Page 18 of Things We Never Said
‘You know I spent all winter collecting for the poor Palestinians, right?’ Maggie says.
‘Ah, of course. Sorry, forgot. Egypt then? That’s a bit closer than halfway. Or Greece. Or Turkey.’
‘Actually, Turkey might do it. That’s got to be fairly cheap, right? I don’t think I’ll ever be going to Greece again. Not after last time.’
‘Ah, no. Sorry. I forgot about our Grecian extravaganza.’
‘I didn’t. Would Turkey have warmer water, then?’
‘Than Portugal? Oh, definitely. It’s the Med, isn’t it?’
‘Great, well, if Monsieur deigns to calm down, I’ll suggest it. Unless you want to go with me? To Portugal? What do you think?’
‘I ... think that wouldn’t do your relationship with Dave much good,’ Sean says.
Maggie sighs. ‘No, you’re probably right. So how are you, honey?’
‘I’m OK.’
‘We don’t seem to be seeing much of you.’
‘No?’
‘No. Are you still not feeling ... you know ... up to being sociable?’
‘I guess I’m not really. No.’
‘Well, I’ll give you a few more weeks, but then we’ll come round and kidnap you for a night out if need be. We can’t have you sitting at home for the rest of your life.’
Sean pulls a face at the phone. ‘I’m not sitting at home. I’m at work all day every day, Mags. But I’ll, um, let you know when I feel up to being kidnapped, OK?’
‘Have you finished that box yet?’
‘Catherine’s recordings?’
‘Yeah.’
‘No, they’re one a week. I told you,’ Sean says.
‘Oh, yes. Of course. How many were there again?’
‘Twenty-nine.’
‘Twenty-nine weeks? Gosh, that’s ...’
‘Almost seven months. Yes.’
‘I hope they’re nice, Sean. I mean, I hope they’re doing you good. Because I do worry if that’s really healthy for someone in your position.’
Forgetting momentarily that he’s on the phone and that Maggie can’t see him, Sean shrugs. ‘I don’t know really,’ he says. ‘Some are a bit ... Actually, I’m sorry, Mags, but I don’t think I want to talk about them at the moment.’
‘Of course. I can understand that,’ Maggie replies. ‘But just remember that ... Look, this is difficult to say, but she’s gone, Sean.’
‘I know that.’
‘I just mean that it’s your life. So open them as fast or as slowly as you need to. Do whatever’s best for you.’
‘Right,’ Sean says, feeling vaguely irked – he feels as if Maggie might be dissing his dead wife and that’s not really all right. ‘Um, there’s someone at the door, Mags,’ Sean lies. ‘The postman, I think. So I’ll have to go, OK?’
