‘Mum! It is.’ Bugger, speakerphones had their downside.
‘Sorry, didn’t mean it like that. I just thought the hotel was really modern. I suppose I was expecting a bit more glitz and glamour.’
‘I know, and the rest of it is like that, but I’m in the annexe because of my wheelchair. And it’s lovely,’ Hallie stressed. ‘All cosy and warm. I much prefer this kind of room.’
‘Well as long as you’re happy.’ Sounding doubtful, her mother said, ‘But it doesn’t look terribly French. Is the bed OK?’
‘Of course it’s OK!’
‘I mean, is it clean?’
‘Mum . . .’ Hallie broke into a cough.
‘Oh darling, you do sound chesty. Take a photo of yourself and let me see you. Is it a French-looking bed? I love those ones with the carved headboards.’
Luckily, Luke knew what a worrier her mum was. Already ahead of her, he was pointing to the staircase and lifting the oxygen cylinder. Hallie nodded and rose to her feet, and together, connected by the clear plastic tubing of her nasal cannulae, they silently ascended the stairs.
Luke’s bedroom was small but pretty tidy. The duvet was deep red, the pillowcases blue and white striped, the bed a standard double. He placed the cylinder on the floor next to the bed, threw back the duvet and helped Hallie into it. Her mum was chattering on about Edinburgh and Princes Street now, as Luke plumped up the pillows and she arranged herself accordingly.
Holding up the camera, Hallie took a photo of herself cosily ensconced in Luke’s bed. Ooh, Matron . . .
‘This one’s taking longer to get through,’ said her mother. ‘Oh, here it comes now.’ There was silence as she studied the photograph. ‘Hmm, well if you say it’s all right. Bit quirky, though, having striped pillowcases in a hotel.’
All right, Miss Marple. In a firm voice, Hallie said, ‘I like quirky. And it’s red, white and blue, like the French flag.’
‘Where are the other girls?’
‘Down in the bar. I’m having an early night, ready for tomorrow. I’ll be the smug one without a hangover.’
‘Well make sure you don’t overtire yourself. Night, sweetheart, I’ll give you another call tomorrow, see how you’re doing. Make sure you keep your phone switched on.’
With the call over, Luke carried the oxygen cylinder back downstairs and Hallie followed him. Reinstated on the sofa, she said, ‘Sorry, I know it’s stupid. She’s my mum, though.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘I’m twenty-eight.’ Hallie shrugged good-naturedly. ‘Sometimes you’d think I was six.’
‘She’s never going to stop worrying about you.’
‘Because she doesn’t know how long she has left to worry about me.’ As Hallie said it, another message pinged up on her phone and she glanced at the screen.
‘Your mum again?’
‘No. It’s from Nick.’
‘Ex-boyfriend Nick?’ Luke knew the name; they’d talked about him before. ‘Where is he now?’
‘Melbourne. Crewing on a yacht. Swimming with dolphins, snorkelling with seals. Having fun.’
Nick had sent a photo as well, of himself and his friends celebrating the end of a perfect day on the yacht. Their faces were the epitome of happiness, their bodies lithe and tanned as they beamed and raised their bottles of beer to the camera, whilst behind them the sun began to set, its rippled reflection bright in the glittering cobalt sea . . .
Hallie tilted the phone so Luke could see it too. ‘And unlike our faked photos, his are the real deal.’
‘How does that feel?’
She paused, then said drily, ‘It’s nice of him to keep in touch. But sometimes . . . well, I could do without the reminders.’
Luke went into the kitchen to make coffee and Hallie took one last look at the picture of Nick on her phone. What was the famous quote: don’t be sad that it’s over, be glad that it happened?
Something like that, anyway.
And yes, she did do her best to live by that mantra, but just sometimes the reality of her own life made it hard to stay positive.
Nick’s message said: Hey, you! How’s everything? Haven’t caught a single kangaroo today – don’t know WHAT I’m doing wrong! Maybe a different kind of fishing line needed?? Xxx
Hallie typed: Glad you’re having a great time. All good here. Yes, you need to put Tim Tams on your fishing hooks – kangaroos love them. Xxx
Having replied to his breezy message, using the same number of kisses he had, she duly deleted his text and photo.
Luke, back from the kitchen, watched her do it. ‘What happened with you two? Can I ask that question?’