The Snakes Page 3

  ‘Stop!’ said Bea, suddenly. ‘Stop here.’

  Surprised, Dan pulled over, bumping onto grass.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I just wanted to stop,’ she said.

  They both got out, and left the doors open. The engine gave off heat and the smell of oil. Standing there, out of the car, was strange after the hours and hours of battering noise. They stood with their backs to the road. A big pasture sloped down to a stream. There were tall feathery trees along the water and cream-coloured cows grazing.

  ‘See?’ said Bea.

  They stood and looked.

  ‘Yeah. Fair enough,’ Dan conceded. ‘This is nice.’

  They looked at the pale creamy cows wandering along the bank on the other side of the water at the bottom of the grassy hill. There was a small island in the widest part of the stream; with trees growing on it, and a mother cow with a calf, grazing in the shade. The sun caught the water just right, so that the sky and the white clouds were floating in a mirror. The light moved across the valley, with the smell of the grass and the sound of birds and nothing else, except the faint tinge of hot-oil from the car behind them.

  ‘That’s beautiful,’ said Dan. ‘It looks like a painting. They told us in college those landscape paintings were idealised.’

  One of the cows mooed. Others answered, like distant bassoons. They both smiled at the sound. He took her hand and kissed it.

  ‘Better now,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s OK. He’s not your brother.’

  ‘It’s weird – being in France.’

  ‘Is it?’ France was as close to home as she could imagine.

  ‘I know it’s stupid.’

  ‘It isn’t.’

  ‘In Berlin I was with mates.’

  ‘You’re with one now.’

  ‘I’m a city boy, aren’t I? And I don’t speak French.’

  ‘I do. We’ll be fine. I’m nervous too.’

  He didn’t ask her what about. The sun had gone from the field and the river wasn’t blue any longer, but colourless. The cows stood out whitely, eating.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Dan.

  They got back into the car. He pulled out onto the narrow road just as a tractor hurtled round the bend. He braked. The tractor sped by, noisy and bright blue. Dust floated. Dan had stalled the car.

  ‘Forgot to look,’ he said. ‘Wrong side of the road.’

  ‘He was going way too fast.’

  They were very close to Alex’s hotel now. The road went on and on, feeling longer than it was because it was unknown. Then, at last, they saw a pair of tall iron gates and a smart, hand-painted sign: Hotel Paligny.

  ‘Turn in,’ said Bea.

  Dan turned in and drove up the short driveway towards a medium-sized nineteenth-century building, half covered in vines.

  ‘Looks all right,’ he said, impressed. ‘So, what, your dad just – bought this for him?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Bea.

  ‘It must make good money.’

  ‘You think?’

  There were no other cars. They both got out of the Peugeot. Dan went up the steps to the closed door and peered through the glass.

  ‘Doorbell,’ said Bea, pointing.

  The bell was nestled in leaves along with an RAC badge: 2 Stars. Dan pressed it and they heard ringing inside but nothing happened.

  ‘Where is he?’ he said. He pressed the bell again, insistently, and knocked. ‘Fuck. What do we do now?’

  They checked their phones. Signal but no messages.

  ‘He must be out,’ said Bea.

  ‘Out,’ said Dan. The word was loaded.

  The place looked deserted except for an open sash window on the first floor. They separated and walked to the edge of the weedy gravel, looking into the surrounding trees. Dan disappeared round the corner of the building. Bea waited. A plane crossed the sky, so high it made no sound. Dan came back.

  ‘What’s there?’ she asked.

  ‘Side door. It’s locked. And a path, to the road, I think.’

  ‘He’ll probably be back any minute.’

  ‘Yeah, but, Bea – a receptionist? People?’

  ‘He wouldn’t have asked us if it wasn’t OK –’

  ‘Then how come it’s shut?’ Anxiety angered him. ‘He could be anywhere.’

  ‘We only spoke yesterday.’

  ‘Then he’s forgotten.’

  ‘He’s not completely non-functioning.’

  ‘Sometimes he is, Bea, by the sounds of it. From what you tell me, sometimes he is completely non-functioning.’

  Facing each other, ready for a fight, they heard a car, and a black Renault came quickly through the gates and pulled up, grinding its tyres as it stopped. Alex got out before the brake had completely taken.

  ‘Shit! Bea! I’m really sorry!’

  Dirty jeans and a faded T-shirt, messy hair, smiling. He wrapped his sinewy arms around her.

  ‘I’m really, really sorry,’ he said again, to Dan, over her shoulder.

  ‘It’s so fine!’ said Bea. ‘We literally just got here.’

  ‘Where is everybody?’ said Dan.

  Alex released Bea.

  ‘So good to finally meet you,’ he said, smiling, like Dan was uncouth for pointing out the obvious before etiquette was observed.

  This from the cokehead, thought Dan, this from the smack addict.

  ‘Hey,’ he said.

  Alex moved in for a hug, but Dan dodged it and they shook hands, then Dan stepped back and put his hands in his pockets. Alex grinned and bounced in front of them, the picture of white entitlement, in his crappy T-shirt, as if he wasn’t everything a hotel proprietor shouldn’t be. He looked from one to the other and flung his arms out. He didn’t look like Bea at all, tall and skinny, darker hair than hers.

  ‘I was getting the dinner in,’ he said proudly, ‘but I fucked up the timing. I had a whole plan.’

  He ran back to the Renault and pulled Monoprix bags from the back with his keys in his mouth, then went up the steps, unlocked the door and shoved it with his shoulder. They followed him inside. There was a reception desk in a big hall and down a short passageway behind that, was a door to the garden, letting in almost no light. He dropped the shopping.

  ‘Have you got your stuff?’

  ‘Alex,’ said Bea calmly, ‘where is everyone?’

  ‘Everyone?’ he asked innocently.

  ‘Aren’t there any guests?’ she said. ‘Where are the staff?’

  ‘Oh. We’re a bit quiet at the moment. Come on, I’ll show you upstairs, and then we can look around, yeah?’

  He ran up the stairs and Bea and Dan followed, not looking at each other.

  ‘Bea! This is so cool!’

  The stairs turned a corner and then there was a corridor off to the left with bedrooms on each side. There were brass numbers screwed to the doors, which was reassuring. With a darting, anxious look, Alex said, ‘This is you. Number 1. It’s the biggest.’

  The bedroom had a reproduction bateau-lit with a pink bedspread. Wardrobe. Flowered wallpaper.

  ‘That’s the bathroom.’ He nodded towards a closed door. ‘It’s en suite.’ He said it as if defending himself against a challenge.

  ‘It’s gorgeous,’ said Bea. She went to the window. ‘What a view.’

  ‘Is it? It’s all right, yeah? Look, I’ve got to go down and – everything all right? I’ll leave you to it, yeah? All right, Dan? Dan? Good?’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Dan, not able to look at him.

  Alex hurried away. They heard him humming.

  ‘What is he, fifteen years old?’ said Dan.

  ‘Stop it.’

  ‘It stinks. What’s that smell?’

  ‘It’s just damp.’

  ‘He’s had this place how long?’ said Dan. ‘Three years?’

  ‘Less than two. It’s nice.’

  Small stems snapped as she pushed up the sash window. She leaned out. They were above a long garden w
ith a small stone barn at the end of it. Bumpy treetops surrounded the hotel, stretching away. It felt as though you could walk over them and touch the roofs that poked up. The light was fading. The room was musty, but not as bad as the corridor, which smelled of paint as well, and glue.

  She turned back to Dan. ‘What do you think he tells our father?’

  ‘How would I know?’ He looked into the bathroom. ‘It’s actually not too bad,’ he said. ‘Mind you, anything’s nicer than our bathroom at the flat.’

  ‘Our bathroom’s fine,’ said Bea, feeling hurt.

  Dan crossed the room and opened a second door to another bedroom, similar to theirs, but with no bed.

  ‘Yay,’ he said, ‘a suite.’

  3

  Nothing about the Hotel Paligny was ready for business. Dan walked behind, as Alex showed them round. He seemed both proud and ashamed, and Bea was embarrassed for him. She ran out of things to say.

  ‘Ta-da!’ he said, entering the dining room. It had twelve bare tables. The windows had no curtains.

  He ran to the back door, rattled the handle, then bent to unlock it with a spider key, fumbling and dropping it on the carpet. They waited, Bea refusing to catch Dan’s eye, and at last Alex threw open the double doors. Beyond the narrow terrace a stone path led down through tangled grass, studded with dandelions. At the bottom of the garden was the barn and log pile. The heavy buds of roses lolled over cracked flower beds.

  ‘What do you think of my garden furniture? It was dead cheap,’ said Alex.

  Several tables and chairs were scattered about, they were brand new, with brash, brown matching sunbeds dotted chaotically between.

  ‘Is he taking the piss?’ whispered Dan.

  In the kitchen Alex pulled the food from the plastic bags. It was not the kitchen Bea had imagined. Next to a wooden dresser there were two trolleys, like operating theatre trolleys, and a line of broken wicker chairs. There was an industrial-size range, with six gas rings, and a fryer, and three microwaves.

  They ate in the dining room as darkness fell, with the other tables grouped jealously around them. He hadn’t asked anything about their journey, or themselves; being with him was like watching television, or a play.

  ‘It’s been cold at night,’ he said. ‘It’s nicer eating in the garden, obviously.’

  ‘Doesn’t that get to you?’ asked Dan, pointing to the blank glass. Alex jumped up immediately, dodging between the tables, and pulled all the windows open, with creaks and heaving.

  ‘You don’t need to –’ started Dan.

  The gaping windows were as strange as the reflecting glass had been.

  ‘Not so creepy?’ Alex came back to the table dusting paint flakes from his hands.

  Gathering the tumblers together, he poured the wine, gazing on it as it flowed from the bottle, shining like blackberries. It was the only thing so far to hold his full attention.

  ‘There you go. Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  They drank. He had raided the charcuterie counter at the supermarket, and bought more than they could possibly eat.

  ‘I’ll cook for you tomorrow. Sorry. Sidetracked.’

  ‘Please don’t worry,’ said Bea. ‘Sidetracked by what?’

  ‘Oh, you know, hotel business. I think the building work is putting people off?’

  Did he mean the dried-out roller leaning against the wall upstairs, the abandoned box of filler?

  ‘I slowed down over the winter,’ he said, ‘but I’ve got loads of ideas. I need to find a contractor. I could make it a private members’ club, what do you think?’

  ‘But –’ Bea began.

  ‘May last year was seriously busy.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Honestly, sis, it was mad. People saw it online and they kept calling and calling. I was the only one here. You should have seen it, it was hilarious.’ He poured himself more wine. ‘So I changed the name. You’ll have to come back, when I have the grand opening.’

  ‘When will it be?’

  Alex ignored the question. ‘So, tell me, Dan. What’s the story?’

  Seeing his expression, Bea willed Dan to be kind.

  ‘The story?’ said Dan.

  ‘Yes. What’s going on? Road trip? Odyssey?’

  Dan shrugged. ‘Kind of.’

  ‘We thought we’d take a break,’ said Bea. ‘I told you. Hunt out my emails.’

  ‘It’s brilliant having you,’ said Alex eagerly.

  ‘Yeah, well, thanks, but we can’t stay long,’ said Dan.

  ‘Really?’ Dismayed, Alex put down his glass.

  ‘We could stop by again, on our way back,’ said Bea.

  ‘We’ve got a load of places to see,’ said Dan. ‘It’s not cheap.’

  ‘Shit, don’t worry about that,’ Alex laughed, dismissing finances, all finances, with contempt.

  ‘Right,’ said Dan.

  Alex turned to Bea. ‘You still holding out against Dad?’

  ‘I think he’s given up on me,’ Bea said. She smiled at Dan.

  ‘OK, so you’re broke,’ said Alex. ‘Don’t worry about it. I don’t want your pennies.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Bea.

  ‘Stay as long as you like.’

  ‘We’ve only got three months before Bea needs to get back to work,’ said Dan. ‘And I need to find a new job.’

  ‘But you could stay a couple of weeks,’ Alex pressed. ‘Couldn’t you?’

  ‘Let’s talk about it tomorrow,’ said Bea.

  ‘Don’t you want to?’ said Alex, looking from one to the other.

  ‘Yes,’ said Bea, ignoring Dan’s look. ‘It’s just –’

  ‘You can’t afford it – Bea, I keep saying, don’t worry.’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Bea.

  ‘It’s because of our father,’ he said. He lit a cigarette. ‘You don’t want to stay because he pays.’

  ‘No,’ said Bea. ‘Of course it’s not.’

  She felt herself getting warm, and Dan scrutinising her. She didn’t want to talk about her parents in front of him. She didn’t want to talk about them at all. And she didn’t want Alex to.

  ‘Look, OK,’ said Alex, tapping his heel on the ground, rapidly. ‘Griff gives me his money, and I give you, what? Fucking – croissants. They’re still my fucking croissants, right? I mean, what the hell, right?’

  ‘Al, it’s fine,’ said Bea. ‘It’s not that. I’m so happy to see you, and I’m so glad we’re here.’

  ‘Fuck principles,’ said Alex, blinking like there was something in his eye, either not knowing he was doing it, or not able to stop. ‘I mean, fuck it. He owns us anyway, Bea.’

  She shook her head. Dan looked down at the table, and did not look up again.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Alex, ‘he owns us and he owes us. Take advantage! Think of it as payment – for services not rendered by him, right? Compensation or something. Fuck it, right?’ He stopped speaking, staring at the end of his cigarette, still blinking, but trying not to.

  Neither Dan nor Bea said a word. There was a long silence. Alex stubbed out his cigarette and turned slowly towards Bea. He leaned forward, his face suddenly bright.

  ‘“Have you recently been involved in an accident that wasn’t your fault?”’ he said, like a cold-call salesman.

  Dan just stared at him, but then Bea and her brother started to laugh.

  ‘What is it?’ said Dan.

  Bea and Alex, laughing, gasped.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Bea. ‘Just nothing.’

  They stopped laughing at the same time and there was silence. Alex tipped back his chair, ruminating.

  ‘Spain,’ he said, picking up another cigarette and lighting it. ‘Espagne.’

  ‘We want to visit the Alhambra,’ said Bea. ‘Neither of us have ever seen it.’

  ‘Art’s not your thing.’

  ‘It’s Dan’s thing. He studied it,’ said Bea. ‘He can teach me.’

  ‘And what about you?’ asked Alex. ‘How’re the nu
tters of London treating you? The disenfranchised. The depressed. Will they be all right?’

  ‘I had a lot of clients,’ she said. She could feel Dan looking at her. She didn’t want him to feel guilty, she felt bad enough already.

  ‘Junkies?’ asked Alex.

  ‘Not usually. Some, while I was training, but not since I qualified.’

  ‘Did I know you qualified?’ He sifted through the past, trying to remember.

  ‘Five years ago.’

  ‘You’ve been a qualified psychotherapist for five years?’

  ‘You’ve had other things to worry about.’

  ‘No, it’s shit of me.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said.

  ‘I missed your wedding. I missed your thirtieth.’

  ‘It’s fine. Alex. It’s fine.’

  He stared into her eyes. ‘I’m going to my meetings,’ he said. ‘Just so you know.’

  She didn’t let him see how much she was feeling. ‘NA?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Out here?’ She pictured French farmers in church halls, surrendering their various addictions to their Higher Power.

  ‘No, no, online,’ said Alex. ‘It’s great. Especially if you can parlez the French, like what you and me can do. I drink a load of wine. But not every day. And that’s it.

  ‘OK,’ said Bea.

  ‘All right then, sometimes a bit of weed. These provincial French towns, you’ve no idea how easy it is to get hold of.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ she said.

  ‘My little sister, the expert. So I do my building work round the hotel, and odd jobs and things, and it’s –’

  He stopped. The word ‘fine’ would not come and he couldn’t think of another.

  ‘All right there, Dan?’ he said brightly.

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ said Dan.

  ‘Enough to eat?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dan, but then took pity. He indicated the cigarettes. ‘Can I nick one of those?’

  Alex handed him the packet. Dan only smoked to be friendly. Observing a shred of companionship between them Bea stood up.