Page 73 of Where Do We Go From Here?
‘And that bit?’ Fiona asks.
‘What bit?’ Wendy asks.
‘That green blob sticking out to sea.’
‘Oh, that’s part of Antibes, I think. But I haven’t been yet. It’s supposed to be pretty. And there’s a great walk around the coast apparently. We can go tomorrow, if you like.’
‘But tomorrow is Christmas Day,’ Fiona says.
‘So…?’
‘So… OK! Sure! Why not?’
‘We can take a picnic,’ Wendy says. ‘A Christmas picnic. Could be nice. Especially if the weather’s like this.’
As Wendy drives back to the cabin, she thinks about Fiona’s conversation with Todd. She wonders what her daughter ismeant to ask and runs through potential subjects as she drives. It’s probably to do with the state of her marriage, she concludes – they probably want to know what’s going on. She would, if she were them. She’d like to know, herself, come to think of it. She continues to drive in silence as she tries to decide how she’ll reply but they are home before she has worked out a strategy, and as she parks the car she realises not a word has been spoken since Gourdon.
‘You OK, Fifi?’ she asks.
‘Um?’ Fiona says, turning from the window. ‘Oh, me? Yeah, I’m fine.’
‘Good. Well, let’s get indoors and put the kettle on. I’m gasping.’
‘Sure,’ Fiona says. ‘Actually, there’s something I want to ask you, OK? And I don’t want you to get upset.’
‘OK,’ Wendy says, pulling the keys from the ignition and pausing.
‘Inside,’ Fiona says. ‘Let’s make that cuppa first.’
Wendy boils the kettle and drops teabags into mugs. But at the last minute, kettle in hand, she changes her mind and pours herself a glass of wine instead. She’s not sure what her daughter is about to ask, but she doubts that the conversation will be fun.
‘Really, Mum?’ Fiona says as Wendy puts the drinks on the coffee table. ‘It’s not even five o’clock.’
She has been expecting this. She’s getting used to Fiona monitoring her wine consumption and is prepared. ‘It may not be five o’clock yet, but it is Christmas Eve,’ Wendy says lightly. ‘Normal rules do not apply.’
‘Mum!’ Fiona says.
‘Lordy, do take a chill pill,’ Wendy says. ‘It’s a glass of bloody wine, not a syringe filled with heroin.’
Fiona makes a gaspingnoise and shakes her head.
‘What?’ Wendy asks sharply. ‘Seriously?What?’
‘I wanted to talk to you, that’s all.’
‘And? How does me having a sip of wine stop you talking to me?’
‘Because that’s—’ Fiona says.
They’re interrupted by a tap, tap on the window and both turn to see Manon’s face peering in.
‘Hello, Wendy!’ Manon says, when she opens the door. ‘I come on Wednesday but no one is ’ome.’ She glances over at Fiona and nods a hello.
‘Sorry,’ Wendy says. ‘My daughter’s here, so… Fiona, this is Manon, our post lady. And my French teacher, too.’
‘Hi, Manon,’ Fiona says, with a wave and a tight smile that’s the antithesis of ‘invitational’.
‘So, no lesson today?’ Manon asks.
