Read George's Grand Tour for Free Online

friendship had also sustained a lively trade in lettuces, screwdrivers, pokers, freezer bags, various types of string, cousins’ addresses and small favours. The same routine had suited them both for all this time; God knows why they had decided to play adventurers and give it all up now!
    All of a sudden, there on the seafront at Notre-Dame-de-Monts, they no longer knew what to say to each other. Their friendship was breathing in new air; time would tell if it would survive the change.
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    George and Charles arrived at Ginette’s house at twelve-thirty on the dot. Kisses, did you have a good trip, well, a bit of traffic around Le Perrier as always, but otherwise yes, it was fine, the weather’s still nice, you’ve brought the sun with you, it was such bad weather this summer, yes fine, can’t complain. It was the same exchange they had every year, a game of question and answer that they knew off by heart, where everyone spoke at the same time as if joining in with the chorus of a song they knew and loved.
    Ginette suggested eating on the patio, where the table was already set. Was it the Atlantic air or perhaps the sweet scent of the pine trees he could smell as they drank their coffee in the garden? George hadn’t felt this good in years. He had met Ginettea few times at family lunches, and he had always found her a little haughty. But seeing her in her own home she seemed very different. She scarcely looked seventy-three with her reddish hair, cropped trousers and orange plastic sandals. He had never before noticed her youthful energy – or perhaps widowhood suited her? Whatever it was, here in her own garden Ginette’s manner was much more playful and her natural authoritativeness was at once heightened and yet more agreeable, like the autumn wind that rustled the stone pines. And perhaps a little like this dangerously drinkable plum brandy.
    Charles was keeping an eye on him. For George, having fallen for the charms of Ginette, or of her plum brandy, or perhaps both at once, was beginning to make a fool of himself. He suddenly remembered lyrics to songs he had not sung for sixty years. He recounted the numerous glories of the Tour that they were going to relive one by one, stories of the past told in the future tense. The shy neighbours had found their tongues again.
    They moved from brandy to chocolate, from Petit Chinon to herbal tea. The afternoon turned to evening and the evening became night. After a dinner that was no less sumptuous than their lunch, it was time for a round of rummy.
    Ginette got out her playing mat and the two decks of cards. George was already sitting at the table in the living room, hunched over his tea. It even looked as though he might already be sleeping off the plum brandy. As she dealt the cards, Ginette asked:
    â€˜And George, your granddaughter, Adèle, how is she getting on over there, in London? She works in film, doesn’t she?’
    â€˜Yes, but I don’t know what she actually does. Well, I supposeit was her decision … She never tells me anything, you see.’
    George suddenly felt very low – no doubt a side effect of the drink – and Ginette was in turn overcome by a wave of melancholy.
    â€˜That’s how it is with the young nowadays, they always leave …’
    â€˜Oh Ginette, young people have always left home. Even we did.’
    â€˜Yes, but we never went far,’ Ginette pointed out.
    â€˜No, we didn’t go far,’ Charles interjected. ‘But we might as well have done. My parents were still in Bressuire when I left to move in with Thérèse in ’54. Before Chanteloup we were down in Pougne-Hérisson, near Parthenay. Now, travelling twenty-five kilometres to see the family doesn’t take long these days, but you’ve got to remember that in ’54, twenty-five kilometres on a bike was a real slog – it felt much further than it does today! It’s not like we were