Page 52 of The Riviera House Swap

She thought back to her self-pitying, drunken rant on her birthday. Telling Bess and Sal that they were lucky. Sal hadn’t taken her to task on this, but she’d have had every right to. It wasn’t as if her friend had had it easy – and being a mother didn’t repair all the different hurts Sal had experienced over the years. When she was home – whatever happened here – she resolved to be a better friend. Less selfish.

There was another email from Mum too.

Hello love,

I hope you’re having a lovely time in France. Have you sent us a postcard? We keep checking the mail, but nothing’s come so far. Do think to send us one if you get the chance! Dad keeps them all you know.

Our news is that Dad’s bought a bench press. Reckons he’s going to build muscle. I said he’d have to do more with it than he did with the exercise bike. That’s still in the corner of our bedroom. I use it to air my smalls. I’ve said he can keep it in your room, but only until you arrive! We can’t have him huffing and puffing in the corner when you’re trying to settle in.

Rupert’s taken to sitting on Dad’s stomach when he tries to lift weights. Your father always asks me to move him, but I think Rupert’s taken quite the shine! I call them gym buddies.

Anyway, ta ta for now.

Much love,

MUM

Alongside Sal’s message, Mum’s email and an advert from her local Indian restaurant, there was a note from the solicitor, saying that they were approaching exchange and it looked as if completion was likely to be in a month’s time – a little sooner than she’d originally asked for. She replied that this was fine. She’d be back by then to move her things out, maybe put some into storage. Then, if no better offer had come her way – and it didn’t look likely – it would be back to Mum and Dad’s, her childhood room with its single bed and faded posters.

The lack of panic she felt surprised her. Perhaps it was the image of Dad up that ladder, wobbling away or the thought of him straining himself pumping iron. Maybe it was Sabine’s wistful words about her own mother. It wouldn’t hurt Mum and Dad to have a little help from her now.

An hour later and two coffees down, she went upstairs to take a shower. She’d chosen her outfit – something pétanquefriendly, and that didn’t look as if she was ‘trying too hard’ – and laid it out on the bed now. Some three-quarter length jeans and a well-fitted black top, a loose cardigan over the top and her favourite necklace. Something she’d feel smart but still herself in.

She wondered how Pierre would feel if he knew how momentous this day felt to her. Would he be excited too? Flattered? And was he with someone? Nobody, even her two French friends/amateur detectives had been able to tell her this for sure, but hopefully that was a good sign.

She wished she’d been able to scroll fully through his Facebook page – which was private other than the key details she already knew – or find a little more out about his history. Whether he’d been married before, as she had, or stayed single all these years (which seemed unlikely). Did he have children out there somewhere? Was he a part-time dad? Or was he happily married, settled and completely besotted with a gorgeous, perfect wife?

She expelled her breath sharply and tried to stop her mind wandering. It would be disappointing, she told herself, but it wouldn’t matter. She needn’t tell him anything more about why she was there than felt comfortable. She’d probably never confess to him the lengths she’d gone to track him down and arrange a meeting – not until much later in their relationship if they ended up having one.

She thought back to the scenarios she’d rehearsed with Sabine. The first, that he’d recognise her instantly, had felt farfetched – especially as he’d definitely seen her in the restaurant and hadn’t immediately been able to place her. The worst-case-scenario – that he had no idea who she was and in any case was in a happy, committed relationship – had been much easier to buy into.

But Sabine, clearly a hopeless romantic at heart, had told her that she believed things were going to happen for Nina and Pierre. ‘I feel it,’ she’d said, clutching her hands together in front of her heart and looking briefly to the heavens. Or at least in the direction of them. ‘I feel that this is going to be truly magical.’

Could people really feel things? Nina had always been deeply sceptical about the idea of anything approaching psychic powers or gut feelings about people or places. But something about Sabine’s enthusiasm was infectious.

She imagined herself now, walking up to Pierre. How his face would change a little as he felt something stir in his memory. How it would light up when he realised who she was. They’d disappear together, talking non-stop to catch up on their years apart. And everything would fall into place.Well, why not?she thought.Why shouldn’t that happen for me?

She and Rory had met in a lecture at university – they’d been sitting together and she’d had to borrow a pen. After the lecture, she’d forgotten to return it, and had had to track him down in the student bar where he’d bought her a drink. They’d been friends first – something people told her was a Good Thing. Then one night, he’d leaned in and kissed her and she’d thought, why not?

There had definitely been attraction there, chemistry between them. And in many ways, too, he’d been a best friend. But it had never been the all-consuming pull she’d felt for Pierre. They’d moved in together at twenty five and when he’d asked her to marry him a few years later, it had seemed like the logical step. Their relationship hadn’t been a disaster. It had been great, at first. Then good. There just hadn’t been quite enough between them to keep them together ‘till death do us part.’

Deep down, it had probably been her fault, she thought. Because she’d experienced something so strong and life-affirming with Pierre in that magical week. She’d put her feelingsfor him to one side, of course. Gone to university, met Rory. Felt completely committed when she’d been saying her ‘I dos’ and had looked back on the French affair with a kind of fondness for her former self. But perhaps on some level she’d always held a torch for him?

She pulled on her clothes and brushed her hair into its usual shape, then applied a little make-up: some tinted moisturiser, a touch of mascara – nothing too outlandish that would look out of place at a casual pétanque meet.

Both Sabine and Antoine had offered to join her, but she’d refused; this was something she really needed to do on her own. Having an audience would make it excruciating.

It was only 9a.m., but she decided to take a walk to steady herself. Sabine was still snoring steadily in her room, and the silence of the house was driving her mad. She opened the door as quietly as she could and stepped into the morning air.

The days had fallen into a recognisable pattern. Each seemed to start with a slight mist in the air, the temperature cool but not cold. Then, around ten or eleven, the autumn sun would burn this off and the day would come into itself. Once or twice, the temperature had reached the high twenties – summer weather where she came from. Most of the time it settled at a comfortable twenty-three. She’d been praying the rain that was predicted for some time in the next few days would hold off and it seemed that her prayers had been answered – today, beyond the light mist, there didn’t seem to be a cloud in the sky, apart from a few fluffy white specimens that looked no threat to anyone.

She breathed in and was about to step forward, heading probably for the front as she often did, when she heard a strange buzzing sound. She looked along the road to the corner and saw a man on an electric bike making his way towards her at barely more than a snail’s pace.

Antoine. She shook her head and smiled at his slow progress. What was he doing here?

She stayed put and waited for him to draw up. As he did so, his bike wobbled and almost fell, and he performed a strange, jumping and staggering manoeuvre until finally getting his balance back and standing up, red-faced, to look at her.

‘You alright?’ she asked, nodding at the bike to acknowledge his near fall.

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