Page 9 of Where Do We Go From Here?
‘Wow,’ she says, crouching down and pulling her phone from her pocket to take a photo. She notices, in the process, that she has no new messages this morning and yearns momentarily for a bygone era when a camera was only a camera and not a device that linked you to the entirety of your life, or in her case, lack of one.
She snaps a couple of photos and a short video of the excitable butterflies and, resisting the temptation to post it straight onto Instagram, stands and continues along the track.
By the time she reaches the top of the hill she’s sweaty and out of breath but the view from the top – of brackenyWuthering Heightshills punctuated with spiky protrusions of volcanic rocks – is good enough to make it all feel worthwhile.
In the distance, far away, she sees a huge white sphere perched on stilts. She decides it must be a telescope or a radar for Nice airport down below. It’s really quite beautiful, like a modern art sculpture or, in the midst of this strange landscape, an alien spaceship, just landed. There’s a scrappy Roman pathwinding across the hillside so she chooses it as today’s destination.
It takes her over an hour to reach the sphere. It’s far bigger, and therefore further, than she had imagined, and by the time she gets there her legs are turning to jelly. She actually feels quite faint.
She should have brought some water, she thinks, plonking herself down on a rock. She’s dehydrated from the walk, but also from last night’s drinking spree. She can almost smell the alcohol leaching out through the pores of her skin.
She should have brought a snack, too. Her trembly legs are almost certainly caused by low blood sugar; still, she’ll be fine if she sits for a moment and lets her body catch up with itself.
The view from beneath the sphere is amazing – in fact, it’s so unlike anything she sees in her daily life that it’s hard to believe it’s not a painted backdrop: a crazy, hazy 180-degree panorama of land, sea and sky stretching to infinity in every direction.
She stands and spins on one foot to take it all in – the bank of wispy cloud out to sea, the blur of a distant ferry, the crinkly outline of the coast… She feels proud and tells herself so, out loud. ‘Wow!’ she says. ‘You made it!’
It crosses her mind that this would be a great spot (and moment) for a revelation.Come to me, wisdom, she thinks.Come to me now!But the truth is that her mind is entirely blank – emptier than it’s been in years. A gentle breeze brings the scent of bracken to her attention. She sighs and stares out at all that space, trying to spot the line where the sea meets the sky. It’s impossible, though, today. They’re exactly the same shade of blue.
Space. She thinks about the depth of it, or at least tries to.Infinity. But they’re impossible concepts really, aren’t they? The thought makes her feel small and lonely. But it also makes herwonder if her problems are really that important in the scheme of things.
As she takes a panoramic photo on her phone, there’s a sudden gust of wind. She shivers and her stomach rumbles audibly. My God, she’s hungry!
She turns and, with a final glance over her shoulder at the view, starts her way back down.
By the time she gets home she’s so thirsty, her mouth so dry, that she’s barely able to swallow.
She gulps down three glasses of water and sets about making cheese on toast with half of one of her prematurely stale baguettes. Rock hard within twenty-four hours – who knew?
After lunch she rewards herself with a jumbo glass of Chardonnay and hurls herself onto the sunlit sofa. She’s feeling righteous after her walk – she deserves this.
When she wakes from her afternoon snooze, the sun is already low, illuminating the cabin with a beautiful orange glow.
Intending to post her butterfly photos to Instagram, she reaches for her phone and is relieved to see that she has messages: one from Jill asking if she can come and stay on the fifth of November and others from Fiona and Harry asking her if she’s OK. Neither of them have exactly gone to town, but at least they’ve remembered she exists.
Sorry Jill, she types.That’s way too soon. I’ve barely got settled in
Her typing is interrupted by another text from Jill:I booked it. It was so cheap I decided it doesn’t matter. Didn’t want to miss out on a good deal…
‘No!’ she says out loud. ‘That woman!’ She gives a dismayedshake of the head, then sends her reply anyway. Let Jill deal with it, she thinks.
Her phone rings immediately.
‘Hello, Jill. I think our messages crossed over. I hope that ticket’s reimbursable.’ She always feels terrible when she has to say ‘no’ to people, but it really is too soon. Plus she’s been promising herself for ages that she’ll stand up more to Jill’s pushiness. Now seems as good a time as any.
‘Really?’ Jill says. ‘You’re going to make me bin these flights?’
‘It’s too soon, honey,’ Wendy says, weaving a little laughter into her voice in the hope that it will underline how unreasonable Jill’s idea is. ‘It’s way too early. I’ve only just got here.’
‘Aw, Wendy!’ Jill whines. ‘I mean, they were only a hundred and thirty quid, but all the same.’
‘I’m sure you can get the money back, can’t you? Or at least some of it.’ Even before Jill replies she realises she has probably made a strategic error by asking.
‘No, it’s not refundable. That’s why they were so cheap. But hey, what’s £130 between friends. Assuming we are still friends? Seeing as you don’t want to see me anymore.’
‘I’m just saying come later,’ Wendy says. So she has made another error by verbally accepting the idea of Jill coming. This is how Jill works, she thinks. This is how she corners you.
‘Damn. A hundred and thirty quid down the drain. Oh well.’
