God, you’re gorgeous, Cat.

‘Hullo,’ Cat said to all asunder, bashfully.

‘Do you want some food?’ Rachel asked, rising and slipping her hand around Cat’s waist, giving her a squeeze.

‘Yes, please,’ said Cat, shuffling further into the room.

‘Fuck it, Cat, you mad girl,’ Josh said, coming over and enveloping her in a bear hug. He kissed her cheek with a sonorous ‘mmwah!’ and then helped himself to a banana which he munched thoughtfully.

When Cat had consumed two bowls of cereal and a yoghurt, Ben yawned, stretched and rose. ‘Come on, you,’ he said, going to her and running his fingers through her hair. Cat knew she blushed at the sudden public display of his affection, but up she stood obediently, beamed gratitude at Rachel and said, ‘Come, Josh, let’s go.’

Josh, Ben and Cat strolled leisurely back to their hotel. Every now and then, Cat glanced gratefully at the moon, checked on Cassiopeia’s whereabouts and observed that the queue of clouds had dispersed. It was going to be a fine day tomorrow.

The journalists’ hotel was small and the foyer served as an impromptu bar. Alex was there with the buxom woman, ensconced in sagging seats and surrounded by several empty bottles of Seize.

‘Cat McCabe!’ he bellowed, unravelling his gangly limbs, extricating himself from the capacious chair and the drape of the woman. He loped over to her, picked her up off the floor, swung her around and then deposited her somewhat cack-handedly. ‘Cat McCabe,’ he said again, with a veritable twinkle in his eye, ‘you little vixen you.’ Then he turned to Ben. ‘You’re a wanker of a bastard,’ he praised the doctor, ‘you’re loathed and envied by the entire salle de pressé right now.’ Ben thanked him courteously for the compliment, Cat kissed Alex goodnight and raised her eyebrow quite saucily in reference to Mary or Margaret or Molly.

‘Maria,’ Alex whispered. Cat winked and they left Alex to his questionable yet obviously relatively effective seduction.

‘Sweet dreams,’ Cat said to Josh, laying her hand on his arm before hugging him tightly.

‘You too,’ Josh grinned. ‘Night, Ben.’

‘Goodnight,’ said Ben.

Cat had the most horrendous headache, slicing right across her brow and searing into the centre of her skull. Ben said that, ironically, the best cure for a headache was sex. Cat was happy to believe him and needed no spoonful of sugar to facilitate such medicine. He was a doctor. She trusted him.

STAGE 12
Frontignan La Peyrade-Daumier. 196 kilometres

Back in London, Pip, who’d hardly slept, phoned Django at 5.30 a.m.

‘Can you lend me some money?’ she said.

‘Jesus Christ – are you in trouble? Are you in jail?’ Django cried, throwing back the bedcovers, ready to dress in a second and pelt down to London at a moment’s notice even if his eyes were still firmly shut.

‘God, I’m fine,’ Pip laughed, ‘only I’m a bit broke this month. So can you?’

‘Can I what?’ Django asked, rubbing his eyes and his head and trying to massage his memory into recalling what his niece had phoned for.