10

MARTIN

I came down to breakfast ahead of Zoe, partly to give her a bit of space after being so close, and partly not to rub it into Sarah that we were sleeping together. I needn’t have bothered: only the Brits were there. Emeric served a plunger of coffee and a plate of croissants as Sarah and Bernhard descended the stairs.

‘You went for a run?’ I asked Sarah.

‘You mean yesterday? Before dinner? You’ve seen me since then.’

‘You went running after walking all day?’

‘It was a short walk…Hold on—’ She touched Emeric’s arm as he was turning back.

‘’Erbal tea, correct?’ he said.

‘Yes, please. And could I have muesli and fruit and natural yoghurt. Please.’

I translated for Emeric.

Zoe had joined us and added in French: ‘That would be great. Same for me.’

‘We have yoghurt with berries in it. I’m sorry, no muesli.’

‘I meant plain unsweetened yoghurt.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘The berry yoghurt is full of sugar. How can you not have plain yoghurt? I mean, vegetarian, biodynamic wine, radio waves…’

I wasn’t sure if Emeric was following, but Sarah’s tone made the message clear.

Zoe tried to hose it down. ‘I guess where I come from those things go together. Last night’s meal was the best I’ve had on the Chemin…’

‘I’m not talking about dinner,’ said Sarah. ‘I’m talking about breakfast. Every morning. Muesli is like the cheapest stuff; it’s oats; heaps of people eat it; how hard is it to keep a two-euro packet of oats? I mean, how much do you charge?’

Jesus.

Bernhard—Bernhard—stepped in. ‘In Germany, you would get salami. But my girlfriend is training for the marathon…’

Girlfriend did it. Sarah got up, and, in the absence of a cereal bowl to tip over his head, stormed upstairs.

‘Good luck walking that one back,’ said Zoe to Bernhard, laughing. ‘But I know where she’s coming from. Seriously, white bread and croissants? And this place is supposed to be organic.’

‘We will apologise before we leave,’ said Bernhard.

I gave him a pat on the shoulder as I stood up. ‘Ta.’

We got a sprinkling of rain in the second half of the day, and I used the excuse of checking her gear to engage with Sarah.

‘You want to talk to me about this morning, right?’

‘Not as your parent. You make your own calls, but everyone in the group feels it if there’s an argument, within or without.’

‘We apologised before we left. I get that it’s culture. And they’re new. But if people don’t know, they won’t change.’

‘Fair enough. Have you forgiven Bernhard?’

‘For calling me his girlfriend? He’s a klutz.’

‘And the marathon?’

‘I was shooting for an iron man, but training was getting in the way of study. So I’ve backed off to a marathon. Maybe I’ll pick it up again…’ She stopped, holding something back.

In the end, I filled the silence. ‘How’s it going? The training?’

‘I’m close to ninety minutes for the half-marathon, and the rule of thumb is double that time and add ten minutes.’

‘You’re faster than I ever was.’

‘Well, yes.’

‘Have you told your mother?’

‘Thought I’d keep it as a surprise.’

‘Then tell her you’re working out or something. She’s worried you’re not eating properly.’

‘So am I. Fifteen miles on croissants and jam. But you want to know what I think of Zoe, right?’

‘Not really. I want to know if you’re all right and, if not, if there’s anything we can do about it.’

‘Mister Problem Solver. I saw you fixing the tap.’

I’d packed a basic toolkit with the idea of finding repairs to do when we stayed at small, family-owned places. Minor plumbing, a fixture that had come loose, something that would make me feel I was giving a little back to the world I was walking through. Emeric had had no idea how to fix the router or the tap. I wondered how long they’d persevere with their retirement project.

‘Zoe’s all right. Mum’d say a bit fluffy but, hey, California, right? How are you doing with her?’

‘How are you finding Bernhard?’

‘I told you, he’s a klutz.’

Walking is conducive to long pauses. It was about a hundred metres before she added, ‘Has he said anything about me?’

•

Zoe and I shared a room in Villefranche-sur-Saône, north of Lyon, around two hundred and fifty kilometres from the Italian border. The larger town gave us a wider range of dinner options, and we found a Moroccan restaurant which dished up more vegetables than even Zoe and Sarah could finish. Gilbert’s generous cost-sharing proposal had been accepted: split the food bills and he would pay for wine, allowing him to indulge his passion without sponsorship from the rest of us.

I was eating and drinking well, sleeping with the only woman I’d clicked with for a long time, keeping fit, and making, it seemed, some progress with Sarah. Couldn’t complain.