Page 150 of Where Do We Go From Here?
‘Wow,’ they say, in unison, even though the image is little more than a blur of sand and sky.
‘I bet it doesn’t feel like a proper Christmas, though,’ Harry says.
‘Oh, it does,’ Todd says. ‘It feels like the best bloody Christmas ever.’
The call to Fiona is more subdued. WhatsApp catches her in pyjamas in a scruffy lounge with a Lana Del Rey poster on the wall behind her. ‘Everyone’s still sleeping,’ she whispers. ‘Happy Christmas from Brighton. We’re going to the pier in a bit.’
By the time they’ve made sandwiches, pulled on their trainers and left the cabin, it’s eleven o’clock. As they start to walk, Wendy says, ‘You know the main Christmas meal in France was last night? It’s actually on Christmas Eve.’
‘Yeah, I remember that from French lessons,’ Harry says. ‘There was a lot of stuff about Jean-Michelopening the oysters.’
‘Your memory always astounds me,’ Wendy says. ‘I can’t even remember the stuff I learned last time I was here.’
‘I can still remember the word for oysters, too,’ Harry says.
‘Which is?’
‘Huîtres.’
‘Weeters?’ Wendy says, trying to parrot him.
‘No, it’s he-wee-treus,’ Harry says slowly. ‘Huîtres. With a silent “H” at the beginning.’
‘Huh,’ Wendy says. ‘Unpronounceable. It’s a good job I don’t like them.’
They walk along the roadside in silence for a moment until Harry asks, ‘Do you think she’s OK?’
‘Fiona?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Oh, I think so. Why? Don’t you?’
‘Dunno,’ Harry says. ‘Just a feeling. What was she like when she was here?’
‘Fine, really. It was much nicer than I expected.’
‘You weren’t expecting it to be nice?’
‘Oh, no, I wouldn’t say that,’ Wendy says. ‘But I was a bit nervous. She’d been distant and spiky with me for a while. So it was quite a nice surprise. Until she told me about Todd’s wedding, that is. That came as a bit of a shock.’
‘So you don’t find her distant?’
‘Not really, why?’
‘I just think there might be something she’s not telling us. Like an elephant in the room that makes conversation about anything else a bit clunky,’ Harry says.
Wendy laughs.
‘What?’
‘Oh, it’s just that I know exactly what you’re gagging to say.’
‘You do?’
‘I do,’ Wendy says.
‘Go on, then.’
