Two Steps Forward by Graeme Simsion

Author:Graeme Simsion
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-03-13T04:00:00+00:00

39

Zoe

I got out of the hotel as fast as I could. I was acting on instinct, in no state to ask myself if it was the wisest thing to do. Does anyone, in the moment when their world falls apart?

But before I could process any of what I’d just learned, I had practicalities to deal with. Having arrived a day earlier than planned, I’d need somewhere to stay until Camille arrived. Fortunately, there was no shortage of hostels in St Jean Pied de Port. I went for the municipal gîte, where, for the first time in seven weeks, I encountered my countrymen and women en masse.

‘Where are we eating? I don’t want French food two days running.’

‘What the heck is a Miam Miam Dodo? Some kinda bird?’

‘Do they use pesos in Spain?’

It hit me how loud we—and maybe Brazilians—are, compared to Europeans. They had taken up the entire entrance hall, not because they were larger than the French, though that was true too, but because the locals would have been standing closer together.

Part of me wanted to run a mile, but another part of me recognised that they were offering me what I wanted more than anything else—home. I had the rest of my life to process the news that Lauren had given me.

I walked over to a curly-haired woman in her forties and introduced myself. Her handwritten name badge announced that her name was Donna and she was a guest of Americans on the Camino.

‘You walking to Roncesvalles tomorrow?’ she asked.

‘No—I’ve been walking seven weeks and I’m done.’

‘Seven weeks! Mike, you hear that?’ Donna and Mike dragged me over to join the group.

There were about a dozen of them, all name-badged for the getting-to-know-you drinks.

‘Have you seen where we’re supposed to sleep?’ Barbara was still standing—she didn’t look like she thought it was safe to sit. I remembered my first night sharing with Bernhard and the first time I’d slept with a bunch of other walkers, five weeks ago in Le Puy. I’d come a long way since then.

‘It’s only one night, honey,’ Larry said. ‘After this, it’s all hotels.’

‘They wanted us to experience one of these,’ Donna told me. ‘Get it done early. Some people stay in places like this every night.’

‘Why are you walking?’ I asked.

‘Same reason everyone does, I guess,’ said Larry. ‘Saw the Martin Sheen movie.’

‘What movie?’

‘The Way . . .You’re saying you haven’t seen it? So, you heard about the Camino . . . how?’

I gave them a summary. With questions, it took about a quarter of an hour, and I found myself as staggered as they were when I reviewed what I’d done—and for reasons no more substantial than theirs. And wondered: why had I bothered?

‘Where’s your bags?’ asked a skinny redheaded guy without a name badge, the youngest of the group by at least twenty years. He was checking out my backpack.

‘This is it.’

‘You’re kidding me.’

‘If you can live without it, don’t haul it. This is all you need, believe me.’ His pack looked like he had emptied a camping store into it.

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