By the time he completed his target, he was so tired he just rested his head on his arms at the side of the pool. As ever, when he wasn’t distracting himself with exercise, his mind was full. He was still coming to terms with how much his life had changed. He’d woken from the coma not recognizing his surroundings, or indeed his physical self. His last memory was the moment before the accident, of being in the raft and hurtling downstream. His job and his girlfriend, both of which he loved, had vanished. Day-to-day life had slowed to a pensioner’s pace, but even if he wanted to pick it up, he physically wasn’t able to handle it. It frustrated him that he was trapped inside his own body.
He sighed and climbed out of the pool, throwing a towel over his shoulders. The sun was shining and June in the C?te d’Azur was glorious, so he soon chucked it off again to bask in the warmth. He sat for a moment at the teak table and looked down at St Tropez in the distance, its russet roofs aglow in the sunshine. The whole village seemed to face the sea, something that he found both charming and reassuring. He hadn’t yet gone down there, though, and they’d already been in Gassin a week. He wasn’t particularly sentimental but was finding this trip hard. There were reminders of last summer – and Cherry. He was in the same room where they’d slept together. There would be even more reminders in St Tropez. Part of the problem, he knew, was that he was having trouble accepting he’d been dumped when he didn’t know how it happened. And hadn’t even been mentally present.
His last memories of Cherry were exceedingly happy ones and it was as if a great chunk of his life was missing – which it was. He was torn with wanting to ring her, as if it were all a big mistake, but then he’d remind himself that she’d given up on him. And he hadn’t thought she was like that. Their relationship, however short, had felt solid. It had felt like it had longevity, like they had a future. He often wondered what he would have done if it had been the other way round, if Cherry had had the accident, and he liked to think he would have stayed with her a lot longer. So what had made her leave? Yes, he was in a coma, but his mum had said she’d disappeared before Christmas – early November, in fact – so he’d only been ‘under’ for a couple of months. He wondered how she’d come to the decision. Was it easy? Did she want to be let off the hook? And then there was the thing she didn’t know. That he’d come out of it. But he couldn’t call her to tell her that: if she came back, he’d never know if it was because she really wanted to or was doing it out of some sort of duty. He couldn’t call her full stop as his phone had gone missing somewhere in transit from the locker at the rafting centre to the various hospitals and he didn’t know her number.
His stomach rumbled and he stood and went in search of some lunch. It fascinated him how much he ate – must be nature’s way of replenishing the wasted body. He could wolf down whole baguettes, loaded with butter and cheese. As he headed into the kitchen, he saw his mother sitting at the table, reading something on her laptop. She looked worried, her brow creased. When she saw him, she plastered on a smile and pulled down the screen.
‘Mum, do you need to go back to work?’
She hesitated, so when she spoke, Daniel knew she was lying. ‘Don’t be silly. I can work here.’
He sat down opposite her. ‘You’ve taken off too much time to look after me.’ She started to protest, but he laid a hand on her arm. ‘Don’t think I don’t appreciate it. I wouldn’t have got here if it weren’t for you, but . . . all those months in the hospital, coming out here . . . it’s time you put yourself first for a bit.’
Relief swamped her and she was unable to hide it. To her delight, her crime drama had been greenlit and they were due to start filming at the end of the year. That meant it was suddenly all systems go: further episodes needed reading and editing, casting needed to be done, directors interviewed, key crew hired, locations scouted for, not to mention chasing up the builders who were supposed to be repairing the garden window, and she just couldn’t do all this from the South of France. It wasn’t only work that was a distraction. The ever-present shadow of Cherry, working just down the road from their house, kept her awake and she knew she was running out of time.
‘Are you absolutely sure?’
‘Never been surer.’
She put her hands either side of his head and kissed it. ‘I’ll come back at weekends.’
‘You don’t need—’
‘Shush. That’s the deal.’
She flew home that night. It was an emotional farewell and both blinked back the tears. ‘Thanks for everything,’ said Daniel as they hugged tightly. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’
‘I’ll call you,’ she said. ‘Every day, just to make sure you’re doing your exercises.’
Once he was alone, Daniel missed her more than he thought he would. He lay in bed and as usual his mind turned to Cherry. He just wanted to know why she’d decided to break it off. And then an idea formed. He would call her office, speak to her there. And if it was hard, too public, then he could get her mobile number again, call her when she finished work.
He felt a certain fatalistic peace once he’d decided what to do, although he wasn’t looking forward to the conversation. He was certain he would be rejected a second time, and twice from the same girl was hard for any man to stomach.
The following morning broke warm and cloudless. He got up early and walked to the boulangerie to get a fresh baguette, then ate breakfast outside. He’d slept OK, but now that he was up and the moment to call Cherry was creeping nearer, he felt nervous. He turned on his phone and googled the estate agency, Highsmith & Brown. Seeing the photo of the agency’s exterior on the website made him more nervous still. He couldn’t call yet: it was only seven in the morning in London and she wouldn’t be at work. To pass the time and stop himself over-rehearsing what to say, he decided to take the put-off trip into St Tropez.