What had happened to Grace was unfair too, she thought, but at least she hadn’t had a wasted life. However things had turned out for her husband, she’d still created a family for herself. She had three children and a grandson. She’d built a legacy. Deira had built nothing. And now she had nobody.
Her phone beeped and she picked it up. Well, not nobody, she thought as she saw that a call from Gillian had gone straight to her voicemail. Gill was a part of her life. A part she couldn’t get rid of. She hit return call.
‘Oh!’ Gillian answered almost straight away. ‘I left you a message.’
‘I didn’t get it,’ said Deira. ‘I rang you back straight away.’ Like an obedient child, she thought. Because she always rang Gillian back.
‘I was updating you on the Bex situation,’ Gillian said.
‘There’s a situation?’
‘You know what I mean.’ Gillian sounded irritated. ‘With her interview.’
‘How did it go?’ asked Deira.
‘They’ve given her a callback to come to another one on Thursday.’
‘What day is it today?’ As a result of the travelling and the fire and the treasure hunting, Deira had completely lost track of time.
‘Monday, you idiot,’ said Gillian.
‘So . . . you’re basically saying that you’re staying in my house till the end of the week?’
‘Well, the girls are,’ Gillian told her. ‘I have to go back to Galway tomorrow. I have other children to look after, you know.’
Deira remained silent in the face of her sister’s implicit suggestion that she would never understand the kind of responsibilities that being a mother entailed. Whenever Gill commented on Deira’s childless state (and she did, quite often), she’d remark that it must be lovely to live the kind of life where you never had to think of anyone else, where you could do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. A bit selfish, mind you, she’d add. And of course you’d never know the sheer joy and love that being a mother brought. You’d always miss out on that. But still, if being able to do your own thing was what you wanted, Deira certainly had it made. And then she’d smile the smile of someone who believed that they had reached a level of fulfilment that Deira never would. And who basked in that fact.
Deira had never told Gill about wanting to have a child. She’d once said that it was something she and Gavin were considering, but when it hadn’t happened, she allowed Gill to assume that they’d dismissed the idea. Deira had been unable to tell her that it was Gavin who’d dismissed it and that she’d acquiesced. She didn’t want her sister to pity her.
That was why she hadn’t been able to say anything about his new girlfriend’s pregnancy. She felt bad enough about it without having to take on the weight of Gill’s inevitable rush to judgement. And, perhaps, her belief that Deira was only getting what she deserved.
Because when Deira had first told her that she was moving in with Gavin Boyer, Gill had been horrified.
‘He’s a married man!’ she’d exclaimed. ‘With a young family. And he’s seventeen years older than you. What the hell were you thinking getting involved with him in the first place?’
‘I didn’t plan it,’ said Deira. ‘But when we started working together, we . . . we clicked. He’s my soulmate. He’s everything I ever wanted.’
‘He’s married!’ repeated Gill. ‘Is that what you want?’
‘His relationship with his wife has been on the rocks for years.’ Deira supposed that this was what most married men embarking on an affair said, but in Gavin’s case it was true. He’d moved out of the family home before their own relationship had become really serious.
‘Oh Deira. This won’t end well,’ said Gill. ‘Let him get his divorce; you can move in with him after that.’
‘You know quite well it still takes four years to finalise,’ Deira said. ‘Hopefully that’ll change in the future, but I’m not going to sit around for four years. Neither is he. We’re moving in together and that’s that.’
‘It’s really not the divorce thing,’ Gill said, ‘although I don’t trust men who’re divorced. And I’d hate to be someone’s second choice. It’s the age difference.’
Deira had said nothing about being second choice. She wasn’t. She hadn’t even known him when he was first getting married. He hadn’t had the option to choose her. But if a marriage hadn’t worked out, it was surely better to admit it and move on than to live in misery. She’d gritted her teeth and told Gill that age was just a number and didn’t mean a thing. Gill had snorted derisively at that.
But Gill was right: age did matter, she thought now. It meant everything. At least when you were a woman.
‘Deira?’ Gillian’s voice down the line jolted her back to the present. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Yes.’
‘So it’s OK for Bex and Lydia to stay till Friday?’
Deira sighed. ‘Fine.’
‘You could sound slightly more welcoming about it.’
‘What can I say?’ asked Deira. ‘They’re going to stay anyway.’
‘You’re impossible,’ snapped Gillian. ‘You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You never bloody have.’
I cared about Gavin, Deira said to herself. I did the things he wanted me to do. I lived the life he wanted me to lead. I cared about him and his children, and because of that I put them first and I stopped thinking about me. Yet people seem prepared to believe I only think about me because I didn’t get married, because I have a career and because I don’t have children.
‘They’re perfectly welcome to stay,’ she told her sister. ‘Of course they are. It’s unexpected, that’s all.’
‘So is you flitting off to France without a word,’ said Gill. ‘And that’s what I mean about thinking about yourself.’
‘There was no one else to think of,’ Deira said. ‘It’s not like I have to ask your permission.’
‘It would be nice if you’d let me know,’ said Gillian.
Only because you still want to manage my life, thought Deira. To interfere like you did before.
‘Listen, I’ve got to go,’ she said. ‘I’m meeting someone later.’
‘Someone? Who? A man? Have you got back in the saddle already? The stuff in the drawers isn’t enough for you?’
Deira felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment at the knowledge that her sister had seen her sex toys, even as she told herself it was perfectly normal to have them. She was tempted to hang up, but that would have allowed Gill to feel as though she’d scored a point. So instead she kept her voice as casual as possible.
‘You should try them sometime,’ she said. ‘They’re a bit of fun, especially when you’ve got someone to share. But no, I’m not back in the saddle, as you so eloquently put it. I’m travelling with a woman I met on the boat.’
‘Travelling where?’
‘Around France, obviously,’ replied Deira. ‘I’ll be in touch, OK?’
This time she didn’t wait for Gill’s response, but ended the call. A couple of seconds later, her phone buzzed. She looked at the message.
Hey, Deira, thanks for letting me stay on. You’re really good. B xx
Best of luck with the interview, Deira messaged in return, even as she wondered if the job was based in Dublin, and if so, whether Bex would be looking to extend her stay in the house.
It wasn’t true that she didn’t have family, she told herself as she put the phone back in her bag. She did. It was simply that she didn’t have the family she’d wanted.
It was much later that night before Deira and Grace met for a drink on the outdoor terrace that overlooked the sea. Brigitte was already stretched out on the warm tiles, and she padded over to them as soon as they arrived, putting her head on Grace’s knees and drooling happily over her pristine capri pants. Grace rubbed the Labrador’s ears and Deira tentatively asked her about the video.
‘I’ll show you.’ Grace gave Brigitte a final rub, then opened the laptop that she’d brought downstairs with
her and played the clip.
Although Grace hadn’t thought that Ken looked ill, Deira was shocked at the appearance of her old tutor, who was much thinner and greyer than she remembered. But then, she reminded herself, it was a long time since she’d been at college, so she had to expect that he would have changed even without his illness. What hadn’t changed, though, was his self-confidence, his unerring belief in his own superiority. Deira could see how that attitude might be hurtful to Grace now. Whatever he might have been feeling himself, Ken Harrington came across in the video as being unconcerned about his wife’s emotions.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked. ‘I’m sure that was difficult to watch.’
Grace shrugged. ‘It’s typical Ken.’
‘Do you still want to go ahead with the treasure hunt?’ asked Deira. ‘I totally understand if you don’t.’
‘He says it could be important to my future.’
‘In what way?’ asked Deira. ‘And does it really matter? If you don’t want to do it and if you’re fine the way things are, then you don’t have to.’
‘I know.’
‘Could it be money?’ Deira wondered. ‘Is it possible he has a . . . oh, I dunno, a bank account you don’t know about?’
‘A secret stash?’ Grace shook her head. ‘I can’t see how. He was an academic, not a high-rolling businessman. There was no way for him to make extra money or siphon off expenses or anything like that. Besides, he wasn’t a money-motivated sort of person. We argued about that sometimes,’ she added a little ruefully. ‘I thought he could put himself about more, but for Ken it was always about the knowledge and the learning, not the promotions and the pay grade.’
‘What else could be important?’ wondered Deira.
‘I don’t know. And of course, important to Ken might not be important to me,’ said Grace. ‘Our priorities were often quite different. All the same, I feel . . . obliged, I guess, to figure it out, even though he’s just jerking me around. He was always good at playing on my emotions, making me feel . . .’ She broke off and gazed out over the Bay of Biscay, where the sun was dipping towards the horizon and turning the water into liquid gold.
‘You should do whatever your heart tells you,’ Deira said. ‘If this is too difficult for you, you can let it go, Grace.’
‘What’s difficult is that he keeps setting these silly clues.’ Grace turned towards her again. ‘If there really was something important he had to tell me, why didn’t he say so like a normal person?’
‘Maybe he left another message for you somewhere in case you didn’t work it out,’ said Deira.
‘I’ve spoken with his solicitor. He doesn’t have any envelopes marked “not to be opened until my daft wife returns from her trip empty-handed”.’ Grace snorted.
‘But if it’s so important, surely he’d want you to get the message regardless,’ said Deira.
‘You’d think. Which is why I don’t really believe it’s important at all. And yet . . .’
Deira gave her a sympathetic look. ‘If you want to abandon it, that’s absolutely your choice,’ she said. ‘He’s not here, Grace. You have to live the life you want to live now.’
‘You’re very wise,’ said Grace, a comment that made Deira stifle a snort herself because it was so far from the truth. ‘But you know what, I want to solve them for me. Because I want to believe I can do it. Besides,’ she continued, ‘every hotel on the route is already booked and paid for. I’m not the sort of person who can walk away from something that’s paid for. He probably knew that.’
‘I’m sure you could get the money back, either from the hotel or from your insurer,’ said Deira.
‘Perhaps,’ conceded Grace. ‘But I bet it’s a lot of faff for not a huge amount. Not like your car. Any news about that, by the way?’
‘Not yet. I’ll call tomorrow afternoon if I haven’t heard before then.’
‘I’m sure it’ll all work out,’ said Grace.
Deira smiled at her. ‘You want things to work out for me and I want them to work out for you. Maybe we should want things to work out for ourselves.’
‘One thing I’ve learned about life is that no matter how shitty a time you’re having, it does pass,’ said Grace. ‘And then you look back and say, that was a terrible week, or month, or year. But you’ve got to remember that it’s only a tiny amount of your whole life. It’s important to put it in perspective. Right now, I’m going to have to put Ken in perspective.’
Deira could see a certain sense in Grace’s words, but she suspected that putting her husband’s actions into perspective was easier to say than to do. Deciding to cope with pretty much everything difficult was easier to say than to do. Looking at her own situation, and leaving aside the particular trauma of the fire and its outcome, there were thirteen years with Gavin for her to come to grips with. And no matter what Grace said, those thirteen years were a massive chunk of her life that she’d never get back.
Her hand moved involuntarily towards her stomach again as she felt her womb positively twang with raw longing. The intensity of it shocked her every single time.
‘Do you want to look at the clue for Pamplona?’ Grace asked. ‘I haven’t clicked on it yet.’
Deira ignored her womb and pushed all thoughts of babies from her mind. She nodded, and Grace double-clicked the link.
Hi, Hippo – you’ve made it to another clue, and this time it’s really easy. What’s the number of the Old Man’s room? Upload Hemingway himself for the final number – the sign you want is near a place he loved. Your reward letter is P. And that’s it for Pamplona. I couldn’t have made it any easier if I’d tried. Eight guesses this time! Good luck.
‘He’s giving me fewer guesses with each clue,’ said Grace. ‘I’ll be lucky to get to the end.’
‘We didn’t need them all the last time, and he’s right that this one has to be relatively easy,’ observed Deira. ‘The Old Man is definitely Hemingway.’
‘Yes, I got that.’
‘And the room must be where he stayed whenever he was there,’ said Deira. ‘I have a vague memory of him being associated with a specific hotel, but I can’t remember the name of it. It’ll be easy to look up, though. And places he loved – well, I remember there was a bar or café . . .’ She smiled suddenly. ‘What is it with grizzled old male writers and their bars and cafés? I wonder did they hold court there, talk about their brilliance, big themselves up?’
‘Probably,’ agreed Grace. ‘But it doesn’t matter who or where they are, I reckon men always like to make themselves feel important.’ She looked up from the laptop. ‘Are you sure you’re happy to keep solving clues and trekking along with me, Deira?’
‘Absolutely,’ Deira replied. ‘This treasure hunt – well, it’s keeping my mind off other things.’
‘OK then,’ said Grace. ‘Anyhow, I know the hotel already. It’s the Gran Hotel La Perla. That’s where I’m staying. I looked it up before I came, and the website mentions Hemingway as well as other famous people who’ve stayed there.’
Deira nodded. ‘If we’re going to keep doing this together, I should book myself into hotels on the route too. I’m a great one for leaving things till the last minute, but it would be better to know where I’m going.’
‘You’re right,’ said Grace. ‘The next shed mightn’t be as attractive as your remise! Book the same ones as me if you can. In Bordeaux it’s an Ibis.’ She clicked on the computer a couple of times and found the website. ‘Here.’ She pushed the laptop over to Deira, who booked a room at the Ibis for the following night. But when she continued on to the Gran Perla’s website, the hotel was fully booked.
‘It’s probably very popular, given its history,’ she said. ‘I’ll see if I can get something else nearby.’ She amended her search and found a small, reasonably priced alternative a few streets away. From the photos on the site and the comments of guests, it seemed a pleasant place to stay, so she made a reservation. Then she looked at hotels in Alcalá de Henares, where Ken had
reserved Grace a room in a boutique hotel near the university.
‘I know it’s an Ibis tomorrow, but I can’t believe he’s gone for expensive boutique-style places everywhere else,’ Grace said while Deira looked through the available rooms. ‘The Gran Perla is very pricey. It’s so unlike him.’
‘He wanted to look after you,’ said Deira.
‘Yes, well . . .’
Deira busied herself with the reservation while Grace stared out over the dark sea.
‘OK,’ she said finally. ‘I’m all set.’
‘Great,’ said Grace. ‘Let’s not think about treasure hunts or anything else until tomorrow night. Would you like a glass of wine?’
‘Yes, I would. But you stay there. I’ll get it.’
And Deira went inside the hotel, leaving Grace alone with Brigitte.
Chapter 19
La Rochelle to Bordeaux: 190 km
They were halfway through their two-hour drive to Bordeaux the following day when Deira’s phone rang. It was her insurance company, informing her that the Audi had been considered a write-off. They were agreeing a settlement, the agent told her, and would be emailing her some more forms to complete.
‘The valuation as a write-off won’t be as much as it was worth,’ she told Grace, ‘but it’s better than nothing.’
‘Are you going to call your ex and tell him?’
‘When I get the forms,’ replied Deira. ‘I’d better look through them first.’
Grace nodded, and they continued the journey without much more conversation. Deira found herself feeling almost cheerful as they drove past swathes of fields bursting with the bright purple and yellow of lavender and sunflowers while Kylie Minogue’s greatest hits played in the background. As they approached the Dordogne, the river more grey than blue under the bright sun, the landscape began to flatten out, and the colourful fields gave way to more and more buildings. Grace continued towards the city, and the wide bridge that crossed the equally grey Garonne.
The Women Who Ran Away: Will their secrets follow them? Page 17
