Epilogue
She turns off the ignition and sits listening to the ping-pinging of the cooling engine. So here we are again, she thinks. Through the windscreen the cabin is silhouetted against a reddening afternoon sky.
‘You OK?’ Harry asks, laying one hand on her knee.
‘Yes, sorry…’ she says, as if dragging herself from a trance. ‘It’s just so strange to be back!’
She releases her seatbelt and cracks the door. ‘You know, it’s warmer today than when I got here last time?’
‘But you got here in autumn,’ Harry replies, speaking over the top of the car.
‘I know,’ Wendy says. ‘But the weather up here is nuts. Tomorrow might be sun or rain or snow. You never can tell.’
‘God, I’d love it if we got snowed in,’ Harry tells her, looking suddenly boyish.
‘Believe me,’ she says, ‘it’s overrated.’
She retrieves the keys from the lock box and leads Harry by one hand around to the front of the cabin.
‘Wow,’ he says, turning his back to the house to look out at the view. The sun is moving behind the hill and the sky is flaming in reds and purples.
‘I knew you’d like it,’ Wendy says, standing beside him. ‘In fact, all the time I was here, I think that was the single thought I had the most often. Just how much you’d like it.’
‘I’m guessing you alternated between that one and wanting a drink,’ Harry says cheekily.
‘Yes. That did come up quite a lot, too.’
Wendy turns back to the house and fiddles with the lock until the door opens. Inside there’s a surprise: the cabin is warm.
‘Hello, hello!’ Wendy murmurs, crossing the room to crouch down in front of a new Japanese-style room heater which is belching paraffin-scented heat into the room.
‘New?’ Harry asks.
‘Yeah, it was freezing when I got here last time. At least she listens to her renters’ complaints.’
‘It’s still got the famous wood stove,’ Harry says, walking around the space, peering at things. ‘There’s a note.’ He swipes the envelope from the top of the unlit wood burner and places it between Wendy’s outstretched fingers.
You are welcome to France again! the note inside reads. I leave petrol fire for you. Please turn off immediately and put the fire to the wood pan for better smell.
‘She says it’s a petrol fire?’ Wendy says. ‘That sounds dangerous.’
‘I think she means paraffin,’ Harry says. ‘It smells like paraffin to me.’
Wendy laughs and hands him the note. ‘Poor Madame Blanchard. I never did explain the difference between “welcome to France” and “you are welcome to France”.’
‘Maybe you should have given her English lessons,’ Harry says, reading the note and pulling a face.
‘You know, I never even met her. She could be one of those AI-computer things. Though she would probably speak better English if that were the case… Anyway, I bet that’s still better than your French.’
‘Huh!’ Harry says, feigning offence. ‘Vous… serez – seriez ? – surpris, Madame !’
‘I think you can probably tu-toi me, though,’ Wendy says, with a grin. ‘Seeing as we do share a bed.’
‘Merde !’ Harry says. ‘Bien s?r !’
While Wendy lights the fire, Harry brings the shopping in from the car.
As they unpack and stack the items in cupboards, Wendy asks, ‘So what do you think? You haven’t said a word.’
‘Oh, sorry, no, it’s amazing!’ Harry says. ‘I’m a bit in awe, I think. My little Wens up here all on her own… I’m finding it hard to imagine.’
‘I know,’ Wendy agrees. ‘I can hardly believe it myself. But what about the place? Is it how you imagined it?’
Harry pauses, a jar of jam in one hand, momentarily perplexed as he looks around. ‘It’s weird,’ he says. ‘Cos, I mean, you showed me photos, so it is, obviously, exactly like the photos. But it’s also completely different.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Dunno,’ Harry says, resuming his stacking. ‘I don’t think I ever imagined how the place would feel, I suppose. How it would smell, and sound… all that stuff… But, yeah, it’s very cool indeed.’
‘Fridge,’ Wendy says, handing him a little pile of items containing a bottle of milk, a wedge of cheese and a block of butter.
Harry crouches down and opens the fridge. ‘Ahh,’ he says, pulling a bottle of prosecco from the door and waving it at her. ‘I guess you didn’t tell her about your new healthy ways, huh?’
‘No,’ Wendy says. ‘She never knew about any of that. But that’s fine. You can have it tomorrow with Christmas dinner.’
They heat their so-called ‘luxury’ ready meals in the microwave and once the fairly joyless event of eating these is over (because they don’t taste very luxury at all) they move to the sofa to stare at the flames.
‘So this is where it all happened, huh?’ Harry asks, still constantly scanning the room.
‘Yep,’ Wendy says. ‘This is it. And wait until you see the views tomorrow. I have a fabulous walk in store.’
‘Tomorrow’s going to be strange without the kids.’
‘They wouldn’t have been home anyway,’ Wendy reminds him. Todd and Amanda are on their belated honeymoon in Bali while Fiona is at a friend’s place in Brighton.
‘Well, they promised to call, anyway,’ Harry says. Then, ‘Which reminds me. Must get on the old wifi for WhatsApp. I don’t think I have much EU data in my plan. Does that work?’
‘What, the wifi?’ Wendy says, but by following Harry’s gaze she deduces that he’s referring to the Bluetooth speaker. ‘Oh, yes. It’s a bit fiddly to connect. But it actually sounds quite good.’
Once everything is connected and Harry’s playlist is on, they snuggle on the sofa staring at the fire, Harry’s arm heavy across her shoulders. ‘My God, it’s nice being here with you,’ she says.
‘And it’s nice being here with you, too,’ he replies. And then suddenly he’s on his feet, holding out one hand. ‘Dance with me,’ he says.
Wendy laughs. ‘I haven’t been able to dance since I gave up the wicked booze.’
‘I’m not asking you to do a bloody Charleston,’ Harry says, yanking on her hand. ‘Come on! Gimme a smooch.’
Faking reluctance, Wendy caves in, and she’s relieved to find that their bodies do still fit together, at least enough to slow dance.
When Billie Eilish ends and ‘Something’ by The Beatles begins, she jokingly comments, ‘Why, I do believe thou art trying to seduce me, Monsieur ! I’ve never heard this playlist before. ’
‘You know me,’ Harry says. ‘I’m like a Scout. Ready for anything.’
Wendy nestles her head against his shoulder and as they turn she studies the room to see what has changed since her last visit a year ago.
Other than a couple of new cushions the place looks exactly the same and yet, it feels quite unfamiliar being here as a couple. It’s like a different place entirely.
‘Are you worried?’ she asks, the thought having bubbled up from nowhere. ‘About the sex thing?’ It’s probably the love song that has prompted the thought, she decides belatedly.
‘Uh?’ Harry says, also surprised by the sudden change of subject. ‘Oh, no, not really. Why? Are you?’
‘So you are a bit?’ Wendy says.
‘Er… no. Not really. I guess I’m still hopeful. Plus, if I’m being totally honest, I’d say I’m getting to an age where it isn’t quite as important as before. Moments like this seem to mean more, if you know what I mean?’
‘Yes,’ Wendy says. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘Are you worried? Is it playing on your mind?’
‘No, I… Never mind. It’s silly, really,’ Wendy says.
‘No, it’s not… go on.’
‘I… Well, I suppose I worry that without being able to drink, it’ll never sort itself out. A drink always seemed to make all that stuff so much easier. D’you know what I mean?’
‘Yes,’ Harry says, pulling her close. ‘Yes, I thought that, too.’
‘And I suppose I worry that you’ll… have needs and…’
‘And be tempted to look elsewhere?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t think that’s going to happen,’ Harry says.
‘But what if it does?’
Harry fails to reply for two full revolutions and Wendy, who can sense tears forming, starts to fear the worst. But then as she turns to face the front door again and George Harrison begins singing the final verse, Harry says, ‘Well, if it does, then I’ll let you know, OK?’
Wendy laughs genuinely at this. ‘I’m not sure that would help things, to be honest.’
‘Well, at least that way you won’t be worrying all the time about something that doesn’t exist. Right?’
This time it’s Wendy who does not reply. When Harry eventually prompts her with a simple, ‘Eh?’ combined with a squeeze, she says, ‘Can I have a think about it? Because between knowing and not knowing… I’m not sure. I’m really not sure what’s best.’
She wakes up early the next morning to find that Harry is no longer beside her. She lies there enjoying the silence and the smell of woodsmoke, and for a moment the place feels like home again – it’s as if she never left.
‘Make me a cuppa, will you?’ she calls out eventually, and when Harry does not reply, more loudly, ‘Haz?’ He’s probably listening to one of his podcasts.
When he still doesn’t reply, Wendy turns around in the bed and peers over the edge of the mezzanine. But Harry’s not downstairs either.
Thinking, He can’t have gone for a walk already, surely? It’s not even light, she climbs from the bed and pulls on her dressing gown.
Downstairs the stove is roaring, proof, if proof were needed, that Harry isn’t far, so she crosses to the window and peers out into the half-light to see him silhouetted against the brightening sky, wearing his overcoat, bobble hat and gloves, breath rising in steam-train puffs.
She cracks the door, letting in a rush of icy air, and calls out, ‘You OK out there? Don’t freeze!’
‘Christ!’ Harry says, turning sharply. ‘You made me jump!’ Then, ‘Yeah, this is one of the most beautiful views I’ve ever seen. I’m waiting for the sun to come over that hill. It’s almost there, look!’
In the distance a donkey brays, followed by the screech of a cock. ‘It’s cool, isn’t it?’ Wendy says before returning indoors. She always knew that he’d love it here, but she’s still relieved he does.