Page 19 of Where Do We Go From Here?
OK, thanks, she types back, then,P.S. Do you know when the bakery is open? It seems to be permanently closed.
Probably annual holiday, Madame Blanchard replies.I expect there is a word in the window.
Grey day project, Wendy thinks instantly. She’ll walk to the bakery and find out, and hopefully be home before the rain.
She pulls on her puffer jacket against the cold and locks the cabin behind her. The temperature is still in single digits, yet by the time she has reached the tarmac road, she’s sweating like a pig. So she takes the jacket off and ties it around her waist, then, because this leaves her feeling too cold, walks as fast as she can.
It takes twenty minutes to reach the bakery and twenty-five more to get back home, but the trip is entirely fruitless. There is no indication whatsoever if the bakery ever intends to re-open. She should probably have asked the post lady, who would almost certainly have known.
The rain begins while she’s eating lunch – stale baguette dipped in ready-made soup. The droplets are tiny at first, almost mist, but they slowly morph into a downpour.
After lunch she moves to the sofa and watches the raindrops slithering down the windowpane. The rain makes her think of home and when she checks the weather forecast for Maidstone she sees that, ironically, it’s sunny there. She wonders what the kids are doing. She wonders if they hate her.
Her phone rings with an incoming call.
‘Hello,’ Jill says, the second Wendy answers. ‘What you up to?’
‘Just watching the rain and?—’
‘Rain?’
‘Yes. Lots of.’
‘God, it’s lovely ’ere.’
‘And I was wondering if my kids really hate me,’ Wendy says, ‘if you must know.’
‘Oh, of course they don’t,’ Jill replies without hesitation.
‘I wish I had your confidence.’
‘No news at all, then?’
‘Three texts,’ she replies. ‘One from each.’
‘Harry as well, then?’
‘Yep. Short and sweet. Well, short at any rate. It wasn’t particularly sweet.’
‘You two will have to talk at some point,’ Jill says. ‘You do realise that?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I know I keep saying it, but it’s true.’
‘Sure. But I need to work out what I want, first. What my end game is. And that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To think about it all.’
‘Is it better, then?’ Jill asks. ‘For thinking? I mean. Are you having better thoughts than in my studio?’
‘I’m not sure yet, if I’m honest,’ Wendy says. ‘But I think the distance helps a bit. Not having them all playing happy families down the road definitely feels less… I don’t know. Less suffocating, maybe?’
‘Perspective increases with distance,’ Jill says.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Oh, it’s just something Dad used to say. He used to go for long drives when he needed to think about anything important. And that’s what he used to say to my mum when he got back. Perspective increases with distance. Anyway…’
‘Anyway…’
