by June Taylor
‘Just look gorgeous and we’ll be on our way again. Laws are for breaking in any case.’
It seemed like hours before any lift came, but when Chrissy looked at her watch it had only taken twenty minutes for a bright green Renault to come crawling along the inside lane, a line of juggernauts hot on its tail. The one immediately behind flashed its lights at the late indication to pull in, and Juliet nudged Chrissy out of the way just in case.
It was a French family from a town north of Paris. The mother was driving and the father was in the back, a baby on his knee. ‘Which part of the coast are you trying to get to exactly?’ said the mother, referring to their sign. She spoke French, shouting over the roar of the traffic.
‘Montpellier,’ Juliet yelled back. ‘Marseille. That sort of area.’
The woman raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, we are actually going to the Alps but we have to go via Lyon. Ça vous va?’
Chrissy nodded to Juliet. She wasted no time in clambering into the front seat with her rucksack, leaving Chrissy to get into the back with Papa and the baby.
‘Bonjour, Monsieur,’ she said, trying to smile as she wedged her bag between her legs. She held a finger out to the baby, surprised when he grabbed it and then wouldn’t let go. The car smelt of regurgitated milk. She wound the window down, hoping that wasn’t too impolite.
‘It’s very dangerous what you are doing,’ said the mother.
The same could be said about her for stopping, thought Chrissy, but she just smiled and let Juliet do the talking.
‘So are you on holiday? Or maybe you have jobs for the summer?’
‘Yes,’ said Juliet. ‘Well, we hope to find work.’
The baby began to emit piercing little shrieks which bounced off the car’s interior and drilled down into Chrissy’s eardrums. Papa gave her a pleading look and she was suddenly landed with it, along with a bottle of milk.
‘Oh!’ she said, trying to look pleased. She waved the bottle in front of its mouth, forcing the rubber teat between its tiny lips. Then, something rather ghastly began to waft up from its nappy. She hung onto her breath for as long as she could, holding her nose to the open window and just praying that she wouldn’t be given that job as well.
Juliet turned round and smiled. ‘Aw look, so cute. Quite the petite maman, aren’t you, Chrissy?’
Chrissy mouthed the words ‘piss off’.
It was a slow journey, and they made several stops, but despite the inconvenience of the baby and its dreadful odours, Chrissy drifted into a contented doze whilst Juliet chatted with the mother in the front. Two free rides across God knows how many miles. Maybe hitch-hiking wasn’t so bad after all.
Five and a half hours later they arrived in Lyon. By now it was dark; it would be impossible for them to get to the coast tonight. They were dropped off at Camping Soleil in Dardilly on the outskirts of Lyon: not far from the Autoroute du Soleil, so they were told.
The woman handed Chrissy a piece of paper with a telephone number scribbled on it. ‘Call me if you want au pair work,’ she said.
Chrissy ripped up the number as soon as they were gone, much to Juliet’s amusement.
It had been a long day and their lack of sleep the previous night was catching up with them, and even though it was dark there was no let-up in the heat. Chrissy let out a loud moan when Juliet helped with her bag, lifting it onto her back. Adjusting the straps made little difference to the soreness in her shoulders. They set off down the dusty track to the campsite.
‘Do you know how to put this tent up?’ said Chrissy.
‘No, do you?’
‘I thought you did.’
‘I thought you did.’
They linked arms, giggling their way into Reception, the smell of barbecues suddenly making them feel ravenous, reminding their poor stomachs that they hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.
Chrissy woke in the middle of the night with a stiff neck, scratchy mouth and pounding head. ‘You awake, Ju?’ she whispered, giving herself a scare when the sagginess of the tent touched her face. Juliet had managed to befriend some hippy types who had put the tent up for them, and afterwards they binged on bread and saucisson, getting drunk on ridiculously cheap table wine which they had dragged back from the campsite shop in a large plastic container. ‘Ju,’ she said, louder this time, reaching out to feel for her in the dark.
Juliet was gone.
***
The campsite was full. She stumbled repeatedly over guy ropes and protruding tent pegs; the cheap batteries in her torch were already fading. She went first to the toilet block, calling Juliet’s name every few seconds. Then she tried walking between the tents, up and down, still calling out, startled by every noise or silhouette that moved. She was getting horribly lost too. And soon she would have to alert someone that her friend was missing.
Then she spotted it, the hippy tent: a wigwam-shaped structure they had been in earlier. Cursing as she stumbled towards it, she could hear Juliet’s distinctive laughter coming from inside. She hovered for a while, listening to their voices, eventually satisfied that she could return to her own tent and get some sleep. It took at least half an hour to find it again.
***
‘I was worried sick about you,’ said Chrissy the next morning as they stood at the side of the heat-hazed road, thumbs out, wearing their fake smiles and munching on bits of leftover baguette, clutching a corner of their cardboard sign.
‘So I got an offer to have some fun. What’s the big deal?’
‘You didn’t tell me you were going.’
‘Well, you were fast asleep. Look, if you weren’t with your precious Dan you’d be doing that too. You can’t expect me to live like a nun, Chrissy.’
Juliet tossed two paracetamols down her throat and swigged from a bottle of mineral water that had been perspiring in the morning sun.
‘And why did you give a T-shirt to all four of them?’ Chrissy asked.
‘Because they put the tent up for us, and took it down again this morning. That’s got to be worth something. Come on.’
‘I thought the idea was to sell them, Ju. Did they give you anything besides?’
Juliet raised her eyebrows, as if that should have been obvious, then she pulled a cigarette from behind both her ears.
‘Is that it? Two bloody fags.’
Juliet extracted something from her shorts pocket: a polythene bag full of weed. ‘That’ll keep us going,’ she said. ‘Oh come on Chrissy, you like it too. I got it for us both. And they’re my T-shirts, you know. Lighten up; we’ll get jobs in no time when we get there.’
‘We’ll bloody starve at this rate. And get where exactly?’
A horn honked loudly, speeding past them with an assortment of body parts hanging out of windows. Then whistles, shrieks and more horn blasts as the car seemed to be slowing.
‘What the hell is that?’ said Chrissy.
‘Dunno, but it looks promising.’ Juliet was already running towards it. A Fiat, the size of a bubble, had come to a screeching halt just up the road. ‘Some Italian lads on their way to Spain,’ she shouted back. ‘Quick.’
‘Spain?’
Chrissy had to slow to a walk: a painful stitch jabbed into her side. She didn’t know which was worse: that, or the sizzling heat. Not forgetting the ludicrous weight on her back.
‘Spain, Ju?’
‘They’re going to a wedding but they can drop us at the coast,’ she replied. ‘It’s a gift! Faut pas refuser un cadeau.’
‘We’ll never fit in there!’ said Chrissy, counting five beaming faces, as well as the driver’s.
Juliet had already surrendered her bag. Shortly after, her legs disappeared too. Chrissy eased herself in as best she could. With europop blaring from tinny speakers, windows fully down so they could all take turns to breathe, they were on their way again.
Chrissy felt sorry for the poor boy whose lap she was crushing, although he didn’t seem to mind. Mostly she chatted to him on the journey in English
whilst Juliet entertained the others in her fluent Italian. At some point Chrissy must have fallen asleep, as the next time she looked at her watch she saw that they had been going for three hours.
And Juliet was in full snog with one of her new friends.
***
Chrissy was sure she could smell the sea blowing in through the windows. She stuck her head out as they were passing a vast stretch of water. It didn’t look much like the sea.
‘It’s a lagoon,’ said the driver. ‘A salt water lake. Have you heard of La Camargue and the wild horses?’
‘The white ones?’ said Chrissy. ‘Are we near there?’
‘This side Montpellier, that side La Camargue.’
‘Show me on the map,’ she said, pulling out her road atlas.
‘Allora.’ His friend took over the steering. ‘So, for you, I’m thinking La Grande Motte … Watch out!’ They swerved to avoid a car. ‘On your map … it’s … ah, here it is,’ he said, pointing to it. ‘If you don’t find work in La Grande Motte you won’t find it anywhere.’
‘Lots of people on holidays,’ one of the others said.
The next time they passed a sign for La Grande Motte, Chrissy felt a wave of excitement. She desperately wanted to share it with Juliet but couldn’t because she was still attached to her Italian lover’s lips. Leaning out of the window the wind caught her hair; the moment spoiled, however, when someone pinched her backside. The boy whose lap she was sitting on put his hands in the air to protest his innocence. One of the others winked at her.
She tapped Juliet on the shoulder. ‘Hey, what do you think about this place, Ju?’
It was a purpose-built resort with giant pyramids rising out of an incredibly flat landscape, creating an almost futuristic skyline. Chrissy couldn’t decide whether it was attractive or ugly, not that it mattered. Palm trees lined the side of the road, with holidaymakers strolling casually either side along wide pavements, eating ice creams, carrying bags of shopping or heading to the beach with all their paraphernalia. A blue dolphin structure came into view as they got close to the marina, where brightly coloured flags wafted lazily in the breeze.
‘La Grande Motte,’ said the driver, bringing them to an unnecessary screeching halt.
‘Ju. For god’s sake, Ju, put him down, will you?’
She finally came up for air, her hair in chaos and her lips looking like they couldn’t take much more. ‘What? Oh, this looks okay,’ she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her neck was still being caressed as she peered out of the window. ‘Yeah. Looks great. Drop us in Centre Ville.’
‘We’re already in Centre Ville,’ said Chrissy.
‘Anywhere here then.’
They spilled onto the pavement like their spaceship had just crash-landed. Whilst their bags were being squeezed out onto the kerb the driver honked his horn, then an array of hands began waving out of the windows as they pulled away. Chrissy lost count of the number of times she said ‘grazie’, and anyone would think Juliet was sending her sweetheart off to war with all her kisses and cries of ‘Ti amo’.
Chrissy ran her fingers across her cheekbones to wipe away the sweat beneath her sunglasses. She could already feel the sun burning through her skin as she waited for Juliet. The enormous pyramid on Allée de la Grande Pyramide towered above the others. Further down the street she could see the Tourist Information symbol and a sign for the campsite. Meanwhile Juliet was still waving enthusiastically.
‘They’ve gone, Ju,’ she said, hoisting her rucksack onto her back. ‘You can stop now.’
‘I’m in love.’
‘In under four hours? A record, even for you.’ Chrissy saw that she was clutching a folded piece of paper to her chest. ‘You got his number? I don’t believe you sometimes.’ She laughed. But then a thought struck her. ‘Which one was it you were snogging?’
‘Luca,’ said Juliet, dreamily.
‘Didn’t they say it’s Luca who is getting married?’
‘Final fling.’ She grinned at Chrissy, enjoying her disapproval. ‘Never kissed an English girl before.’
‘Oh well, that makes it all right then.’
‘I didn’t force him. We can’t all be saints like you, Chrissy.’
‘You’re not going to look him up, are you?’
‘Well, I might. One day.’
With that, she tucked the piece of paper into her bra and slung her rucksack onto her back. ‘Who knows? On ne sait jamais.’ She gave Chrissy a kiss on the cheek and Chrissy wiped it off again like a sulky child. ‘Hey, guess what?’ said Juliet, linking arms.
‘What?’ said Chrissy, pretending to be mad at her.
‘We fucking made it!’
Their cheering caught the attention of a group of old men playing pétanque. The metal boules clattered together in a cloud of dust and the men seemed to think that the cheers were for them, waving as the girls walked past.
‘Seems like a friendly enough place,’ said Juliet, waving back.
‘If you tap off with any one of those, Ju, I’m going to disown you.’
‘I think they’re more your type. Steady and sensible.’
‘Excuse me. Dan’s not steady and sensible, he’s a musician. Actually, maybe he is. You’re just jealous in any case.’
Juliet came to an abrupt stop. She pressed her hand to her heart and, with her eyes closed, said: ‘Yes, but now I have my Luca.’
‘Tu es complètement folle,’ said Chrissy, amused by her theatrics all the same.
They continued walking.
‘Ah, but you love me because I am mad,’ said Juliet in her mock French accent.
Chrissy shielded her eyes from the sun. They had reached the marina, and the sea was glistening, as though someone had scattered tiny diamonds across it. Halyards clanked against the masts, sounding random xylophone notes. Motorboats and handsome yachts bobbed up and down on the silky water, and a neat row of masts protruded into the sky like giant cocktail sticks. Further along the shoreline they could see the beach with swimmers’ heads bouncing up and down on the waves.
‘This is perfect,’ said Chrissy, sighing. She could already taste the salty spray on her lips.
A boy selling ice creams weaved in and out of holidaymakers on the beach, stretched out on sunloungers beneath their straw parasols. But it was a group of fit-looking men playing volleyball that had caught Juliet’s eye.
‘Let’s stay here forever,’ she said.
Chrissy elbowed her in the ribs when she realized what she was gazing at. ‘You might get through the whole team, Ju, if we stay here long enough.’
‘You’re just jealous that I can.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘Really, you should step outside the box sometime, you know.’
‘Piss off, Juliet.’
‘Just saying.’
‘You’re always saying. Saying I should sleep with someone else, be unfaithful to Dan. Why? Why do you always do that? Are you trying to break us up?’
‘’Course I’m not. But if Dan’s box is the only one you ever sample, you might be missing out.’
‘On what? It’s called a relationship, Juliet. You won’t be familiar with that concept because you screw everything that moves.’
‘That’s a bit harsh,’ replied Juliet. ‘I only screw the good-looking ones.’
‘Seriously, Ju. What if you get yourself up the duff? You take too many risks.’
Juliet shrugged. ‘Well maybe you don’t take enough.’
CHAPTER 11
France: summer, 1989
Dan would love it here, Chrissy mused.
She was sitting cross-legged in front of their tent eating a pain au chocolat in the morning sunshine, contemplating the view of Pic St-Loup in the distance. She had already looked it up: 638 metres, and the thought of climbing it one day with Dan filled her with joy. But right now, she could not be happier. Somehow or other they had stumbled upon a campsite with a 24-hour festival vibe. Dancing, campfires, bongo drums and ghe
tto blasters going on well into the small hours.
They became known as Les Anglaises.
Yan’s Bar was the place to find work. Word of mouth spread quickly on the dance floor as to who was hiring, and by the third night they had potentially found their first job. A new restaurant was opening in town on Avenue Plein Soleil, in need of a paint job inside and out. After some clever negotiation and mild flirtation on Juliet’s part, they were hired, but Chrissy later discovered this was largely because she had agreed to do the work for next to nothing and committed them to complete in four days.
‘Four days? We’ll have to work our bloody arses off. I thought you had a head for business.’
‘Don’t know what gave you that idea.’
She therefore took great pleasure in shouting down Juliet’s ear at six thirty on their first morning: ‘Last one in the sea is a piece of merde!’
‘Are you insane?’ Juliet protested, tugging the sleeping bag over her head. But when she saw Chrissy pulling on her bikini she joined in the race to get down to the sea.
They had the beach pretty much to themselves at this hour. Wake-up swim, pain au chocolat, off to work by seven; it became their routine.
By day three they were exhausted. Juliet trundled wearily up the stepladder with her tray of paint, gripping the paintbrush between her teeth. She yawned, and then began scratching the top of her head with the handle. ‘Is it Saturday today?’ she asked.
‘Think so,’ said Chrissy. ‘Why?’
‘In that case it’s a very sad day. Luca’s getting married.’
Chrissy rolled her eyes and flicked paint at her.
‘Oiy!’ shouted Juliet, although they were already covered in paint. ‘Do that again and I won’t invite you to our wedding.’ She stuck her tongue out at Chrissy, who then fired another round of paint. Before long they were both white from head-to-toe.