Page 74 of Where Do We Go From Here?
‘Sorry,’ Wendy says. ‘Maybe after Christmas?’
‘Ah, yes! I almost forget!’ Manon says, before jogging off, presumably to her car.
‘What did she forget?’ Fiona asks.
Wendy shrugs. ‘Search me,’ she says, and then Manon is back, a cardboard box in her arms.
‘You have mail!’ she says brightly. ‘It’s good time, yes? I mean, with Christmas tomorrow.’
‘Oh, gosh!’ Wendy says, taking the box from her arms and studying the label. ‘It’s my Christmas supplies from Jill. I’d forgotten all about that.’
‘There is forty-four euro to pay,’ Manon says, pulling a slip of paper from her pocket. ‘I’m sorry. It’s you know… new. Since Brexit.’
‘Customs, then?’ Wendy asks.
‘Yes. Customs.’
‘Forty-four euros!’ Fiona mutters. ‘Another Brexit benefit, then.’
‘It’s fine,’ Wendy tells Manon, plopping the box on the sofa and heading to the kitchen for her purse. ‘Really.’
Once Manon has wished them a ‘Joyeux Noël’ and headed off, they open the box to find mince pies, a Marks and Spencer mini Christmas cake, a lump of Cheddar, a bottle of port and a Christmas card which Wendy props up on the bookshelf.
‘That’s ruined half my surprise, then,’ Fiona says, hands on hips.
‘What has?’
‘I’ve got mince pies and cake in my suitcase. You know that stuff won’t even have cost forty-four euros in the first place, right?’
‘I know,’ Wendy says. ‘Still, it’s sweet of her.’
They warm mince pies in the microwave and then both burn their mouths biting through the pastry. ‘Better leave those for a bit,’ Wendy says, pulling a face.
‘Indeed!’ Fiona says. ‘That’s molten lava in there.’
‘So you wanted to ask me something,’ Wendy reminds her, raising her glass, now refilled with Jill’s port, and clinking it against Fiona’s mug.
‘I did,’ she says. ‘But now we’ve gone all Christmassy so I’d feel like a bit of a killjoy.’
‘It’s fine,’ Wendy says. ‘Really. Go on.’
‘She seems nice,’ Fiona says, buying some thinking time. ‘The post lady.’
‘She is. She’s really nice,’ Wendy says. ‘A bit, you know… puritanical for my tastes. But nice.’
‘Puritanical?’ Fiona repeats, looking surprised.
‘Yeah, you know… doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke. I’m sure she has her reasons, but all the same. It seems strange at that age. Plus, she’s gay, you know? She has a girlfriend.’
‘Which makes her more puritanical or less?’
‘Er, neither really. I was just saying.’
‘OK, you were just saying, but why?’
Wendy frowns, and takes a gulp of port. ‘No reason,’ she says. ‘I was just making conversation.’
‘Would you have told me she was straight, do you think?’
