Page 87 of The Riviera House Swap

‘Everything alright?’ she said, winding the window down just in time to see her driver kick the rear tyre.

‘No,’ she said, her eyebrows knitted together. ‘We have a flat tyre.’

‘Oh no!’ Nina said. ‘Shall I help you change it?’

‘Thank you madame, but no. It is worse. I think we have hit the kerb, and something is bent.’

Nina climbed out of the car to have a look. The driver was right – the wheel arch had somehow dipped into a high bit of kerb, and it looked as if changing the tyre would be impossible.

Nina had never missed a plane in her life, but she still had two hours to get to the airport before the gates closed, she reminded herself. ‘Can you call someone?’ she said. ‘Breakdown cover, perhaps?’

‘Yes, I will call the garage,’ said the woman. ‘I am sorry.’

‘Not your fault,’ Nina said, although in truth, she was a little annoyed. The tyre must have been damaged or breached or worn down to burst so easily – the driver must have had some idea it was on its way out.

As the woman spoke on the phone, Nina made her way around the back of the car, opening up her ticket on her mobile just to check for the hundredth time that her plane was indeed still hours from take-off. Tucking it back into her bag afterwards, something caught her eye and she gasped.

Glittering against the rubber of the severed tyre was a tiny pendant – a love heart, with a spiky arrow. She bent down and pulled it from the tyre. The arrow was small, but solid and had somehow pushed into the tyre. Just a quarter of an inch or so. But that was all it had taken.

The puncture was her fault.

She slipped the necklace in her pocket and, feeling guilty, went to speak to the driver. ‘It is OK,’ the woman told her. ‘Someone is coming from the town to help us.’

‘That’s great,’ Nina said. She wasn’t sure how to explain that it was her fault. But it seemed wrong to say nothing. ‘I think it might have been my fault,’ she said, but the woman looked so confused, she didn’t carry on. She’d tip, she thought. Give an enormous wad of cash – whatever the mechanic charged – or pop in an extra zero when she keyed in her debit card. Something.

In the meantime, she needed to get out of the cold air. She slipped back into her seat and began to browse online. Then through her photos. The one of Antoine and Sabine at dinner,another of them laughing over a glass of wine. Each time, she noticed as if for the first that Antoine’s eyes were looking at her with a warm intensity. There was something mesmerising about it – to be looked at that way.

She quickly flicked to another photo. This time of Sabine, leaning out of her campervan and waving. Smiling. She looked so free, so happy. So young. But she was only three years her junior. It was the way she carried herself, her essence that made her seem young. The fact she was not weighed down by anything.

Sabine didn’t have the same obligations as Nina.

But obligations to whom? To Jemima, who didn’t really care about her beyond her effectiveness at work? To her parents, who would probably prefer she was off having a great time than moping in the spare bedroom? She’d let these things feel insurmountable, yet they weren’t really obligations at all.

On a sudden whim, she texted Sabine.

Definitely going to book to fly to Vienna and meet you! Get a taste of travelling.

Sabine sent back, almost instantly.

It would be wonderful. Although not strictly travelling. More a holiday!

She’d added a laughing emoji. But something about her words struck Nina. Because she was right.

OK, well next time I’m also going to come with you. Properly.

Then she added,

If that’s OK.

(She was throwing caution to the wind, after all, but she was still British.) She sent a picture of the deflated tyre as a follow up.

Might not even make my plane at this rate.

Before she could speculate further, a small truck pulled up and a man unfolded himself from the front seat. He was dressed in blue mechanics’ overalls and carried a wrench in his hand, as if to prove he was indeed the real deal. He began speaking to the driver, and Nina turned her attention back to the phone.

Until there was a knock at the window. A smiling face met hers as she turned. Antoine.

Of all the flat tyres in all the towns in all of France, he’d been called out to this one.

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