Page 62 of Where Do We Go From Here?
W: Her mother died of it, apparently. She was telling me about her and it sort of morphed into a discussion about me.
J: She died of alcoholism?
W: Yes, I think so. She and her brother found her dead when they got home from school.
J: God, that’s awful. But there you go. It’s her problem, not yours.
W: You mean she’s projecting?
J: Exactly. That’s the word I was looking for. Projecting. I bet she’s tee-total, too, isn’t she?
W: Yes, I think she probably is. I’ve certainly never seen her drink.
J: Well, there you go.
W: And I do think I could stop if I wanted to, don’t you?
J: Of course we could, but why would we want to, honey?
W: Well, quite. God, I’d get so bored. That would be the main thing. The sheer boredom of existence.
J: Exactly. Everything’s better with a G&T. You know it’s true. Anyway, enough of this misery. Tell me what’s been happening.
So Wendy tells her about the car, and how she’s been unable to rent another one because prices are sky high until after the holidays. And she tells her how she has managed to book one from 4 January until she leaves in April, and therefore only has to manage without until then.
‘But how?’ Jill asks. ‘You’re in the middle of bloody nowhere. How are you going to manage? What about shopping and stuff?’
Wendy explains about the bakery and how they’ve been delivering her orders. She does not mention (because she can’t bear to think about it) that the person doing the deliveries is the very same person she seems to have fallen out with.
‘Well, if you need me to send you food parcels, just say.’
‘No… Actually… God, you know what?’ Wendy says. ‘Some Christmas stuff would be wonderful. You know, some mince pies and a bit of Christmas cake. Marks and Sparks will do. I’ll pay you back. And some marmalade. Oh, and a jar of Marmite. I’m gonna be here and it’s gonna be miserable, but a mince pie or two would definitely help.’
‘Consider it done,’ Jill says. ‘And if you think of anything else, just text me a list. I hate the idea of you up there on your own over Christmas. Why don’t you come back here?’
‘Really, I’ll be fine.’
‘I’m notconvinced.’
‘I will. It’s just a day like any other day.’
‘It’s actually a whole load of days. Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Boxing Day…’
‘Stop. It’s OK. I’ll be fine.’
‘Well, think about it at least?’
‘OK,’ Wendy says. ‘I promise, I will.’
‘Oh and – in your box – maybe a little foie gras for the festive season?’ Jill adds mockingly.
‘Don’t you dare,’ Wendy tells her. ‘Ugh.’
The snow arrives the following morning.
Wendy has been thinking so obsessively about Manon’s accusations that she had entirely forgotten about the snow. But here it is, drifting from a grey sky in beautiful, delicate flakes.
She wraps up warmly and steps outside, raising her open mouth to the sky and revelling in the sensation as the snowflakes hit her tongue.
