Chapter 11 #5
‘I do,’ Fiona says. ‘I’ve still got that somewhere. Brexit put paid to that one.’
‘You can still travel, though.’
‘Yeah, yeah… I know. But it’s not really the same, is it? A holiday’s not like being able to work and live in all those different places. I kind of wanted to know what it felt like to be French. To be Italian.’
‘I think you just fancied an Italian boyfriend, didn’t you?’ Wendy asks.
Fiona raises one eyebrow and shakes her head in dismay at the turn the conversation has taken.
‘But you’re right,’ Wendy says, moving on. ‘It’s not the same. Maybe it will all change again, though. If you wait long enough.’
‘Sadly,’ Fiona says, ‘I doubt it.’
After their picnic and the walk back to the car, Wendy drives them to the centre of Antibes where she parks so they can walk around. Fiona had been hoping for a cup of coffee and a cake, while Wendy was imagining beer, but everywhere seems to be closed.
‘The French take their bank holidays seriously, I guess,’ Fiona comments as they pass yet another shuttered brasserie.
‘Yes, it sure looks that way.’
‘Lovely, though,’ Fiona adds. ‘It’s a very pretty town. It kind of makes me wish I was staying for longer.’
‘Well, you can always come again,’ Wendy says.
‘Careful,’ Fiona says. ‘I might hold you to that.’
After a few random turns through the streets of the old town, they unexpectedly find themselves back at the car. ‘Shall we go home for a cuppa?’ Fiona asks. ‘We have Christmas cake.’
‘Lots of Christmas cake,’ Wendy says. ‘And yes. Let’s do that. My feet are killing me.’
‘Careful. You sound like Uncle Neil there,’ Fiona comments, as she climbs into the car. ‘He’s always complaining about his feet.’
‘Well, Neil’s feet are flat as pancakes,’ Wendy explains, ‘so that’s not really his fault. You know, he wanted to join the army when he was eighteen, but he couldn’t because of his feet?’
‘God knows why anyone would want to join the army,’ Fiona comments, lip curled.
‘Well, his best friend joined up. I think that was the main reason. That and, you know… patriotism. But anyway, he was saved by his feet. Too flat for all that marching.’
Guided by the Google Maps lady, they drive through the quiet streets of Antibes, and it’s not until they’re on the open road that Fiona resumes the conversation.
‘Why don’t you see them anymore?’
The break in the conversation has been long enough that it takes Wendy a second to join the dots. ‘Oh, Neil and Sue, you mean?’
‘Yeah. Your, um, brother – remember him?’
‘Actually, I spoke to Sue a couple of days ago,’ Wendy says, wondering whether she can use this true fact to avoid the rest of the discussion. ‘But you’re right,’ she says, relenting. ‘I don’t see them much these days.’
‘Because?’
‘Ooh, that’s a bit of a long story.’
‘We have time,’ Fiona says. ‘Go for it.’
‘And not a story I’m entirely sure I want to go into with you.’
‘OK,’ Fiona says, with a sigh.
‘But sometimes people change. Let’s leave it at that.’
‘…’
‘They used to be more fun, I suppose. But perhaps we all used to be more fun. I’m sure they say the same about me.’
‘Not to me they don’t,’ Fiona says.
‘Well, good, because that would be entirely inappropriate,’ Wendy says with a laugh.
‘So they changed. That’s it?’
‘Yeah, they got serious all of a sudden. Stopped drinking. Stopped having parties. Stopped coming to our parties. It happens to a lot of people when they get older. I’m not entirely sure why, but it does.’
‘Hum,’ Fiona says markedly.
‘Hum?’
‘I don’t even know why you think that. I don’t think they’ve changed at all. And they definitely haven’t stopped drinking.’
‘They haven’t?’
‘No.’
‘And you know this, how?’
‘Look, I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but they came down last weekend.’
‘OK.’
‘Yeah, see. I shouldn’t have told you.’
‘Not, it’s fine. It’s just… a bit strange. I mean, he’s my brother, after all. Sue was, for many years, my best friend. My only real friend.’
‘Well, he’s our uncle too. And Sue’s our aunt. So it’s not that strange.’
‘No, I suppose not. And they stayed the night, you say?’
‘They did. And it was lovely.’
‘Good,’ Wendy says, but even she can hear that her voice is sounding brittle. ‘And you’re sure they’re drinking again?’
‘I don’t think they ever stopped.’
‘Oh, they did. I can assure you of that. And they got very, very judge-y about me not following suit.’
‘Judge-y?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that’s why you stopped seeing them?’
‘Partly.’
‘Hum.’
‘Oh, please do stop with the “hums”, Fifi. You’re starting to sound like Sue. If you have something to say, then say it.’
‘Well, it doesn’t sound like a brilliant reason to me.’
‘A brilliant reason for…?’ Wendy asks, momentarily distracted by a roundabout.
‘For not seeing your only brother. And your supposed best friend.’
‘OK,’ Wendy says.
‘I mean, if I stopped talking to Todd because he was a bit judge-y – which by the way, he totally is – then I don’t think you’d be thrilled, would you?’
‘No, I don’t suppose I would. But there was other stuff. Of course there was.’
‘Like when Gran was ill?’
‘Oh, you know about that, do you?’
‘Dad mentioned it vaguely.’
‘He did, huh? What did he say?’
‘Just that they weren’t brilliant when Gran was ill.’
Wendy laughs sourly at this. ‘Bit of an understatement,’ she says.
‘So that was it? That was the big one?’
‘Yeah, more or less. I’m not sure about there being a “big one”.
It was more of a drip, drip, drip really.
Sometimes you just realise that a relationship isn’t…
I don’t know. That it’s becoming too much like hard work.
There’s a sort of accounting you do in your head at some point: energy put in versus benefits received. And ours was in deficit.’
‘It still doesn’t sound like a reason for ex-communicating your only brother.’
‘Well, there were other things. Like I say, it was a drip, drip kind of situation.’
‘Tell me.’
‘No, I don’t think that’s… I’ve already said too much. Like you say, they’re still your aunty and uncle.’
‘OK. Fine!’
‘Now, I think we just have to go up here,’ Wendy murmurs, ‘and we’re on the road to Gourdon.’
‘So, how come they never had kids?’
‘Lord, are we back to Neil and Sue again?’ Wendy asks, exasperation leaking out.
‘I only wondered. If you don’t want—’
‘I just don’t think they wanted any,’ Wendy says, a little more sharply than she’d intended. ‘I think kids would have made too much mess.’
‘Sue is ultra tidy,’ Fiona agrees.
‘And Neil is even worse. But seriously? I think they enjoy their lovely lifestyle. Their trips abroad and their gardener and the cleaner and… I don’t know… You know what they’re like. It’s all about the new kitchen and the new sunroom and—’
‘The new Tesla…’ Fiona offers.
‘Exactly. I think they like their lifestyle too much to go messing it up by having kids. Kids cost a lot of money.’
‘It sounds kind of selfish when you put it like that,’ Fiona says.
‘No comment. Those were your words, sweetie, not mine.’
They drive on in silence for a while.
Wendy is concentrating on the road, looking out for fallen rocks, while Fiona enjoys the views. ‘It is amazing here,’ she says, at one point, swivelling to glance at Wendy before looking back out at the vista.
‘I know. I’m glad you like it too.’
They continue to rise into the hills. The interior of the car feels warm and full of love, more love than Wendy has felt around her for some time. It’s unexpected. She reaches across and gives Fiona’s knee a squeeze. ‘This is nice,’ she says.
‘It is,’ her daughter agrees.
They pass by the village of Gourdon, and as Wendy turns and starts up the final hill towards Caussols, Fiona says again, ‘You know, you really could fix things with Dad if you wanted to.’
Wendy struggles for a moment to reply, opening her mouth repeatedly and then closing it again without a word.
‘Yes,’ she finally manages. ‘You said.’
‘I was thinking about Sue and Neil, that’s all. You’ve kind of been falling out with everyone lately. And I really do think it’s all fixable.’
‘Oh,’ Wendy says, devastated that the gentle atmosphere has evaporated so quickly. ‘Well, thanks for your opinion!’
‘But, you know I’m right, right?’
‘And you know that what’s going on with your father is a little more complicated than that.’ She switches on the radio in the hope of curtailing the discussion, but Fiona isn’t going to be intimidated by a mere French love song.
‘Is that it, then?’ she asks, speaking loudly to be heard over the radio. ‘No comment? End of?’
‘Honey…’ Wendy protests, with a sigh. ‘It’s just… things aren’t that simple. Life isn’t that simple.’
Fiona reaches out to turn the radio down low. ‘Why not?’ she asks.
‘Honey… it’s… Look, it’s kind of like you said the other day. This isn’t your role. To play marriage counsellor or whatever. You’re our daughter.’
‘Well, someone has to bang your heads together,’ Fiona says.
‘That’s as may be. But that person isn’t you.’
‘Then see someone,’ Fiona says. ‘See an actual marriage counsellor.’
‘Well, your father would have to want to do that as well.’
‘He would. I’m sure he would.’
‘I think we both know he wouldn’t.’
‘You keep saying I know things when I don’t know them at all.’
‘OK. Well, he’d have to… Look, I really don’t think we should be talking about this. It isn’t appropriate.’
‘And there was me thinking we were finally having an honest conversation for once,’ Fiona says. ‘Fine. Whatever. Let’s just talk about the weather.’
‘Sweetie,’ Wendy protests. ‘Please don’t do this.’
‘Really. It’s fine,’ Fiona says, turning to look out of the window. ‘Forget it. We can go back to not talking about anything important the way we always do in this family. Cos that’s been working so well for us all, hasn’t it?’
Wendy sighs deeply. She licks her lips as she forms then abandons various phrases in her head.
‘OK,’ she finally says, ‘You want an honest conversation?’
‘I dream of an honest conversation,’ Fiona says.
‘OK, what the hell? Why don’t you start by stopping all this pretence that you don’t know what’s going on back home. And then I can stop pretending I don’t know, too. That would be a great start if you want honesty.’
‘What’s going on at home…’ Fiona repeats flatly.
‘I’m assuming you’ve met her, have you? So stop pretending you’re all innocent and have no idea why we are where we are with all of this.’
Fiona does not reply to this and when Wendy glances across she sees her daughter red faced, wide eyed and chewing her lip… She looks like she might burst into tears.
‘I’m sorry,’ Wendy says, as she turns off the main road onto their track. ‘But as you can see, honesty’s not the easy option after all, is it?’
Wendy parks the car and they sit silently for a moment listening to the metallic clicking of the cooling engine, both wondering if the other is about to speak and trying to guess what it is they’ll say.
But eventually, realising that Fiona isn’t going to speak, Wendy opens her door and says, ‘Right, let’s get that kettle on! ’
As they round the corner of the cabin they find Mittens sitting on the wall and for the first time ever he doesn’t run away.
‘Someone wants his dinner,’ Wendy says. Fiona does not reply.
Indoors, Fiona heads for the bathroom, so Wendy busies herself making tea and forking cat food into a bowl.
‘Here,’ she says, when her daughter returns. ‘You give it to him. I think he likes you better.’
Without a word, Fiona takes the bowl and places it outside for the cat. On returning, she scoops the teabag from her cup and drops it in the sink, adds milk and heads to the base of the stairs. ‘I think I’m gonna have a lie-down,’ she says.
‘Have you got the hump with me?’ Wendy asks, and Fiona pauses and looks back just long enough to say, ‘No, Mum. No, not at all. I’m just tired.’
Wendy sits sipping her tea, listening to Fiona fidgeting on the bed up in the mezzanine, and watching Mittens wolf down his food.
She’s feeling stressed and is gagging for a glass of wine.
She even glances behind her to look at the open bottle sitting on the kitchen counter.
But she fears she couldn’t cope with another round of reproach from her daughter and so she continues to sit and sip her tea until she’s sure that Fiona has settled, whereupon she heads for the bathroom, silently swiping the bottle of Bordeaux from the counter as she passes by.
This is utterly ridiculous, she thinks as she sits on the toilet lid swigging at the wine. Still, she’ll be gone tomorrow. She feels guilty at the sense of relief this thought provides. Maybe I am a loner, she thinks. Maybe I truly can’t put up with anyone anymore.
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 that Wendy 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.