiful girl, perhaps, in contrast to the boy beside him now.

Then the man waved and let go of the little boy’s hand. The child immediately ran towards a tall, slender woman holding three ice creams.

‘Merci, Maman!’ Deira heard as the man kissed the woman and the boy took an ice cream cone.

She released the breath she’d been holding and wrapped her arms around her body, as though by physically holding herself together she could do so mentally as well. She walked over to one of the wooden benches facing the water and sat down. The man, the woman and the boy disappeared from view.

She leaned forward so that her head was almost touching her legs. The pain was raw and physical, like an open wound exposed to the elements. Every single day was a battle with a body that screamed at her that it wanted a child. And it was relentless. Until Gavin had left her – and except for the couple of weeks when she’d felt broody and desperate – she’d barely given pregnancy a thought. Now it was ever present. Back then, her choice to stay childless had been more than simply acquiescing; she’d agreed with Gavin that adding a baby of their own to the volatile mix that was his relationship with Marilyn and the girls would have been a mistake.

But a mistake for whom? Her or him?

She reminded herself, as she so often did, that she’d accepted it. That she’d thrived as a career-focused woman. She’d done well in her chosen field. She’d succeeded. She’d been happy.

Until he’d told her about Afton.

And now all she felt was anger and bitterness and jealousy.

And she simply couldn’t let it go.

Chapter 20

Bordeaux to Pamplona: 289 km

Grace and Deira met up at breakfast the following morning. Over fruit and pastries they gave each other upbeat accounts of their activities the night before, neither admitting to any moments of melancholy or doubt. Then Deira took out her phone and googled the route from Bordeaux to Pamplona.

‘It’s a little over three hours,’ she said.

‘I’ve never driven this way before,’ said Grace as she studied it. ‘But it looks straightforward.’

‘We could share the driving if you like,’ offered Deira. ‘My ribs are a lot better now and I think I’d be OK for an hour or so behind the wheel.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Grace.

Deira nodded. ‘I’ve been sitting in the passenger seat like the Queen of Sheba while you do all the work,’ she said. ‘I’d like to earn my keep.’

‘You already have,’ Grace said. ‘You’ve pointed me in the right direction on the clues. I’d never have got this far without you.’

‘I bet you would.’

‘Perhaps,’ conceded Grace. ‘Still, you’ve been invaluable.’

‘And I can be even more useful if I drive,’ said Deira. ‘What time do you want to set off?’

‘It’s ten thirty now,’ said Grace. ‘Half an hour or so?’

‘Perfect.’ Deira finished her coffee. ‘I’ll get myself organised.’

She took the lift to her room, where she brushed her teeth and her hair, then packed her toiletries into her bag. After that, she took out her phone.

Nobody had been looking for her. A few months ago, she’d have been horrified not to have any calls or messages. Now all she felt was relief. But Gavin was due home the following day, and she knew she couldn’t let him arrive back to an empty parking space. She might have done if she was safely driving the Audi around France. But not when she was with Grace in Spain and it was a charred mess somewhere in Nantes.

She took a deep breath and started typing.

Grace also did her packing, and then took out her own phone. She didn’t have any messages either, although she sent one to Aline telling her that she’d call her from Pamplona later that evening. It was daft, she thought, to