Shall we go now?’
The shock of stepping from the gloom into bright day-light made Simon burn up. He staggered back to the car.
‘You’ll see, Monsieur Marechall, it’s a dream spot!’
‘I have no interest in dreaming, I just want to go to sleep. I’m tired.’
‘No probs! You’ll be in paradise in no time.’
They drove for no more than quarter of an hour. Simon had closed his eyes, opening them again only when he felt the car slowing down.
‘What the hell is this? A campsite?’
‘Not just any campsite, Monsieur Marechall, a three-star campsite. And don’t worry, we’re not going to be sleeping under canvas.’
Beneath towering pine trees lined up like soldiers, they passed an array of caravans, from the tiniest to the most palatial, before pulling up outside a mobile home as warm and inviting as a fridge.
‘Is this supposed to be a joke?’
‘Just wait until you see it all, Monsieur Marechall. The sea’s just behind us, fifty yards away. It’s got all mod cons and it’s way cheaper than a hotel.’
‘I don’t give a damn how much it costs! I asked you to book a hotel!’
‘Don’t get cross, Monsieur Marechall. If you don’t like it, we can go. But just come and have a look. It’s better than a hotel – it’s got a kitchen and a shower, just like home.’
Simon did not have the strength to put up a fight. Tangled up in the threads that were just about holding him together, he trailed behind Bernard.
‘So here’s the kitchen. It’s got a hotplate, microwave, fridge, hot and cold running water. Bathroom, with towels and everything. That’s your room there. Just pull the screen across and you’ve got it all to yourself. I’ll sleep in the hall, there’s a fold-out sofa bed. Isn’t it great? Have a look out the window – you can see the beach and the sea … You were right – it’s really something, all that water, it’s amazing!’
Simon sank onto the bed, his arms outstretched. Resistance was futile.
‘You’re not very well, are you, Monsieur Marechall? I’ll leave you to rest. I’ll sort everything out. I went to check out the shops – what do you think about having mussels for supper? … Take your time. I’m just going down to the beach to see Fiona and the baby and then I’ll get some food in.’
‘They’re here too?’
‘Not in the same caravan – I’m not stupid! I’ve rented one for them just next door. Now you lie back and relax, you’ll be snug as a bug in a jug.’
‘In a rug.’
‘Yes, if you like. Happy?’
‘Delirious. Now bugger off.’
‘OK, rest up, Monsieur Marechall, see you later. Youknow, I just can’t thank you enough for all this, the sea, this whole adventure …’
‘Get out.’
The bed was hard and, even with the bottle-green chenille blanket over him, Simon was cold. The pillow was as comfortable as cardboard. None of it mattered now; Simon’s sole desire was to escape from his body, which he managed to do after swallowing a handful of pills that shut off his brain with a watertight seal. Really it was no worse being here than anywhere else. He did not feel bad or good; he felt nothing at all. The lingering stench of cleaning products, used to scrub away all traces of the previous occupants, left Simon with a curious feeling of virginity.
Simon did not really sleep. It was a kind of semi-slumber, bobbing just beneath the surface, which left him wishing he could grow scales and inhabit the aquarium. The light of the setting sun made the room blush girlishly. His watch gave the time as 6.12 p.m., and he accepted it.
Outside, the breeze carried the tang of pine and salt water. When Simon reached the beach he did as everyone does; he took off his shoes and socks, rolled up his trousers and made for the water.
There it was, waiting faithfully. The sea glimmered with copper shards of sun, dribbling white foam and babbling the time away with idle chatter. Standing upright in a world without vertical lines, Simon dropped
The shock of stepping from the gloom into bright day-light made Simon burn up. He staggered back to the car.
‘You’ll see, Monsieur Marechall, it’s a dream spot!’
‘I have no interest in dreaming, I just want to go to sleep. I’m tired.’
‘No probs! You’ll be in paradise in no time.’
They drove for no more than quarter of an hour. Simon had closed his eyes, opening them again only when he felt the car slowing down.
‘What the hell is this? A campsite?’
‘Not just any campsite, Monsieur Marechall, a three-star campsite. And don’t worry, we’re not going to be sleeping under canvas.’
Beneath towering pine trees lined up like soldiers, they passed an array of caravans, from the tiniest to the most palatial, before pulling up outside a mobile home as warm and inviting as a fridge.
‘Is this supposed to be a joke?’
‘Just wait until you see it all, Monsieur Marechall. The sea’s just behind us, fifty yards away. It’s got all mod cons and it’s way cheaper than a hotel.’
‘I don’t give a damn how much it costs! I asked you to book a hotel!’
‘Don’t get cross, Monsieur Marechall. If you don’t like it, we can go. But just come and have a look. It’s better than a hotel – it’s got a kitchen and a shower, just like home.’
Simon did not have the strength to put up a fight. Tangled up in the threads that were just about holding him together, he trailed behind Bernard.
‘So here’s the kitchen. It’s got a hotplate, microwave, fridge, hot and cold running water. Bathroom, with towels and everything. That’s your room there. Just pull the screen across and you’ve got it all to yourself. I’ll sleep in the hall, there’s a fold-out sofa bed. Isn’t it great? Have a look out the window – you can see the beach and the sea … You were right – it’s really something, all that water, it’s amazing!’
Simon sank onto the bed, his arms outstretched. Resistance was futile.
‘You’re not very well, are you, Monsieur Marechall? I’ll leave you to rest. I’ll sort everything out. I went to check out the shops – what do you think about having mussels for supper? … Take your time. I’m just going down to the beach to see Fiona and the baby and then I’ll get some food in.’
‘They’re here too?’
‘Not in the same caravan – I’m not stupid! I’ve rented one for them just next door. Now you lie back and relax, you’ll be snug as a bug in a jug.’
‘In a rug.’
‘Yes, if you like. Happy?’
‘Delirious. Now bugger off.’
‘OK, rest up, Monsieur Marechall, see you later. Youknow, I just can’t thank you enough for all this, the sea, this whole adventure …’
‘Get out.’
The bed was hard and, even with the bottle-green chenille blanket over him, Simon was cold. The pillow was as comfortable as cardboard. None of it mattered now; Simon’s sole desire was to escape from his body, which he managed to do after swallowing a handful of pills that shut off his brain with a watertight seal. Really it was no worse being here than anywhere else. He did not feel bad or good; he felt nothing at all. The lingering stench of cleaning products, used to scrub away all traces of the previous occupants, left Simon with a curious feeling of virginity.
Simon did not really sleep. It was a kind of semi-slumber, bobbing just beneath the surface, which left him wishing he could grow scales and inhabit the aquarium. The light of the setting sun made the room blush girlishly. His watch gave the time as 6.12 p.m., and he accepted it.
Outside, the breeze carried the tang of pine and salt water. When Simon reached the beach he did as everyone does; he took off his shoes and socks, rolled up his trousers and made for the water.
There it was, waiting faithfully. The sea glimmered with copper shards of sun, dribbling white foam and babbling the time away with idle chatter. Standing upright in a world without vertical lines, Simon dropped
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