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Lil's Bus Trip

Page 25

by Judy Leigh


  Tommy glanced towards the hotel entrance. ‘Here he comes.’

  Pat placed his luggage on the ground before he scrambled on the bus. He turned to Tommy and spoke quietly. ‘Tom, can I have a word?’

  DJ yelled from the back, ‘Come on, Pat. You’re keeping us waiting.’

  Pat whispered to Tommy, leaning towards the driver’s seat, then he turned around slowly to gaze at the rest of the passengers, staring at each pair of eyes. It took him a while to speak, then he muttered, ‘I’m not coming.’

  Jake’s voice was a raucous bawl. ‘What do you mean, you’re not coming?’

  DJ called out, ‘Get your backside down here, Pat Stott – you’re holding the bus up.’

  ‘I’m not coming back with you.’ Pat’s cheeks were pink; his ears glowed. ‘I’ve decided.’

  Cassie put a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘Do you need a lift to the station to catch a train to Boom?’

  ‘I’ve called a taxi – well, the hotel did it for me. It’ll be here in ten minutes.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’ DJ’s face was anxious. ‘Why aren’t you coming with us?’

  Pat pushed his hands into his jeans pockets and took them out again. ‘I’m getting a train to Ghent, then I’ll change and get one to Boom. Thilde will meet me.’

  ‘But why? Why aren’t you coming home?’ Jake frowned.

  Pat scratched his head. ‘I want to stay here.’

  ‘Have you spoken to your dad, Pat?’ Emily’s voice was hushed.

  Pat nodded. ‘I talked to him last night on the phone. He wasn’t pleased. He needs me for work – we have jobs booked next week, chippy work, a kitchen to install. He wasn’t happy at all. But I told him why. I said I had to go to see her. I think I might stay there if I can.’

  Duncan was puzzled. ‘But how will you manage? You can’t speak Flemish or French…’

  ‘I can.’ Pat beamed. ‘Cassie taught me some words. Bière, bier, pintje. I’ll get by.’

  Suddenly, DJ, Jake and Emily rose from their seats in unison, rushing to the front of the bus and hugging Pat in a group squeeze, their heads down.

  DJ murmured, ‘Good luck, mate.’

  Jake added, ‘Don’t come back if you don’t want to.’

  Emily agreed. ‘Perhaps you can work on the farm there.’

  ‘That’s what Thilde said,’ Pat spluttered. He lifted his head and his eyes shone with tears. He clutched his three friends hard in his arms and gulped back a sob. ‘Text me, Jake, DJ, won’t you?’ He turned to Emily. ‘I hope you hear something from Alex soon – that it’s all okay.’

  They hugged for a moment longer, then Pat wriggled away and down the steps, towards his luggage, then he was standing in the road, gazing up at the passengers through mud-splashed glass. Rain was spattering the ground. Cassie closed the door and Tommy started the engine as Pat mouthed something that looked like, ‘See you all – good luck,’ and the minibus slowly pulled away. Through the back window, Pat was still waving an arm, his face creased in a sad but determined smile.

  30

  The passengers were lost in their own thoughts as the minibus sloshed through muddy puddles on the road. Tommy called over his shoulder, his voice full of enthusiasm, ‘We’ll be in Honfleur in a little over two hours.’ When no one replied, he tried again. ‘It’s a lovely place, the prettiest port on the coast. There’s lots to do – there’s a beach, nice architecture, shopping, a garden of personalities with busts of famous people.’

  He waited for a response but still none came. He offered his parting shot. ‘Deauville, a few miles away from Honfleur, has a massive racecourse – we could all go and bet on a few horses.’

  He was met with silence. Duncan was asleep, his head on Maggie’s shoulder; she was snoring softly. DJ was slumped across Jake’s knee, his seat belt at full stretch; they were both dozing, sketch pads in their arms. Emily and Lil were reading; Albert was munching a bar of chocolate. Ken was leaning away from Sue, who was frowning and applying lipstick, gazing into a small mirror in her hand. Denise was engrossed in the final chapter of Lil’s novel, Fifty Shades of Hay. Tommy turned to Cassie, but she was busy scribbling ideas for a poem that had just popped into her head. He turned the radio on and listened to a jangling pop tune.

  At twelve-thirty, Tommy pulled into the car park of the Hotel Myrtille, a pretty, white-fronted building with hanging baskets crammed with red flowers on each side of the door. There was a soft rustling behind him in the bus: people waking, stretching, putting things in bags; he was suddenly filled with optimism. ‘Right, here we are. I booked us all a light lunch in the hotel for one o’clock.’

  Denise’s voice came clear and strong from behind him. ‘Oh, I don’t know that I want much lunch. We have a big meal organised for this evening.’

  Sue fiddled with her scarf. ‘Well, I’m hungry. I’ve no idea why, but my appetite has been really huge during this holiday.’ She beamed at Ken.

  ‘I’m careful with my figure, Syoo.’ Denise wrinkled her nose. ‘Some people might not care if they pile on the pounds, but I’ve always been fastidious.’ She smiled in Ken’s direction. Ken had turned to stare out of the window and was muttering something to himself about the hotel being clean and well cared for.

  Sue gave a triumphant cry. ‘I never put on weight, my dear. I play tennis and keep myself fit…’ She tilted her chin towards Ken. ‘I love all forms of exercise.’

  DJ coughed loudly from the back seat. Tommy tried again, twisting around and waving his arms towards the passengers.

  ‘So, we’ll have lunch and then we’re at leisure until this evening. The celebration meal has been booked at the Table des Fleurs. It’s a very nice place – and it’s all free.’

  ‘It’s hardly free, Tommy.’ Sue was gloating. ‘It’s courtesy of three of us and the tennis club.’

  ‘It will be wonderful,’ Denise insisted. ‘Ken and I and, of course, you as hosts.’

  ‘I chose the place because they do a wonderful poisson sauvage au beurre noisette,’ Ken purred. ‘I’m definitely having that with a glass of chilled Chablis.’

  Sue shook her head. ‘The problem with eating fish is that it stays on the breath afterwards, Ken.’

  ‘I’ll make sure I have the fish too.’ Denise wriggled coyly in her seat. Sue gave her a hard stare and Ken returned his gaze to the window.

  ‘I like the Calvados apple brandy they have in this area,’ Maggie piped. ‘I’m taking a bottle or two back home for myself. Brian’s not having any, though. I’ve already got his present – it’s in my handbag.’ She raised an eyebrow mischievously. ‘Would anyone like to know what I’ve got him from Amsterdam?’

  ‘A posing pouch?’ Jake bawled.

  ‘Is it black lacy underwear, Maggie?’ DJ yelled.

  ‘A nice bottle of wine?’ Emily asked tactfully.

  ‘No, it’s something he’ll really appreciate,’ Maggie gloated.

  ‘Shall we get off the bus now, everyone?’ Tommy asked quickly and Cassie put a hand to her mouth to cover her smile, remembering how she’d assisted him in the lingerie shop to buy the right size for Angie. Cassie had picked out the perfect set, while Tommy stood behind her, his face crimson, euros folded in his palm.

  After lunch, Lil, Cassie, Albert and Maggie wandered into the Jardin des Personnalités. The rain had stopped but the ground was soggy underfoot; their shoes quickly coated with mud. Beyond the clusters of flowers, between the huddling rails, the grey sea stretched for miles. Albert pushed an arm through Lil’s and nodded his head towards the ocean. ‘Look, Lil – we can see home from here.’

  Cassie took Maggie’s elbow and guided her towards an alabaster bust of a man with an old, sad face, raised on a pedestal, surrounded by a bush of white roses. ‘Do you know who this is, Maggie?’

  ‘Is he French?’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘Then I’ve no idea…’ Maggie shook her head. ‘Maurice Chevalier?’ She tried again. ‘De Gaulle?’ Her final attempt. ‘Napoleon?’

/>   ‘It’s Charles Baudelaire.’ Maggie shrugged. ‘He’s a poet.’ From the corner of her eye, Cassie noticed Lil and Albert wandering towards the exit. ‘Would you take a photo of me standing next to him? A minor poet next to a famous one?’ She smiled at her own joke.

  Maggie took Cassie’s phone and turned it upside down. ‘What do I press?’

  Cassie put a gentle hand on Maggie’s. ‘That button there – just touch it lightly with your finger. Take a couple.’

  Cassie stood next to the bust of Baudelaire and posed, a hand on her hip, her body tilted to one side, a hand out as if performing. With her hair blowing beneath the blue paisley scarf wrapped around her head, long jewelled earrings waving in the sea breeze, she was as flamboyant as the poet next to her. Maggie took a few photos. Suddenly she yelled in surprise, as if she had been stung. ‘Ahh, Cassie – something’s happening with your phone – it’s shaking in my hand – here, quick!’

  A panicking Maggie tossed the buzzing phone to Cassie, who caught it and held it to her ear. She put a thumb up to Maggie to signal that she was taking a call.

  ‘Hi, Jamie – I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. How are you?’

  Jamie’s soft voice came back, muffled by the breeze and the rushing waves. ‘I’m okay. How’s France?’

  ‘I’ll be home soon. Oh, and I’ve started writing my Guy Fawkes poem from his viewpoint. It might be a good one.’

  Jamie sighed, his voice a little anxious. ‘That’s great, Cassie. I wouldn’t have called you, but you’ve just had a visitor.’

  ‘A visitor?’ Cassie’s thoughts filled with the possibility of Piet turning up at her house, luggage and guitar in his hand. She frowned; she didn’t recall giving him her address. ‘Anyone we know?’ She laughed. ‘A tax inspector? Amazon?’ Jamie didn’t return her laughter.

  ‘A man called David. He was American. He said he really needed to see you and that it was personal, important.’

  ‘Really?’ Cassie’s eyebrows moved towards her hair. ‘I don’t know anyone called David.’

  ‘He seemed very keen to talk to you, Cass. I told him you were away – I didn’t say where you were. He said he’d call back in a couple of days.’

  ‘Did he say what he wanted?’ Cassie was intrigued.

  ‘He didn’t want to talk to me – he said he wanted to talk to you personally.’ Jamie sounded anxious. ‘I’ve no idea what about.’

  ‘It’s a big mystery, then,’ Cassie replied.

  ‘He was on holiday from the States – that was all he said. He was in his late fifties or sixties, dark hair, blue eyes, spectacles, slim, tanned.’

  ‘Sounds interesting,’ Cassie quipped and instinctively she thought Jamie might be hurt by her remark so she added, ‘But he’s not important. We’ll sort it all out when I’m back. How are you, Jamie? Do you miss me?’

  ‘More than you’d know. I just thought you’d be able to throw some light on the mystery visitor…’

  ‘Not really.’ Cassie decided to change the subject. ‘So, what are you up to today?’

  ‘Not much – sitting in the living room with earphones on. I was listening to some music – Béla Bartók, Satie.’

  ‘Oh, Erik Satie’s around here somewhere too,’ Cassie observed. ‘I’m in a garden with lots of busts of famous people – we haven’t come across Satie yet.’

  ‘It’s chilly here, in the breeze.’ Maggie shuffled her feet. ‘Where’s Lil? Shall I go and get us an ice cream?’

  Cassie nodded, and then whispered in the phone. ‘I’d better go, Jamie – don’t worry about this visitor – we’ll sort it all out when I’m home. I’ll see you soon.’

  ‘Yes, soon, Cassie.’

  ‘Lots of hugs,’ Cassie added, and he was gone. She turned brightly to Maggie. ‘Shall we go and get that ice cream?’

  Maggie beamed and they made their way towards the exit, Maggie in sunglasses, craning her neck to search for Lil. Cassie pushed her hands into her jeans pockets and was thoughtful. The American man called David was a mystery. She wondered if he was someone she’d met when she worked abroad, and simply forgotten about. It occurred to her that the only American she knew of was her father, Frankie Chapman. She wondered if that could be the link. For a moment, her head was buzzing with thoughts about who the visitor could be, then she noticed her mother and Albert in the distance eating ice-cream cones, and she waved and shouted, pushing thoughts of the unknown David to the back of her mind.

  Lil, Maggie and Cassie were in the room they shared, deciding what to wear for the celebratory evening dinner. The restaurant was just a short walk from their hotel; Tommy had asked Ken to choose somewhere close by so that they could all have a few drinks and walk back to the hotel. Maggie was keen to impress. She held up a long dress in cobalt blue.

  ‘What do you think? Is it the Liz Taylor look? I brought this for a special occasion and tonight seems exactly the right time to wear it.’

  Cassie gazed at the dress with interest. ‘Beautiful colour – it will match your eyes, Maggie.’

  ‘I want to stun tonight. Just like I intend to stun Brian when I get home.’ Maggie beamed, flattered. ‘I’m practising being irresistible. What are you wearing, Lil?’

  ‘I don’t know – I can’t decide.’ Lil sat down on the end of the bed, sinking into the softness of the mattress. ‘I feel like the girl who hasn’t got a thing to wear.’

  Cassie sat next to her mother, draping an arm around her. ‘Can I lend you something?’

  ‘Oh, your clothes will swamp me.’ Lil pulled a face. ‘I’m all skin and bone now.’

  Cassie surveyed her thoughtfully. Lil’s mouth was turned down; her shoulders were drooping. Cassie understood. Lil wanted to make an impression this evening; she wanted to shine and now, as she sat on the edge of the bed, forlorn, her confidence was ebbing away. Cassie brightened – she had an idea. She rubbed her hands together. ‘Let’s all go as the French flag.’

  ‘That’s barmy, Cass.’ Lil was frowning. ‘I haven’t got a flag…’

  ‘No, I mean that Maggie has a beautiful blue dress. I have a white silk trouser suit thing, which I can glam up. And then there’s this red dress…’

  Cassie whisked a crimson dress from the wardrobe; it was long, sweeping, made of crushed velvet.

  ‘I’ll look like an artery.’ Lil’s mood had sunk completely.

  ‘You’ll look hot,’ Maggie suggested.

  ‘No – imagine, a nice belt, some red dangly jewellery – you’ll be fabulous.’ Cassie waved the dress as if she were luring a bull. ‘Come on – you won’t know if you don’t try it on…’

  ‘She’s right.’ Maggie rubbed her hands together. ‘We’ll make an entrance like film stars, the three of us, glamorous in red, white and blue.’

  Lil shrugged. The bait had been set. She smiled slowly. ‘All right, give it here and let’s try it on. We’ll all go to the dinner dressed as the Marseillaise.’

  Cassie smiled. ‘You mean the Tricolore, Lil, but never mind. Come on, girls, let’s get ready – tonight we’re going to knock ’em dead.’

  31

  The group had been given the upstairs room of the Table des Fleurs all to themselves. Ken was pleased with his choice: the room was beautiful, with white walls and low-hanging chandeliers. There were candles flickering on the round table, which was covered with a damask cloth scattered with rose petals, and was set for thirteen people, although there would only be twelve diners. Pat had arrived in Boom and, according to DJ, he was reunited with his Thilde and had sent everyone his best wishes for the evening.

  A vast window revealed a charming view of the sea, a skeletal ship in the bay, the sun hovering above a stretch of golden water. The diners took their places, Ken sitting down first and Sue and Denise moving to either side of him. Ken was dapper in a grey suit; Sue’s long, translucent pink dress had a plunging neckline. Denise had chosen a short little black number, dark stockings and high heels. Everyone had dressed in their best clothes, the men in smart suit
s and the women in their most glamorous attire. Maggie was stunning in the cobalt-blue dress and sparkly earrings. Cassie wore the fitted silk trouser suit, the white jacket buttoned, a huge silver chain with a heart at her throat, and Lil stole the show in her belted crimson velvet dress and a black feathered fascinator. With Cassie on one side and Albert, in a black suit and red dicky bow, on the other, sitting at a table with bowls piled with soft bread rolls, wine and silver service, Lil felt like royalty.

  Tommy, in a crumpled jacket, opened proceedings by waving at the waiter, who brought in glasses of Kir Royale for each guest, then he stood up, gave a formal little cough and said, ‘Right. Good evening, everybody. I’d like to thank the tennis club members, Ken, Sue and Denise, for organising tonight and treating us to this lovely celebration meal in such a wonderful setting. We have had a great holiday, I’m sure you’ll all agree, and this will be a perfect evening.’ He raised his glass. ‘To us all – to our successful holiday.’

  Twelve people raised their glasses in the toast. Cassie glanced at Emily, beautiful in a lacy vest top and shiny black trousers. She was trying to smile, sitting between DJ and Jake, laughing at their jokes, then her face became sombre again. Cassie sighed; there was clearly still no news about Alex.

  The food arrived, efficient waiters placing plates on the table: soup or pâté, followed by a choice of white fish, pigeon, or mushroom stroganoff, then desserts: sweet cherry clafoutis, champagne sorbet, Tarte Tatin, double-chocolate soufflé, and finally cheese, biscuits and coffee. The conversation at the table became louder and more excitable with each course. Lil was forcing huge spoonfuls of pudding into Albert’s mouth and he was smiling and handsome, enjoying the attention, cupping a hand to his ear. Lil turned to Cassie. ‘Albie can’t hear in these noisy groups. It’s a shame. It’s best when there’s just me and him.’

  Cassie raised an eyebrow. ‘Maybe when we’re back home, we could take him for a hearing test and get an aid fitted.’

 

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