Page 86 of Je T'aime, Actually

“There’s been an accident. Frank and Benji…they were walking back from football practice.” She was already moving, heading for the stairs. “A car just rolled down the hill. Hit them.”

“God, that’s awful,” Chloé breathed, following quickly. “Are they okay?”

Monroe stopped halfway up the stairs, heading to pack a bag. She slowly turned back.

“Frank’s in a coma.”

seventy-two

“The earliest flight is seven in the morning,” Chloé said, her voice tight as she scrolled rapidly, “but it has a five-hour layover in Italy. The next direct one isn’t until eleven.”

Monroe stood frozen, arms tightly crossed against her chest as though holding herself together. “That’s too late. What about a ferry?” Her voice cracked slightly on the question.

Chloé looked at her watch. It was 8:52 p.m. She sat upright, already switching tabs. “If we leave now, it’s five hours drive to Calais. We could just make the 4:30 a.m. to Dover. That gets us in around six. Then the drive from there…” She glanced up at Monroe. “We’d be there by nine.”

Monroe nodded slowly, but her eyes brimmed with emotion. “Are you sure you want to come?” she asked, quieter now. “I completely understand if—”

Before she could finish, Chloé stood and stepped in close, cupping Monroe’s face in her hands. “Iwantto come,” she said, her voice firm but soft. “You don’t even have to ask.”

Monroe blinked, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

“We’ll pack a bag,” Chloé whispered. “We’ll drive through the night. And we’ll get there together.”

“I can’t believe this is happening. Poppy must be in bits,” Monroe said, her voice cracking as Chloé pulled her into a firm embrace.

“Take a moment. Breathe.”

“We don’t have time to breathe,” Monroe murmured. “Or time to think about it.”

“No,” Chloé agreed gently. “We need to be practical. Clothes, laptops, phones, essentials. We’ll be in the car, so we can bring whatever we might need. And if we forget anything, we’ll buy it there.” She checked her watch again. “We need to leave now. Can you pack us a suitcase, enough for a few days, while I sort everything down here?”

Monroe nodded but frowned, distracted.

“I’ll empty the fridge and message Cécile. Let her know she’s in charge while we’re gone and ask her to check on the house.”

“Of course—good thinking. I would have just left it to rot.”

“We’re in the countryside,” Chloé said with a small, tired smile. “We can’t leave food to rot. We’ll get mice.” She brushed a hand down Monroe’s arm. “Don’t forget our passports.”

The road extended out in front of them, empty and dark, lit only by the sweep of the headlights. Inside, the faint glow of the dashboard lit their faces. Music played quietly on the radio—something soft, instrumental; something neither of them recognised, but filled the silence without demanding anything.

Chloé drove Monroe’s car, her hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed ahead.

The world outside was still.

In the passenger seat, Monroe shifted, curled awkwardly beneath her coat, trying to sleep. But her eyes wouldn’t close. Every time she tried, her thoughts spiralled.

“What if…” she began, then stopped, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Chloé glanced sideways, just for a second. “Don’t.”

Monroe swallowed. “I can’t stop thinking about it. What if Benji—what if he…”

The words wouldn’t come. She pressed her fist to her mouth.

Chloé reached over, finding her hand in the dark and giving it a firm squeeze. “We’ll deal with whatever comes,” she said gently, “together.”

Monroe didn’t reply. She stared out at the night, blinking against tears, her fingers tightening around Chloé’s.