“The dancing.” There was dancing? A series of snapshots of a dark, musty bar and a throng of sweaty bodies flickered through my brain. Dancing + red wine – water = massively huge bugger of a hangover. Whose brilliant idea was that?
“Oh, right. That was your idea?”
“Nope. Yours.”
“I suck,” I proclaimed.
“Yes.” Lou paused then said, “Hey, Cat? Where’s Jaelee?”
My head turned abruptly to see a perfectly made-up bottom bunk across the room. How had I missed that?
“Huh. Well, would you look at that?”
Lou started giggling and I joined in. “This trip is way cooler than I thought it would be,” she said.
Dani’s head emerged from under her pillow as she made a loud snuffling sound, which made us giggle even louder. “What? Oh, uh, what time is it?”
“Morning, Danielle,” replied Lou in a sing-songy voice.
“It’s twenty past seven, Dan,” I said.
“I’m dying.” She flipped onto her back and shielded her eyes from sunlight streaming in the window.
“Get in line,” I replied, throwing back the duvet. I needed to shower to get the stench off me, and to pack. And somehow, I needed to scrounge up some tea for me and Lou.
Anyone who thinks a coach tour is “going on holiday” needs their head read. We had a five-hour coach ride to the south coast of France ahead of us and if my seatmate didn’t let me sleep, I would have to start murdering people.
Chapter 6
There was a chill in the air that morning at the château. The tour group milled about in the shady driveway as a few of the guys helped Tom pack the luggage under the coach.
Jaelee had shown up by the time I was out of the shower. She was wearing the previous night’s clothes and a contented smile. She changed clothes and packed quickly, then freshened up at the sink in the bathroom, giving me, Dani and Lou the chance to have a quick and very quiet conversation.
“Ask her,” whispered Lou.
“No.” Dani looked like we’d asked her to step into the lion’s den.
“She’s your roommate,” I added, ganging up on her.
“She’s yours too,” Dani retorted. Technically, she was right.
“I’ll ask her later,” I said. “Or she’ll tell us. All right?”
Breakfast was well and truly over by the time we got downstairs, so ten minutes before we were due to leave, Lou and I bribed one of the reps to rustle up some takeaway cups for tea. And by “bribed”, I mean we showed up with half a Toblerone and she humoured us.
Georgina made her way noisily through the group wishing everyone a good morning before she climbed onto the coach. “I didn’t see her yesterday,” I said, blowing on the too-hot tea.
“What’s that?” asked Lou.
“Sorry—thinking aloud. I was saying I didn’t see Georgina yesterday. Did you?”
She thought for a moment then scrunched her nose. “No, I don’t think so. Huh. I wonder what she got up to.”
“Sarah told me that on days off all she did was sleep.”
“All I want to do now is sleep.”
“Actually, I’m hoping I can nap on the coach. Do you mind if I have the window today?”
“Go for it. It’s super annoying, but I can’t sleep sitting up.”
Tom slammed the three doors to the luggage compartments in quick succession, the unofficial signal to board the coach, and I started making my way over with the rest of the group.
A whispered exclamation from Lou stopped me short. “Oh, wow!”
“What?”
“Look.”
She pointed towards the entrance of the château where Craig was hugging one of the reps, the curvy blonde Aussie girl, Kayla. They shared a quick kiss and then he walked towards us, throwing a smile over his shoulder. She waved and smiled back, then disappeared inside.
Craig saw us watching him and walked over, grinning.
“You sly dog,” teased Lou.
He went beet red, which made him even more adorable. “Morning,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh … I’m getting on the coach now.” He trotted off and I burst out laughing.
Lou started singing, “The Love Bus, soon will be making another run …” to the tune of The Love Boat theme song, which made me laugh even more.
“Owww. Don’t make me laugh. The drugs haven’t kicked in yet.” I’d taken two ibuprofen and a paracetamol after my shower. I’d also eaten a squashed muesli bar I found in my messenger bag. I desperately hoped I would feel better soon.
“Time to board the Luuuv Buuus,” sang Lou. She really needed to stop that. I didn’t want to have to find a new bus bestie.
***
I did manage to nap. I finished my tea, half-listened to Georgina explaining the day’s itinerary—I was finding it hard to concentrate—then took my beach cover-up out of my bag and scrunched it up to use as a pillow against the window. Even hungover I’d managed to plan ahead, and I was a little proud of myself. Not for the hangover—that was gross stupidity and never to be repeated—said every hungover person ever, right?
I slept until right before we stopped for morning tea and a wee, which was terrific timing, because I needed both.
“I’m starving,” said Lou as we shuffled off the bus.
“Where are we?” I yawned, looking out the window. So far, all French rest stops looked the same—an acre of concrete and a building that looked like it was built in the 70s.
“I don’t know—halfway between the château and Antibes, I guess.”
Inside I ordered, “Deux grands thés, s’il vous plaît.” I emphasised “grands” and was pleasantly surprised when two one-litre hot drinks were handed over the counter. I felt like someone from an American television show.
“This is the best tea I’ve ever had,” said Lou.
“Hangover tea. It always tastes better than regular tea.” She nodded in solemn agreement.
Back on the coach, I let Lou have the window seat and sat down heavily beside her, hoping the tea would kick in soon.
The Love Bus pulled out of the rest stop and onto the motorway. I saw signs for Avignon and promised myself to stay awake and pay attention to the scenery for the rest of the drive. We were heading into Provence and though I’d never been, I hadn’t been living under a rock. Provence was bound to be as beautiful as promised.
“Hey,” I said.
“What’s up?” Lou was looking out the window too.
“So, all this Love Bus stuff …”
“Yeah?”
“How are you about all of it?” She let the question hang in the air a moment, still watching the view.
“I’m okay.” She turned her head and gave me a less than convincing smile.
“Does that mean just okay or totally okay?”
“Just, heading towards totally.” She leant her head back against her seat. “Oh Cat,” she sighed. “Sometimes, when I think about being single again after all this time, I feel sick. I mean, I’m thirty-one and I know that’s not old, but it’s old enough that just the idea of starting again—and I mean everything, new apartment, new commute, new couch, new towels—maybe down the line, a new relationship … all that change, all at once … it’s overwhelming, you know?”