Page 105 of Where Do We Go From Here?
‘Yes,’ Wendy says, feeling irritated at the intrusive nature of the question.
‘We ’ave this,’ the woman says, ‘if you want.’ She’s pointing to a half bottle of Champagne on the counter. ‘It’s only thirteen euro.’
Wendy looks at the bottle. She imagines it chilled, imagines the pop of the cork at midnight and thinks how much less miserable the moment would be if she let herself cave in. ‘Yes, OK,’ she says, then, ‘No. Sorry. No. Really, no.’
‘You’re sure?’ the woman asks, her hand floating near the bottle. ‘New Year is only one time.’
‘Oh, go on, then,’ Wendy says. ‘Just the one.’
It’ll be fine, she tells herself as she walks home.It’s the only alcoholin the cabin.
She can start the New Year with a bang and then get serious about her New Year’s resolution. She’ll save it until midnight, and it won’t even be enough to get her drunk.
Back home, she makes a sandwich for her late lunch and, doing her best to ignore the Champagne, calling to her from the fridge, she feeds Mittens half a tin of cat food. By way of thanks he sits beside her licking his paws while she eats her sandwich in the sunshine. ‘If you come and keep me company at midnight, I’ll give you some more,’ she tells him, but though he does look up when she speaks, she’s not convinced that he has understood the invitation. Perhaps she should lure him indoors and keep him hostage until midnight?
Her phone starts pinging mid-afternoon with concerned messages from all and sundry. Fiona, Harry, Todd, Jill and even Sue text to ask if she’s OK, or more pointedly, if she’s going to be OK. Though well-intentioned, these end up leaving her even more anxious than before.
She copies and pastes the same reply to everyone.Yes, I’m fine. I’m having a nice night in with cake and Netflix.Both Harry and Jill reply that they’ll phone her at midnight.
Manon texts her, too, inviting her to spend the evening with them. But though the invitation is generous the sad truth is that she can’t imagine a worse way to spend New Year’s Eve than trying to make conversation in French with someone she doesn’t know. Especially sober. She reallywouldrather spend it alone.
It’s a quarter to twelve – which is to say, a quarter to twelve French time – and she’s alternating between watching the news on her laptop and staring at the beads of dew forming on herchilled mini bottle of Champagne. She’s been thinking about the bottle all day and Christ knows how she has resisted opening it until now. But should she open it at midnight in France or at midnight back home so she has a glass in her hand when Harry calls? She probably should have bought two half bottles, she thinks, so that she could open one for each. She also shouldn’t have bought any at all.
She glances at the screen, now showing for the hundredth time the ‘best of’ firework displays from around the world. She should have boughttenbottles and started with Australia this morning, she thinks.
She focuses on the Champagne bottle again and her brain manages to superimpose the horror reel of her mother’s death all over again. Now that she has dug these images from the depths they are going round and round in a loop, like some tragic event on a rolling news channel. She winces in pain at the visual and blinks it into oblivion. She waits for it to start over.
This is a terrible idea, she thinks, as the on-screen UK countdown falls to 01h.14m.59s.I’m not strong enough for this at all!
You’ll get through it, she forces herself to think instead.You’ll be fine.She finds herself unconvinced.
Christ, there’s so much going on in her head this evening, so many voices battling for dominance. Perhaps she’s lapsing into clinical schizophrenia. Wouldn’t that be a great way to start the year?
There’s a tap-tap-tap on the window which is so unexpected she wonders if it is even real. But Manon’s familiar face peeping in would seem to confirm that it is.
‘Manon?’ she says, once she has unlocked and opened the front door.
Manon is wearing what looks like a boy’s suit, with a crinkled white linen shirt and a loosely knotted tie. Behind her is anextraordinarily pretty girl in jeans, silver trainers and a (somehow incongruous up on this mountain) sparkly top.
‘We decide to come to you,’ Manon says, brandishing a full-sized bottle of fizz. ‘It’s OK?’
‘Oh, yes, that’s lovely,’ Wendy says, her voice wobbling a little with emotion. ‘Come in!’ She hadn’t wanted this at all but now they’re here she can’t think of anything she wants more.
‘This is Celine,’ Manon says, dragging her girlfriend into the cabin. ‘And this is Wendy.’
‘Hello,’ Celine says, then in surprisingly formal fashion, ‘I am very pleased to meet you.’
‘Thank you!’ Wendy says, laughing. ‘Come in, come in! Please, sit down!’
‘Is nearly time,’ Manon says, checking her phone, then, ‘Sorry,it isnearly time.’ To her girlfriend she adds, ‘Wendy is very hard teacher.’
‘Oh, yes, I’m well hard,’ Wendy says, and she can tell from their blank expressions that her joke has gone over their heads.
‘We bring Champomy,’ Manon says, handing the bottle to Wendy. ‘It is apple. So no alcohol. It’s good, yes?’
Wendy glances guiltily back at the coffee table where her half bottle of Champagne is waiting, prompting Manon to follow her line of sight.
‘Oh,’ Manon says, frowning slightly. ‘You are drinking tonight? I think you said…’
