Epilogue #3
They stare at the photo in silence. Wendy shakes her head slowly and sighs. ‘Can I take a picture of this?’ she asks finally. ‘Because our kids will never believe me.’
‘Yes,’ Manon says. ‘Of course.’
Once dinner has been eaten and the chocolate log sliced and devoured, Celine says she’s going to go outside for a smoke.
‘Of course,’ Wendy tells her. ‘I think I’ll join you.’
‘But you are telling me you stop,’ Manon says.
‘Yes,’ Wendy admits sheepishly. ‘I know.’
‘She almost has, really,’ Harry says in his wife’s defence.
‘Yes, I’m down to three or four a day,’ Wendy says. ‘I’m doing it very slowly. But hell, it’s Christmas Day, isn’t it?’
Manon turns to Celine at this point and rattles off some rapid-fire French that neither Wendy nor Harry understand.
But whatever she has said has instant effect, because Celine pulls a face as if she’s been told off and settles back in her chair.
‘She say I must ask if it’s OK,’ Celine says, looking disgruntled.
‘Why? You want to smoke in here?’ Harry asks. ‘Sure, go for it. It’s freezing out there.’
‘No, not this,’ Manon says. ‘But Celine. She does not want to smoke cigarette.’
‘She doesn’t?’ Wendy says uncomprehendingly.
‘Oh, oh!’ Harry says, as the penny drops. ‘She wants to smoke a joint, right?’
Celine smiles shyly.
‘Please,’ Wendy says, gesturing towards the door. ‘Be my guest. That’s not a problem at all, is it, Haz?’
‘Er, no!’ Harry says, comically emphatic.
‘You want?’ Celine asks, pulling a pre-rolled spliff from her jacket pocket and pointing it at him.
‘Absolutely, I want!’ Harry says. ‘It’s been years.’
‘Those two are lovely,’ Harry says, once the girls have left. It’s just after 11 p.m. and they are clearing the table, piling dirty dishes in the sink.
‘I know,’ Wendy says. ‘They’re great, aren’t they?’
‘D’you think that’s why she befriended you? Because you look so much like her mum?’
‘Not only,’ Wendy says. ‘But I suppose it might explain why my drinking upset her so much. It must have been so hard on those kids.’
‘You know, for a minute I thought it was a joke,’ Harry says, shooting her a slightly inappropriate grin. ‘I thought it was photo of you and she was winding me up.’
‘I know,’ Wendy says, breaking into a smile herself, even though she’s not sure why she finds it funny. ‘Sorry… talking about that poor woman,’ she says. ‘Not quite sure why I’m grinning. It’s clearly not funny at all.’
‘No, but you looking so like her kind of is.’
‘I suppose,’ Wendy says.
‘I can’t stop smiling, either,’ Harry says. ‘I think it’s the joint.’
‘That was ages ago.’
‘Well, whatever, it’s nice to see you smile.’
‘I think I am still a bit stoned,’ Wendy says. ‘You know, it made me feel like I was eighteen again? Do you remember those joints we smoked at Glastonbury with that hippy guy with all the piercings?’
‘I do,’ Harry says. ‘I couldn’t stand up for about an hour. We missed David Bowie because of that.’
Harry’s playlist, which has been providing a pleasant soundtrack to the evening, moves on to ‘Every Beat of My Heart’.
‘Who’s this?’ Wendy asks, frowning. It’s not like Harry to listen to soul music.
‘Gladys Knight,’ he says, putting down the coffee pot and holding out a hand. ‘Dance with me.’
Wendy carries the final dirty plates from the table, adds them to the pile, then rubs her hands on her hips and steps between Harry’s open arms. Their bodies seem to fit together more easily than yesterday. She wonders if this is another side effect of the joint.
‘Since when do you listen to soul?’ she asks.
‘Since Spotify started suggesting it,’ Harry says, sliding one arm round her back, and moving her into a playful tango hold.
‘Clever Spotify,’ Wendy says. ‘I like.’
Because Harry breathes out heavily, she tips her head back to look up at him so that she can identify the nature of the sigh.
‘I do love you, you know,’ he says.
‘Me, too. This has been one of the nicest Christmases ever, hasn’t it?’
‘Don’t let the kids hear you say that,’ Harry laughs.
‘No, no, I won’t.’
He kisses her then, and for the first time in ages – for the first time in years – she wants more. She opens her mouth to let him in.
‘Allo, allo!’ Harry says comically, once the kiss is over.
This makes Wendy crack up laughing for no reason she can identify. ‘Allo, allo?’ she repeats, in a silly French accent.
‘Hey, you started it with your French kissing.’ And then he wheels her in so tightly she can hardly breathe.
She wakes up the next morning to find herself spooned by Harry’s body. She can feel his morning hard-on pressed against her buttocks and, feeling vaguely embarrassed, she edges gently away.
She pokes one arm out from the quilt to confirm what her nose is telling her: that the cabin is once again freezing. ‘Shit,’ she mumbles.
‘What?’ Harry asks. He’s apparently wide awake.
‘Forgot to stack the wood stove. It’s arctic out there.’
‘Huh,’ Harry says. ‘I’m sure it warms up pretty quickly, doesn’t it?’
‘It does once you get up and relight it.’
‘Sorry, don’t know how,’ Harry says, rolling onto his back. ‘It’s gonna have to be you, babe.’
‘I’ll give you instructions,’ she offers, rolling over so that she’s now cradling Harry. She tickles his waist in an attempt at forcing him from the bed.
‘I still think, with all your experience…’ Harry says, through laughter. ‘OK, I’ll get up and light the paraffin thing, if you want.’
‘Ooh, no,’ Wendy says. ‘It stinks. Plus I don’t think it’s very healthy – breathing the fumes and what-have-you…’
Because it’s ultimately easier to do it herself than to motivate Harry, she braces herself and gets up, returning five minutes later with mugs of tea.
‘Here you go, lazy man,’ she says.
‘Oh, you love it,’ Harry says, through a yawn. ‘You love being my charwoman.’
‘Huh?’ Wendy says, sipping her tea. ‘Charwoman? Now you’ve blown it!’
‘Blown what?’
‘There’s a massive pile of washing up down there. Which is now entirely your job.’
‘I don’t mind washing up. As long as tonight is like last night.’
‘Oh, sex for washing up, now, is it? I think that might actually be worse than being your charwoman.’
‘You didn’t seem to mind too much last night,’ Harry says, nudging her.
‘No…’ Wendy admits, softening her voice to indicate she’s no longer joking. ‘No, last night was lovely. But can we manage it without a joint? That’s the question.’
‘Course we can,’ Harry says.
‘I hope so. Because it definitely helped me relax.’
‘In that case, I have good news,’ Harry says. ‘Celine left me two more spliffs.’
‘She did not!’
‘Did, too.’
‘Scoring drugs off the kids?’ Wendy says. ‘I’m not sure how I feel about that.’
‘Well, don’t get addicted,’ Harry says. ‘Cos there’s no more where that came from.’
‘I think I’ll be OK. I’ve never craved a joint in my life. Cigarettes? Yes. Alcohol? Totally. But weed’s never really done it for me. Generally just sends me to sleep.’
‘Until last night.’
‘Indeed. Maybe it’s because she grows it. Maybe homegrown is different.’
Once they have drunk their tea, Wendy sticks a leg out before declaring it’s still too cold. ‘Let’s snooze for a bit,’ she says.
‘What do you want to do today, anyway?’
‘I don’t know,’ Wendy says. ‘Lazy morning and then a picnic somewhere? Maybe Antibes, or Nice, or Cannes?’
‘I take it you’ve visited them all?’
‘Well, Nice with Jill, and Antibes with Fiona. But I’ve never been to Cannes.’
‘Let’s do that one, then,’ Harry says. ‘You know, I completely forgot she was here.’
‘Jill?’
‘Yeah. You don’t seem to mention her much lately. I didn’t dare ask.’
‘No…’ Wendy says thoughtfully.
‘Did you fall out, or…?’
‘Not as such. It was just the drink thing, really.’
‘Yeah, Jill can certainly put it away.’
‘I went to see her in… April maybe? I think it was April, anyway. I was toying with the idea of inviting them to Todd’s wedding. I mean, I would have asked Todd first, obviously, but he really liked Jill when he was little, didn’t he?’
‘He was in love with Jill when he was about nine.’
‘But they were both pretty far gone. And it was only eleven in the morning.’
‘Ouch,’ Harry says.
‘I know. And she kept offering me drinks, too. She was really quite insistent. Even though I’d told her that I’d stopped… And I found that upsetting really… It seemed a bit disrespectful to put me in a position where I had to keep saying no.’
‘She probably doesn’t like the fact you’ve stopped.’
‘No, that’s exactly it. I think I’m like a mirror to the fact that she can’t.’
‘So you have fallen out?’
‘Well, I phoned her a week later – I got her answerphone, repeatedly. So in the end I left a message saying that it had upset me – her trying to ply me with drink. And I said I was worried about their health. And she never phoned back. And that was April, as I say. So I think that friendship may have reached its expiry date.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Harry says, caressing her arm. ‘It’s hard losing a friend.’
‘I suppose it’s bound to happen at some point in a lifetime. But it does hurt. And I feel a bit guilty, I suppose. Because she’s been good to me over the years.’
‘She might come back, one day,’ Harry says. ‘She might think about what you said, and sober up.’
‘I hope so,’ Wendy says. ‘Because otherwise, I worry that the next bit of news will be that she’s in hospital. Or dead. Maybe I’ll try again at some point, I don’t know. It’s a tough one.’
Because Wendy so wants Harry to see it, they end up back at Cap d’Antibes.
The sky is misty blue and it’s far colder than when she came with Fiona, but it’s beautiful all the same.
As they pass through the rusty gate and start their way along the coastal path, Wendy’s phone, in her pocket, pings with a message.
‘Kids?’ Harry asks, from in front.
‘No, just Prue saying happy Christmas,’ Wendy calls back.
‘You two are besties now, right?’ he asks, moving to her side as the path widens. ‘You lose one, you win one?’
‘Huh,’ Wendy says. ‘No, it’s not the same. It’s not the same at all. I’ve known Jill for decades. But I do like Prue. I think she’s OK. And she’s going through so much.’
‘Well, it’s sweet, you being there for her.’
‘I just try to listen, really. I don’t think she has anyone else to talk to, and I don’t know… somehow I feel like I get it.’
‘Because of your uncle?’
‘No, I was more thinking of Mum. Prue’s angry. She’s quite reasonably furious about the cards she’s been dealt. And I know how that feels.’
‘So you’re a friendly ear,’ Harry says. ‘That’s kind. As long as she doesn’t bring you down.’
‘No, it’s more than that,’ Wendy says, as they round the corner and climb a set of steps. ‘It turns out, I’m quite a good listener.’
‘God, it’s lovely here,’ Harry says.
‘Yes,’ Wendy agrees. ‘I really like it. And look at that house over there. Imagine living there.’
In the distance, on an outcrop of red rocks, sits a mansion surrounded by crashing waves.
‘The window cleaning on that place would be hell,’ Harry says, then, ‘And you are a good listener, I know.’
They walk on in silence for a while, with only the sound of the waves and the gulls. When finally Wendy decides that this is probably as good a time as any, she says, ‘Actually, I’ve been thinking about something. And I wanted to get your input.’
‘Sure,’ Harry says. ‘Go on.’
‘I’ve been wondering about maybe retraining,’ she tells him. ‘As a counsellor. I mean, I’ve barely started looking into it, but…’
‘Oh,’ Harry says, surprised. ‘OK.’
‘I’ve still got some of Mum’s money left.
So I could work part time, and we’d still have enough to keep everything ticking over.
And… I don’t know – I mean, I’m not sure – but maybe this is what I want to do with it.
I enjoyed seeing that therapist more than I thought I would.
And I’ve enjoyed trying to help Prue deal with her feelings, too.
I think Mum would have approved. But what do you think? ’
‘Sure,’ Harry says. ‘Why not?’
‘But would you mind?’
‘Er, no,’ Harry says. ‘How could I?’
‘But do you think it’s a good idea?’
‘Well, I think you’d make a great counsellor if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘Really?’ Wendy asks, grabbing his arm, and pulling him to a stop. ‘Because you must say. You must be honest if you think I’d be rubbish, or if you think we need that money for other stuff.’
‘Hey,’ he says, caressing her arm. ‘If it makes you happy, I think it’s a great idea.’
‘Well, it would, I think,’ Wendy says. ‘And I don’t think I could bear going back to full-time nursing. But there’s you to think about. I want you to be happy, too.’
‘You know what makes me happy?’ Harry says. ‘The fact that you’re asking me. Because it means you’re still thinking about us.’
‘Oh, God, am I being presumptuous?’ Wendy asks. ‘Maybe you don’t even think that we’ll carry on—’
‘Stop!’ Harry says, grasping her forearms tightly. ‘I do. I just wasn’t… I mean, you never said… we’ve never said it out loud, since all that… happened. But I do. It’s what I want.’
‘Oh, thank God,’ Wendy says, leaning into his embrace. ‘We agree, then.’
‘We do,’ Harry says, giving her a peck. ‘Isn’t that great?’
They hug tightly for a moment and when Wendy pulls away she has to swipe tears from her eyes. ‘Just the wind,’ she jokes.
‘Of course,’ Harry says, blinking. ‘Mine, too.’
‘So!’ Wendy says, turning resolutely back to the path.
‘So,’ Harry repeats, emulating her tone. ‘When do we eat? Is there, like, a particular spot? Because I’m starving even though it’s… Actually, it is almost two.’
‘Yes! A bit further along here,’ Wendy says, grabbing his hand and pulling him forwards. ‘There’s a little set of steps that lead down to the sea where I ate with Fiona. Come! Follow me. I’ll show you the perfect spot.’
THE END