George's Grand Tour. Caroline Vermalle

the use in change? The voices were telling him it would be easier to let fate come to him, to let it cradle him gently, oh so gently. To let the days run into one another, until his time was up. The voices were even whispering a ready-made excuse: this unexpected phone call.

      The more George thought about their plan, the more he found it deeply, painfully ridiculous. This wasn’t audacity, it was idiocy; not wisdom, but delusion. He looked at his suitcase sadly. It was neither Wednesday nor Saturday, so Charles would be coming over, and George would have to explain his change of heart. His knee was also playing up again, now that he came to think of it. And Charles would understand about that, what with his hip.

      It was with a feeling of relief mixed with sadness that he turned his attention to the one o’clock news, and, avoiding the sight of his suitcase that was patiently waiting by the stove, he began to doze off. He had given in.

      But on the other side of the garden, Charles had not given up. He was going to do this Tour de France, even if it meant dragging his friend along by the skin of his backside.

      ‘The Tour de France? In a Runner Speedit?’

      Little Lucas looked up at his grandfather, his round eyes filled with admiration.

      ‘Granny, what’s a Runner Speedit?’

      ‘A Renault Scenic, Lucas. It’s a car,’ Thérèse answered calmly.

      ‘Yes, but it’s also got loads of gadgets inside it,’ Charles added quickly.

      ‘What gadgets, Grandpa?’

      Charles was already regretting going down this rather slippery path. Discussing gadgets with a seven-year-old expert was a battle he was sure to lose.

      ‘Lots of options, if you catch my drift.’ There, that wasn’t a bad response.

      ‘And how many hours does it take?’

      ‘Oh no, Lucas, we’ll be doing our Tour de France over several weeks.’

      ‘Oh. So you’ll stop lots.’

      ‘Yes, we’re going to stop lots. Exactly,’ Charles replied, disappointed.

      They were all sitting in the kitchen, Charles and Thérèse, their granddaughter Annie and her husband Franck and their two children, Lucas and seven-month-old Justine. The little kitchen, whose wallpaper had probably been rather fashionable at one time, smelled of leeks and Mr Muscle. A little vase of dahlias from the garden stood on the Formica table. Photos of the grandchildren were tacked all over the walls, and strings of last year’s tinsel were still hanging on the old grandfather clock. Everyone felt at home in this kitchen, especially Thérèse; this was her kingdom. Thérèse was small and round like a typical granny in a television show. She had no neck and small feet, neatly pressed blouses, bobbed grey hair worn with a brown clip, and an iron will. Charles and Thérèse had been married for fifty-nine years: they were happy and they knew it. Life had been kind to them, more or less, but the Lepensiers had learned to think positive long before the concept had become fashionable. Finding solutions to men’s problems was Thérèse’s area of expertise, and the women of the family had all inherited this talent.

      Charles was now relying on his wife’s ingenuity, as he had so many times before. It was unthinkable that they would abandon the project now. He and Thérèse had put all their hopes into it. And he couldn’t do it alone, partly because George was financing the entire trip including the brand-new Renault Scenic, and partly because … well, he just couldn’t do it on his own.

      ‘You know, Thérèse, we’re not on the road yet. Even though we’ve been planning for ages … Now George has got a problem. His granddaughter.’

      Thérèse, who was setting the table for lunch, stopped what she was doing and looked at Charles anxiously.

      ‘What kind of problem? You mean the granddaughter who lives in London and never calls?’

      ‘That’s the one. Except that now, she does call. Françoise must have asked her to. Well, I don’t know what goes on between those two but the point is, Adèle called and now George is panicking.’

      Thérèse was staring down at the tablecloth. Charles went on.

      ‘Now George isn’t the kind to let people walk all over him. But when it comes to his daughter, it’s another story. He says she’ll have him put in a home if she finds out what he’s planning.’

      Annie, with her baby on her knee, asked her grandfather:

      ‘Do you really think Françoise would do that?’

      ‘Well, I dunno … she isn’t exactly easy-going.’

      ‘I guess she gets that from her dad!’ interrupted Franck, who still had memories of one particular stormy encounter with George.

      ‘Oh for heavens’ sake!’ Thérèse exclaimed loudly. ‘Stop getting so het up about Françoise. She said she wasn’t going to call for two months, so this is your chance! Go and do your Tour the way you planned and everything will be fine.’

      ‘Yes, but … I suppose I just find this … this radio silence a bit weird. She didn’t say anything to you?’

      ‘No, no. Well, I mean … No more than she did to you, I don’t suppose,’ answered Thérèse, avoiding his gaze.

      Annie tried to distract Justine, who was reaching for the knives on the table. To keep her happy she gave the baby her mobile phone, which Justine immediately tried to put in her mouth.

      ‘And if she did turn up out of the blue, she’d call me straight away and I’d take care of it, and of her. So stop obsessing about the daughter, and the granddaughter for that matter, and off you go!’ said Thérèse.

      ‘Still,’ said Charles, ‘we’ve got to do something about Adèle, otherwise George will never agree to it. Right everyone, lunchtime.’

      Suddenly, the phone that Justine had in her little plump hands started to make unexpected sounds. Annie managed to wrangle it back from her and looked at the screen.

      ‘What’s she done to it? Oh no, what does that mean, “Call divert activated”? She’s gone and changed all the settings, it’s stopped working. Franck! Justine’s mucked around with the phone and now it’s saying “call divert” or something …’

      Wearily, Franck took the phone and, wiping the dribble from the screen with his sleeve, pressed a few buttons and put the phone into his jeans pocket.

      Charles looked at Franck, and then down at his plate, and then at Franck again. Finally, he asked:

      ‘So what does that “call divert” thing do?’

      ‘Well, if I choose to divert calls to your home phone, when people call me on my mobile, the calls will go straight to your landline.’

      ‘But they don’t know that’s happening?’

      ‘They don’t know.’

      ‘And you can do that with landlines as well?’

      ‘Yes, you should be able to.’

      ‘Well, I’ll be damned.’

      He got up from the table noisily. Thérèse sighed.

      ‘Charles, my veal is going to go cold.’

      ‘Thérèse, what did you do with the phone directory?’

      Charles was hopping with excitement. Half an hour and a conversation with Franck later, he went over to George’s place.

      Justine smiled, showing her two teeth.

      George was woken from his slumber by the sound of Charles’s footsteps in the garage, but they sounded different from normal. Had he really been asleep for that long? The clock next to the fridge was showing 1.30 p.m.

      Charles burst into the room and shouted confidently:

      ‘George,