Chapter 4 #2
‘The places you have to book in advance are always too touristy.’ She says it like it’s so obvious it almost goes without saying. ‘Doing the un-booked-up stuff lets you see the stuff that other people don’t get to see.’
‘Because they don’t want to see it?’ I suggest. ‘Because the booked-up stuff is the good stuff?’
‘That’s very closed-minded,’ she tuts, before forking another pile of sugar and fat.
And then, when she’s finished chewing, she tells me about various occasions during her travels when she’s ended up in entirely unexpected situations through spontaneous decisions, and I reflect that it’s a very good job we’ve never been on holiday together.
Not that we ever would have been, obviously.
Judith and Mike, as the only two people who booked onto the trip as single travellers, have been placed together, and are opposite Flavia and me, which I suspect is because we were in the taxi together: Maxim seems to take absolutely everything into account in his decision-making.
‘Uzbekistan! Kyrgyzstan!’ Judith exclaims. ‘I’m not sure I’d even be able to find them on a map. When was this? How long were you there for?’
Flavia begins to describe her travels. I’m surprised by how strongly I remember the deep misery I felt when she told me she was leaving for Kazakhstan, straight after my ill-advised (and, in hindsight, juvenile) declaration of love.
As she talks about meeting camels in the desert in Uzbekistan, I move her plate and glass out of the way of her gesticulating hands after she narrowly avoids (without noticing in the slightest) knocking them both flying.
When we’ve all finished laughing at one of her stories involving some warm, unpasteurised camel’s milk and a ship cemetery where the edge of the Aral Sea used to be in Uzbekistan, Mike asks her, ‘What’s your favourite place out of everywhere you’ve visited?
And what’s your favourite kind of holiday? ’
Flavia wrinkles her nose as she considers the question.
‘I don’t think I could choose a favourite place,’ she says eventually, ‘but I’ve always had amazing memories of the cities along the Old Silk Road, and the countryside in between.
All that history, with such stunning architecture, surrounded by very remote countryside.
’ She looks round for her glass of water, doesn’t seem to register at all that I moved it, reaches for it and takes a sip, before continuing, ‘And my favourite kind of holiday is one of those ones where you’re with someone you care about a lot and have a lot of fun with and you just go somewhere, with nothing planned, and just see what happens. ’
I can’t help wondering whether she’s thinking of her ex-husband, and feel curious about how and why their marriage ended. I also can’t help thinking that I’d hate Flavia’s favourite kind of holiday. I like a well-executed plan, not a free-for-all nightmare.
‘What about all of you?’ Flavia asks. ‘I’ve been talking about my own trips far too much.’
‘Not too much at all,’ Judith says. ‘Everything you said has been so interesting. I feel as though I’ve learnt something from you today.’
Mike nods in agreement.
‘Aww, thank you.’ Flavia beams at them. ‘And now tell me your own favourite places visited and type of holiday.’
‘South of France and wine-tasting,’ says Mike immediately.
‘Oh my goodness! Me too!’ Judith exclaims.
Mike exclaims back at her, and then they all look at me.
After a moment of brain freeze – what do I like doing on holiday? – I say, ‘I like an active holiday. I love skiing. I skied a lot in North America when I was living in New York, which was amazing.’
‘I’ve never been skiing,’ Flavia says. ‘I’d love to try, although going by my complete lack of balance when it comes to ice skating I think I’d be terrible.’ She sounds so cheerful that none of us bother to reassure her.
‘Did you say you ended up living in Australia for a while?’ asks Mike. ‘I worked in Sydney for six months a few years ago. Loved it.’
‘Yes, I did. I agree, Sydney’s beautiful.’ And then Flavia buries herself in demolishing the remainder of her pancakes, suddenly much less keen to share her experiences. I presume it’s because she doesn’t want to talk about her ex-husband and the breakdown of her marriage.
I can’t help feeling curious, again, about how she ended up living in Australia, married to an Australian. It’s absolutely nothing to do with me, clearly, but the thought of her as someone else’s wife is just odd. Not that she would ever have been mine, obviously.
I really don’t think anyone should have to talk about things that make them feel uncomfortable, though, so when Mike asks her a couple more questions, I step in and turn the conversation in the direction of the wine-tasting trips Mike mentioned that he enjoys.
Judith has a lot of questions for Mike and soon they’re deep in conversation about different French grapes. I love my wine too, but I’m distracted by looking at Flavia and wondering how she’s feeling about her ex-husband and their divorce.
‘I was sorry to hear about your divorce,’ I say, making sure that no-one will overhear.
‘Thanks.’ She places her knife and fork on her plate. Askew, to the side, like you do in many European countries, not nicely neat and tidy like we do in England. ‘Those pancakes were good.’ Clearly, she does not want commiserations. Fair enough.
‘I cannot believe you finished them,’ I tell her. ‘That was a lot of food.’
‘I was hungry. Did you order a dessert?’
‘Dessert? For brunch? No?’
‘Oh.’ She looks genuinely surprised. ‘Well… you can share mine if you like.’
I stare at her. ‘You’ve ordered dessert as well as a massive plate of sugary, creamy, syrupy pancakes?’
‘There was compote.’
‘At least fifty per cent sugar.’
‘Seriously.’ She glares at me. ‘You are fun in a brunch setting.’
I laugh. She carries on glaring.
About half the group ordered desserts. Flavia’s is a large chocolate brownie, accompanied by a lot of cream.
‘You should have a couple of mouthfuls at least,’ Flavia tells me, putting her spoon down and proffering her unused fork. ‘You’ll regret it if you don’t. Being on holiday is not the time for salad.’
‘I like salad. Also, I had steak.’
‘Hmm,’ she says.
‘Hmm, what?’
‘Just… I don’t really think of steak as a brunch food.’
In the end, I pick up Flavia’s fork and take a mouthful of the brownie. It is very nice, I concede. But I really don’t want more than one mouthful.
Flavia demolishes the rest of it remarkably fast, while I perform the heroic feat of not pointing out how stunningly unhealthy her meal has been.
When everyone has finished, Maxim tells us that we’re immediately going to begin our ascent of Table Mountain.
‘Noooo,’ moans Flavia next to me. ‘I’m too full. I’m going to explode. That brownie was bigger than I expected.’
‘Should have had steak, salad and no dessert,’ I tell her, feeling no sympathy. ‘It’ll do you good to work it off.’
‘We’re on holiday.’ She’s back to glaring at me.
Weirdly – very weirdly – glaring actually suits her. She basically looks gorgeous whatever facial expression she adopts.
She’s also, I remind myself, almost farcically different from me. And recently divorced. And there’s all the other stuff. I should really not be thinking about her gorgeousness.