Page 37 of Sisters

‘I miss her, Abby, I miss her so much.’

A bolt of realization froze Abby for a moment.Susanna. Then she held her little sister, feeling the shuddering, great rifts of grief escaping from her body. They stayed there a while, parked up on the edge of a small square, neither of them noticing the man watching from the bench by the fountain.

Crying was normal, it was acceptable, especially after everything Ellie had gone through, but there was a limit, thought Abby, and just as she was starting to think that it had been going on long enough, and she was mentally phrasing a pep talk, Ellie peeled herself away and apologized.

Abby handed her a tissue. ‘Don’t be silly. There’s nothing to be sorry for.’

‘I think it’s all been a lot to contend with...’

Ellie looked so down, Abby squeezed her hand. She glanced up the street, saw aboulangerie.

‘I think we could both do with a strong coffee, don’t you?’

Ellie nodded and Abby jumped out of the car. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she said, and crossed the road into the little shop.

Ellie watched her sister disappear into theboulangerieand suddenly felt a desperate need to stretch her own legs. She’d been in the car for hours and, tugging at the door handle, she stepped out with a sense of freedom and relief. It felt good to walk, as she headed over to the little square, where she dipped her hands in the fountain and looked up at a cherub above her head, who poured water from his stone urn.

The water was cool and clear and Ellie felt a strong urge to splash some on her face and neck. She scooped up the water and sighed as it soothed her hot, reddened eyes.

‘It’s meant to have healing properties.’

Ellie swung round, wiping away the water dripping from her face. A man, dressed in Lycra, was sitting on the bench, his forearms resting on his thighs as he watched her. A bike was propped against the side of the seat.

Her first thought was whether or not he was talking to her, but a quick glance around confirmed that he was.

‘Healing in what way?’

The man held up his phone. ‘Anyway you like, according to this website. Flu, sprained ankle...broken heart.’

Ellie was distracted from trying to place his accent (Norwegian? Swedish?) by his last comment. Had he seen her crying? Probably. Was that what he thought was wrong with her? Broken heart? She was too drained to care. She looked a little closer at him; he was young, younger than her, she thought, although not by much. She noticed his biceps and quads. He was fit.

She nodded at his bike. ‘You on a trip?’

‘Pilgrimage.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Of sorts. I’ve cycled down from Oslo.’ (So, Norwegian then, thought Ellie.) ‘I’m following the Méditerranée a Vélo cycle route across southern France.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s so scenic. And safer than the motorway.’

‘No, I mean, why are you crossing southern France? What’s the pilgrimage?’

He smiled at her then, a fleeting, sad smile, she thought, before it vanished.

‘That’s not the pilgrimage.’

‘I’m confused.’

‘That’s just a cool cycle ride. The pilgrimage is across northern Spain. The Camino de Santiago. I get a train to the start of the trail.’

‘Oh right,’ said Ellie, not really following.

The man moved up on the bench and patted the space next to him. ‘I’m Fredrik.’

Ellie hesitated, but then thought,Might as well be friendly.‘Ellie,’ she replied, as she sat next to him. He really was extremely good-looking. Even though he was sitting down she could tell by the length of his legs that he was tall. There was a clear tan line where his shorts had ridden up – from all those days of cycling, she thought. And his blue eyes shone in creases that went from tan to white, depending on whether or not he was smiling.