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FINDING MARGO New Island, May 2007 ISBN: 10- 1905494475 ISBN:13- 9781905494477
Meet Margo Hunter. When Margo misreads the map as they travel through France, her husband Alan indulges in yet another of his habitual rages. On impulse, Margo walks out of her emotionally suppressed life into the hands of fate and the vast French countryside. As her world is turned upside down, so are her expectations, and while she is making new friends and waiting for Alan to find her, she might just find herself…
CHAPTER ONE
The silver BMW travelled smoothly along the motorway, the soft purring of the engine barely audible over the Beethoven sonata that wafted from the CD player. Margo looked idly at the French countryside gliding past the windows, the music and the gentle movement of the car making her drowsy. She glanced at her husband to make sure he wasn’t falling asleep too, but he looked reasonably alert, driving the big car expertly as always. They had arrived in Calais by ferry in the early morning and headed south straight away to avoid the worst of the heat and the traffic. Now it was late afternoon, and Margo was tired of concentrating on the map and directing Alan through the maze of motorways. She leaned her head against the soft leather of the headrest and closed her eyes. The road map and guide-book slid off her knees. As her head lolled forward, she realised falling asleep would be a bad idea. She opened her eyes, fighting to stay awake. ‘Could we change the music?’ she asked drowsily. ‘Or put on the news or something? I’m beginning to nod off here.’ Alan frowned without taking his eyes off the road. ‘You’d better not, or we’ll end up going the wrong way.’ ‘And that wouldn’t do, would it,’ Margo said, imagining what would happen if they missed even one minute of the medical conference in Cannes. ‘It certainly wouldn’t.’ ‘Maybe we can get the news on the BBC?’ Margo put her hand out to switch the CD player to the radio setting. ‘No, I like this,’ Alan said in a voice that didn’t allow argument. ‘I find it relaxing while I drive.’ ‘OK.’ Margo settled back into her seat again. Maybe I’ll feel less sleepy if I talk to him, she thought, trying to think of a topic of conversation. ‘Do you realise,’ she said after a while, ‘that we haven’t been on a trip like this for over three years?’ ‘Three years?’ Alan asked incredulously. ‘It couldn’t be that long.’ ‘It is.’ Margo nodded. ‘The last time we went anywhere together was…’- she thought for a minute,- ‘America. We went to New York for that meeting. Don’t you remember that lovely weekend in the fall?’ she said with an exaggerated American accent. ‘We drove to Vermont and stayed in that cute little country inn and-’ -‘I got terrible backache from that horrible bed,’ Alan grunted. ‘That wasn’t from the bed, it was from making love in the bath,’ Margo said with a little smile. ‘You got such a cramp, remember?’ ‘God, yes. I had to go to hospital.’ ‘And we had to explain to that elderly nurse what you had been doing to be in such pain,’ Margo laughed. ‘I don’t know why we found it so funny,’ Alan said. ‘But we did. We couldn’t stop laughing.’ ‘I know.’ Margo’s smile died on her lips as her thoughts went back to those happy days. We don’t laugh together like that any more, she thought. She turned to look at Alan, admiring his profile. Still handsome, still the same tall frame, broad shoulders and gleaming blond hair. He looks nearly exactly as he did when we got married. It’s my fault, she thought. I haven’t managed to keep him interested. I haven’t made the effort to be fascinating and sexy and feminine and whatever else men want you to be. But I will, she promised herself. I’ll change my hair and buy some really sexy underwear. And now I have the chance. After all, this is France, what better place to get something really fabulous? We’re still young, she thought, not even forty, we should be able to rekindle that hot flame. She felt a stir of excitement at the thought of surprising Alan. ‘We should be there soon.’ Alan’s voice dragged Margo out of her reverie. ‘Mmm.’ ‘About twenty minutes, would you say?’ ‘Something like that..’ ‘Great.’ Alan smiled and shifted his body in his seat. ‘I’m beginning to feel a little stiff.’ ‘But you’ll be able to have a swim in the hotel pool soon,’ Margo said. ‘We’ll have plenty of time before dinner.’ ‘I know. I can’t wait. My back is really beginning to get to me. Maybe we shouldn’t have driven so far in one day.’ ‘That was your idea,’ Margo reminded him. ‘I would have been quite prepared to have stopped much earlier.’ ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he asked, giving her a sideways glance. ‘I told you so? OK. I admit it probably would have made more sense to have stopped earlier, but I’m not that bad. Not worse than usual in any case.’ ‘If you took some exercise and tried to cut down on your workload…’ -‘Yeah, yeah, I know,’ he interrupted. ‘But you know I can’t work less at the moment. This break was only possible because of those cancellations and the fact that the conference is being held in Cannes this year. Which also gave us the opportunity to stay in this fantastic place on the way. And as you might have noticed, the traffic wasn’t as bad as you thought. We seem to have managed to get ahead of the posse. You did a good job directing me.’ ‘I hope I can keep it up,’ Margo said, leaning her head on the headrest again. ‘So do I.’ Alan paused and shot her another glance. ‘You weren’t thinking of taking nap?’ he asked, a hint of irritation in his voice. ‘You know I need you to keep an eye on the map.’ ‘I am,’ Margo assured him, picking the books off the floor. ‘I have both the map and the guide-book right here.’ ‘Great. Just make sure you don’t miss the exit. It should be coming up shortly. As far as I can remember, we go up a hill and through a roundabout. Then I think there’s a right turn over a bridge and we should be on the road straight to the hotel.’ ‘Mmm.’ Margo stifled a yawn. ‘Sorry,’ she laughed, ‘it’s the sun and the motion of the car. Makes me sleepy.’ ‘We’ll have dinner as soon as we arrive and then a swim and an early night,’ Alan said. ‘Good idea,’ Margo agreed, beginning to look forward to the evening. And tomorrow they would arrive in Cannes and she would be able to relax, have some time on her own while he attended the conference. She would laze on the beach, swim, read, maybe do some shopping. There was that nice lingerie shop just off the Croisette, where they had the most amazing things. She’d buy that sexy underwear. Maybe I should go a bit kinky, she thought, that might do the trick… ‘Exit 22,’ Alan suddenly said as a road sign whizzed past. ‘Is that the one I should take?’ ‘Mmm? What? Exit 22?’ Startled, Margo picked up the map. ‘No, it should say exit 8. Hold on, I’ll have a look.’ ‘Wake up!’ Alan shouted. ‘Tell me quick! What should I do? We’re coming up to the exit now!’ ‘No! Don’t take that one!’ Margo yelled. ‘It’s wrong. Keep going, until I find out.’ She studied the map with a feeling of dread as the car swept past the exit. ‘Oh God, I don’t believe it.’ ‘What?’ Alan demanded. ‘Well, there shouldn’t be an exit 22 here.’ Her mouth suddenly felt dry and her hands clammy. ‘Unless. .’ -‘Unless you’ve made a mistake again?’ ‘Yeah, well.’ She swallowed nervously, staring at the map, trying to figure out how she could have got it so horribly wrong. ‘Oh God. I must have made a mistake back there at the spaghetti junction. It was so difficult to figure out..’ Margo bit her lip, her stomach churning, ready for the stream of abuse she knew would come now. ‘We’re on the wrong motorway?’ Alan asked, his voice dangerously silky. ‘Are you telling me we’re going in the direction of Grenoble?’ ‘Eh, I’m afraid we are.’ Alan’s hands gripped the wheels, the knuckles white, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘Fuck,’ he muttered. ‘Sorry,’ Margo whispered. ‘That junction you’re talking about, was that the one we went through just after Dijon? A fucking hour ago?’ ‘Yes,’ she stammered. ‘Oh Alan, I’m really sorry.’ ‘Moron.’ ‘I know. It was really silly of me, but it was so confusing. And there were no proper signs and-’ ‘You stupid bitch! We have lost a full hour, do you realise that? And we’re nearly out of petrol as well. Shit! We have to stop at the next petrol station. And then we’ll have to figure out how to get to where we’re supposed to be. We won’t be at the hotel until at least ten o’clock at this rate. Do you understand what you’ve done?’ ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I can’t hear you.’ ‘Yes,’ Margo murmured, ‘I do understand. But I did say I was sorry.’ ‘Sorry? You think you can fix what you’ve done by just saying sorry?’ ‘I didn’t do it on purpose.’ ‘Yeah, right.’ ‘It was a mistake,’ Margo whispered, her chin trembling. ‘Mistake?’ There was a pause and a sharp intake of breath. ‘A fucking mistake that has cost us half a day’s driving and God knows how much money in petrol. My back is killing me as well. You’re useless, do you know that? I should have known better than ask you to read a bloody map. You couldn’t direct a child on a tricycle to playschool!’ ‘I know. It was really stupid.’ ‘You bet it was.’ ‘Sorry,’ Margo said again even though she knew she sounded as stupid as he thought she was. Oh, how I hate this, she thought. How I hate his temper and his swearing and shouting. And it always comes out of the blue like a bolt of lightning. One minute he’s so charming and sweet, and the next… ‘How long are we married?’ Alan suddenly demanded. ‘What?’ ‘You heard. How long are we married?’ ‘Ten years.’ Alan shook his head and sighed. ‘Ten years,’ he snarled. ‘Ten fucking years. I can’t believe I’ve been stuck with such a half-wit for ten fucking years.’ Margo felt suddenly trapped. She wanted to open the car door and throw herself into the road, so strong was her urge to get away from him, from the venom in his voice and the horrible insults. ‘Stop the car,’ she said. ‘Stop the car? What the fuck do you mean? I can’t stop in the middle of a three-lane motorway. I’m in the fast lane, can’t you see that?’ ‘I don’t care. I want to get out. I can’t stand sitting here while you go berserk.’ ‘What? Me? Berserk? What are you going on about now?’ ‘You know very well. You’re ranting and raving like a lunatic just because of one little-’ -‘Little?’ he snapped. ‘You call that little? You had the map, you knew where we were going, why the fuck couldn’t you manage to do the one thing that was required of you instead of going to sleep?’ ‘But I…’ Margo stopped. She clamped her mouth shut, deciding not to talk to him until he had calmed down. What was the point? Arguing only made him worse. He’s so mean, she thought, hot tears stinging her eyes, so cruel and unforgiving. I know I was a little absentminded, but why can’t he be more easy going, more willing to forgive? Why can’t he understand how difficult it was to figure out that complicated mess on the map? Why couldn’t we laugh about it and try to solve the problem together? But no, that would be too much to expect. There was a brooding stillness in the car as the last bars of the piano sonata died away and the heavy trucks roared past them outside. ‘There’s a petrol station a few miles ahead,’ Alan said, sounding marginally calmer, as they passed a large sign. ‘We’ll stop there and fill up.’ Margo didn’t reply. ‘And I’ll have a look at the map and try to find out where the fuck we are,’ he continued. Margo turned her head away and stared blindly out the window, trying to block the sound of his voice from her mind. ‘Sulking now, are we?’ Alan’s voice dripped contempt. ‘Feeling sorry for ourselves?’ Margo laughed bitterly to herself as she was tempted to ask him what his patients would say if they saw him now, - all those women who found him so caring and wonderful, the best plastic surgeon in London with the wonderful bedside manner, - the miracle worker who can make an ageing woman look young again. Alan shook his head. ‘Jesus. Women,’ he muttered. ‘Can’t read a fucking map.’ Margo rummaged in her bag. ‘What are you doing now?’ Alan demanded. ‘Nothing. Just looking for a hanky.’ ‘You’re going to turn on the tears now, I suppose. Jesus Christ, you really are pathetic.’ He tightened his hands on the steering wheel and the car suddenly surged forward. Margo closed her eyes, humming a little tune to herself. Alan said something she didn’t hear, his voice only a distant murmur as the car swept around the next bend. * ‘Here we are,’ Alan said as he slowed the car and turned into the entrance to the motorway station. ‘But look at that queue. Shit! I should have known it would be like this at this time of year. Why does everybody go on holiday in July? We’ll have to wait at least half an hour now.’ Margo looked around. It was one of those huge stations- with about twenty petrol pumps, a picnic area, a playground for children and cafeteria, restaurant and shop in a separate building. She took her handbag and started to get out of the car. ‘I’m going to the loo,’ she announced, taking her black leather tote bag as well, thinking she could change her sweaty T-shirt for a fresh one. ‘Yeah, sure,’ Alan muttered, staring ahead, drumming his fingers on the dashboard. ‘I’ll see you in the cafeteria when you’ve finished filling the car,’ Margo said as she left. Alan just glared at her without replying. She shrugged and hurried away from the car, across the hot tarmac baking in the afternoon sun, into the coolness of the restaurant. * Margo looked at herself in the mirror as she dried her hands on the paper towel in the surprisingly clean ladies’ toilet. God, I look a mess, she thought. Her face was pale and there were traces of mascara under her eyes. She pulled out the scrunchie that held up her hair and the dark blonde curls tumbled onto her shoulders. She dampened a tissue to wipe away the smudges under her eyes, but to no avail. She still looked tired and dishevelled, despite having changed into a fresh blue T-shirt, and her white linen trousers were more wrinkled than fashionably creased. She sighed and took a comb from her bag, trying to fluff up her hair. I’ll have to wash it as soon as we get to the hotel, she thought, tying it up again. She put away the comb, took out a lipstick and quickly touched up the colour on her mouth, which made her look only slightly better. A good night’s sleep, she thought, that’s what I need. Can’t wait to get to the hotel. Alan will have calmed down and we’ll have a nice dinner, some wine and then I’ll do my best to cheer him up. And tomorrow, we’ll be in Cannes. The conference will keep him occupied and maybe improve his mood. Margo wandered out of the ladies’ into the shopping area and started to walk around the aisles. There was an amazing amount of luxury goods for sale - perfumes, soaps, expensive chocolates, even bottles of wine and champagne. She chose a small box of Belgian chocolates and a tray of tiny soaps, not because she needed them, but because it cheered her up to buy something. ‘That’s forty-four euros and fifty cents,’ the girl at the checkout said. Margo handed her a fifty from the euro notes Alan had given her early that morning when they had gone to the cash machine at the ferry port. He had told her to keep the European ‘funny money’ in her purse for emergencies, as you never knew when you might need to pay for something in cash. She didn’t have a credit card. Alan wouldn’t allow it. Not that he was stingy, but he didn’t want her to buy things he hadn’t approved of first. Margo put the change away, picked up her purchases and walked toward the restaurant. He must still be in that queue, she thought. I’ll have something to eat while I wait. I’ll order him a salad or something, that’ll cheer him up, he hates waiting around for meals. Or - maybe he doesn’t want anything to eat? He might get irritated again if I buy him a meal he doesn’t like and then he’ll be in a mood for the rest of the evening. She idly picked up a tray and went to the buffet, where an array of rather tired salads and sandwiches were displayed. She picked up a plate of chicken salad, a bread roll, a piece of apple tart and a bottle of water. But what if he’s really hungry, she thought, then he’ll be annoyed that I didn’t get him something… ‘Madame?’ the man at the cash register looked at her questioningly. ‘Vous voulez autre chose?’ Then he asked if she wanted something from the hot buffet. ‘Non,’ she said, shaking her head to emphasise her words and paid the bill. She sat down at a Formica table and tucked into the meal. The salad, followed by the apple tart and a cup of strong coffee from the espresso bar, improved her mood and she felt more hopeful. He’s just tired, she thought, all that driving would exhaust anyone. If only we could share the driving, it would be so much better. But he never wants me to drive. But where was he? She looked toward the entrance, but all she could see was a group of Italians arguing about who should get the last pasta salad and a couple with two children choosing ice cream. She looked out the grimy window and spotted Alan, standing by the car which had inched forward only two spaces since she left. He looked hot and irritated and Margo could see him wiping his forehead with his handkerchief. Oh God, this will make him even worse, she thought. She lifted the cup to her lips to finish her coffee, but found her hand was shaking so much she couldn’t hold it steady. Oh, I hope he’ll be able to fill the tank soon, she prayed, so we can get going… A few minutes later, Margo looked out again and saw Alan gesticulate in an evident rage at a uniformed youth holding a bucket and mop. Hit him, she silently willed the bewildered young man, hit him right in the face. But the young man just backed away. Margo turned back to her coffee. How is it possible, she asked herself, for a man with such charm to be so horrible when he’s angry? And he has been a lot worse lately, losing his temper for no apparent reason at all. The week in Cannes should be good for us both. We’ll be able to talk things through, really get close again… Margo turned her gaze to the window opposite and looked at the view of the motorway, crossed by a footbridge that lead to the lay-by on the opposite side, where a large number of trucks were parked. She stared at the footbridge, at the motorway with the traffic roaring in both directions, turned around and glanced at Alan again. Now he was kicking the wheel of the car. He looked up and peered at the windows of the cafeteria and she could see his face, still scowling. She knew he couldn’t possibly see her, but she cringed all the same. She looked through the other window again, at the footbridge and the people walking across it. She wished she was one of them, someone, anyone who didn’t have to get back into that car with Alan in the mood he was in. She wished she was back in London, at work, out shopping, anywhere but here in this café waiting to confront him again. I’d better go back to the car, Margo thought. He’ll be even worse if he has to wait for me. She sighed, slowly gathered her things and started for the main entrance. But when she was half way across the restaurant, she suddenly stopped, turned and, on an impulse, walked out the side door instead, around the back of the building, across the tarmac, away from the petrol pumps and the line of cars. She kept walking, staring ahead, as if guided by an inner voice that kept telling her to keep going. Suddenly, someone shouted somewhere nearby, but she walked on, her heart pounding, afraid to look around. The shouting stopped. She glanced behind her. A man had caught a small boy by the shoulder. Margo clapped her hand to her chest as if to slow her heart and stood for a moment, trying to catch her breath and regain her cool. She breathed in deeply and, like a sleepwalker, started to walk again, across the car park, through the playground and the picnic area, up the steps and over the bridge. |
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