Page 51 of Where Do We Go From Here?
‘You English are so good,’ the baker says. ‘Round here, on the weekend, they are terrible.’
‘But anyway,’ Wendy says, deciding to forcefully change the subject before she has to think too hard about the fact that she’s lying, ‘… no car. Which is why I can’t buy more today.’ She turns her shoulder towards the woman so she can see her tiny rucksack. ‘I can’tcarrymore.’
‘Ahh, but Manon, she can deliver you.’
‘Manon, the post lady?’
‘Yes. She do this for all the old people. The persons who have car no more. So if you want to buy more, is OK. Manon will bring to you tomorrow.’
‘Oh!’ Wendy says. ‘OK… Um, that would be brilliant. At least until I get my car back.’
‘So please!’ the baker says, gesturing at the interior of her shop. ‘Help yourself.’
Wendy circles the bakery once again, adding tins of tomatoes and jars of sauce and packs of pasta from the mini grocery area plus (just to make the delivery worthwhile) another four bottles of wine.
She pays the surprisingly expensive bill with her credit card and heads home with only the bread, cheese and a bottle of wine.
What a perfect day, she thinks, as she walks. Perhaps she will get those French lessons after all!
Her delivery arrives the following morning, just after eleven. She’s been feeling bored waiting, and is about to pour a glass of wine, thinking once again about the fact that eleven really is a bit too early, when she hears the van drive up.
Despite telling herself she’s being silly and that she has the right to do exactly what she wants whenever she wants, she hides the open bottle in a cupboard and heads outside to meet Manon.
‘Bonjour !’she announces as she takes the box from the girl’s outstretched arms, then, ‘Oh, gosh, wow! That’s heavy!’
‘It is very ’eavy,’ Manon says with meaning. ‘Is the wine. You buy more wine than food, I think!’
‘I know!’ Wendy says, forcing a laugh. ‘It looks bad, huh?’
She hadn’t thought about this aspect of getting her food delivered – the fact that the baker, the post lady and, by extrapolation, the entire village will know all about her shopping choices.
‘As long as it is not for this day, is OK,’ Manon jokes.If only she knew, Wendy thinks forcing another smile.
Declining the offer of a drink but promising to return after work for some ‘English conversation’, Manon skips off to continue her postal round.
As she drives away, Wendy returns indoors with the shopping, feeling surprisingly excited about the prospect of Manon’s return that evening. As she puts everything away she asks herself why and decides that it’s probably normal considering how lonely she’s been feeling these last few days. But she also recognises that there’s something about Manon that reminds her of Fiona – something universal about this new generation of young women, a bit like seeing Fiona in an alternate universe – Fiona without all the baggage of home.Oh, Fiona!she thinks. No matter what’s going on in your relationship with your kids there’s still always so much love.
Instead of pouring wine she finds herself making tea, and once she’s gulped this down she pulls on trainers for a walk before lunch. Manon’s comment about the wine, which was totally something Fiona might have said, has left her feeling guilty. Actually, it’s not so much guilt, she decides as she walks, more a momentary desire to make better choices.
By the time she has reached the car park and started the climb to her alien spaceship she’s feeling thoroughly pleased with herself. The day is really quite breathtaking and it feels wonderful to be back out in the fresh air.
And she’s not the only one making the most of the sunshine this morning. She crosses paths with four people walking their dogs and a group of retirement-age female hikers. Everyone smiles and says‘bonjour’, as enthused as she is with thereturning joy of sunshine.
Manon arrives at half past four, just as the sun is dropping behind the hill.
Though lighting fires and switching on lights signals ‘aperitif time’ to Wendy, and despite the reputation the French have for being constant wine-guzzlers, Manon opts for coffee.
‘Well, as long as you don’t mind me…’ Wendy says, pouring herself a glass. She doesn’t wait for Manon to reply. A little social lubricant for her first lesson is non-negotiable.
‘So we speak French today, or English?’ Manon asks, sipping her coffee.
‘Um both, hopefully. Though I think the English is going to be easier.’
‘OK, so English first, then French,’ Manon says.
Despite her excellent English, it turns out that Manon is shy about her accent, so it is Wendy who does all the talking, answering Manon’s short probing questions: why did she come here? Why France? Does she have family in England? Why did she not bring them with her?
And Wendy, perhaps because she likes her, or perhaps because of the wine, but most likely because she doesn’t really know her at all, finds herself telling Manon everything. And the telling feels good, like a great therapeutic unburdening.
