Page 84 of Where Do We Go From Here?
Back in the lounge, she sits on the sofa and watches as the cat cutely washes his face with his paws and then saunters off, as the light fades slowly to grey. She analyses the sounds from the mezzanine. Fiona, she thinks, must be on her phone.
It’s 7 p.m. and pitch dark outside by the time Fiona finally comes back downstairs. ‘God, I totally fell asleep,’ she says.
‘That Christmas afternoon snooze is virtually a family tradition,’ Wendy says, unsure if she believes her.
They eat ready-made pumpkin soup from a glass jar and dip carrot sticks and toasted baguette into a Camembert thatWendy has melted on the wood burner. It’s very much Christmas dinner-lite but it’s delicious all the same.
‘We are OK, aren’t we?’ Wendy finally asks, as she cuts into the second mini Christmas cake.
‘Sure,’ Fiona says. ‘Of course.’
‘There’s nothing we need to talk about? Nothing urgent?’
‘Tomorrow,’ Fiona says. ‘I think I need a break from all that.’
‘Yes, me too,’ Wendy agrees. ‘It’s all got a bit intense, hasn’t it? But you do realise you’re leaving tomorrow?’
‘Yeah,’ Fiona says. ‘But not till three, I don’t think?’
‘The flight’s at five past three,’ Wendy says. ‘I checked. But we’ll need to leave here about twelve.’
‘Sure,’ Fiona says. ‘No problem. Oh, by the way: everyone at home says happy Christmas.’
‘And happy Christmas right back at them,’ Wendy says. Then, ‘You would tell me if you were upset with me, wouldn’t you? I couldn’t bear you being upset with me on Christmas Day.’
‘I’m not,’ Fiona says. ‘Not at all.’
‘OK,’ Wendy replies. ‘Well, good.’
‘Maybe we can watch a Christmas movie or something?’ Fiona suggests. ‘You’ve got Netflix on your laptop, right?’
‘I have,’ Wendy says, wondering what her daughter intends to say tomorrow and starting to feel worried all over again. ‘Let’s do that.’
But then the movie is up and running, her daughter has leant in against her so that Wendy can slip one arm across the back of her shoulders, and she has a glass of wine in the other hand about which Fiona hasn’t said a word. It feels like Christmas after all, and she only notices that she’s been holding her breath when she realises she can breathe again.
TWELVE
AN ULTIMATUM
It is Boxing Day and after a leisurely breakfast and some frantic packing, they’ve driven to Nice airport.
Wendy has dropped the car back at Hertz and is now trotting back to Terminal 2 to join her daughter. She’d been expecting The Conversation to happen during the drive down but the chatter has remained pleasant and of no consequence, so it’s probably yet to come. She can’t quite decide whether she hopes that it will happen or not. Fiona, at any rate, seems relaxed. So whatever it is, perhaps it’s not so bad.
She finds her daughter standing beneath the departure board. Her flight, it would appear, is on time.
‘Departures is all the way down there,’ Wendy tells her, pointing.
‘Yeah, I saw,’ Fiona says. ‘Might as well head over that way. Everything OK with the car?’
‘Yep,’ Wendy says. ‘I just parked it and dropped the keys in a box.’
They walk past shops and bars and then across a vast glass-roofed concourse before reaching a row of turnstiles where people are scanning their boarding passes.
‘Looks like this is where we have to part ways,’ Fiona says, hiking her backpack a little higher, then apparently changing her mind and dropping it instead between her feet.
‘It does,’ Wendy says, thinking that this definitely means that the conversation isn’t happening. Should she provoke it? Should she ask her daughter what it is she wanted to say? Or should she let sleeping dogs lie?
‘I’m actually a bit early,’ Fiona says, glancing at her phone. ‘Maybe we can grab a coffee over there?’ She nods towards a brasserie set bang in the middle of the space.
