George's Grand Tour by Caroline Vermalle Read Free Book Online Page B

George, cackling ruefully to himself.
    â€˜OK. But Grandpa, why the Tour de France?’
    â€˜Because that’s what we wanted to do.’
    This straightforward answer took her by surprise. It was an endearing response, touching even, and made her grandfather seem more human, ageless, a bit like herself, a bit like everyone else. It was normal to want to go away, just like that.
    â€˜So are we agreed? Not a word to your mother.’
    And suddenly everything came back to her: the pills, his fading eyesight, his rheumatism, and all the clichés that accompany old age. Finally she said, with a hint of irritation:
    â€˜I don’t know, Grandpa, you know what Mum’s like … And you are taking risks with your health.’
    â€˜Adèle, I’m not dead yet, you know.’
    â€˜Right, well, I’ve got to go, Grandpa. I’ll … I’ll call you later.’
    *
    It was almost midnight. George and Charles had finally arrived at the Hôtel du Centre in Brest, three hours later than they had intended. They had been badly shaken by the accident. It was not the first time either of them had been in a crash, but this one had been so unexpected, so ridiculous and surreal that they were both still in shock. It was almost enough to make them regret ever having started the Tour. It looked as though the first step could end up being the last. And yet. And yet the adventure had got off to such a good start … especially for George.
    George and Ginette had got along famously. Even Charles, who was not the most perceptive person at the best of times, had picked up on it. They had hung around for so long in Notre-Dame-de-Monts that they had simply struck the stopover in Gâvres from their itinerary – and Charles’s cousin with it. Charles had initially been reluctant to call her with a trumped-up excuse, but had ended up grudgingly complying, rolling his eyes like a moody teenager. The three friends had enjoyed another exquisite meal on Ginette’s patio. Over coffee, as George and Charles were starting to think about getting going, Ginette, who, like most women, never missed a trick, announced that she would be joining them in Nantes. Just to ‘say hello’. Apparently it would also be a good chance to visit a few friends in the area, and for her to treat herself to a bit of window-shopping. Not that she intended to buy anything, of course, because of the credit crunch.
    Charles and George were aiming to get to Nantes on Tuesday 7 October. George could picture it already: the two heroes ofthe Tour arriving to an adoring crowd, which was made up principally of Ginette. Charles replied in a mock-severe tone that the athletes’ wives were strictly forbidden from all parts of the Tour. But George, on cracking form, found a quick comeback. ‘Ah, but that’s perfect,’ he said, ‘seeing as Ginette is neither your wife nor mine, and the rules clearly state that the Tour is open to “any and all wild-card entries”.’ Ginette feigned a blush and Charles said, chuckling, ‘Well, if it’s in the rules …’
    They drank to the rules with a small glass of plum brandy (only one finger for Charles, who was driving). In order not to miss each other in Nantes, Ginette showed her brother and George how to save her number in George’s phone. She wrote ‘Ginette Bruneau’, along with her home and mobile numbers, and took George’s details too. They promised to call each other to arrange a time and a place to meet. These happy moments changed George’s idea of what the Tour was going to be like, but there was one thing he had never been more sure of: nobody would be putting him in a home any time soon.
    Now, sitting alone in his yellow and grey room in the Hôtel du Centre, looking at the old suitcase that he had not yet unpacked, he reflected with deep sadness that nothing was less certain.
    Â 
    He had imagined he would get