My work stories really aren’t as funny as hers but she has this lovely habit of making you feel as though you’re the most interesting person in the world when you’re talking, so I tell her a couple of anecdotes anyway.
I look up a couple of times and see Sofia regarding the two of us with a very fond smile. It’s quite obvious that if Flaviahasalready rekindled things with Jed she hasn’t yet told her mother about it.
‘Back to the trip for a moment,’ Sofia says into a silent moment when the rest of us all have our mouths full of her insanely good beef Wellington. ‘Both of you sum it up in a couple of sentences, with best and worst bits.’
I freeze for a moment, my eyes fixed on my plate. Best bits: getting to know Flavia so much better and the sex. Worst bits: getting Vinny’s text and realising that he was right and that I’d be doing Flavia no favours if we carried on once we got back to London, discovering that Jed wanted to get back with her, and then saying goodbye.
I chew very, very slowly, staring hard at the broccoli and honey-glazed carrots on my plate, hoping that Flavia will speak first.
Eventually, Flavia says, ‘That’s a very good question, Mum.’ Clearly she’s playing for time.
I glance up and meet her eyes for a second and am quite sure that her thoughts are going in the same direction as mine. I return my gaze to my vegetables and focus on them hard so that I can get my thoughts back in order.
As I switch my gaze to my pile of Dauphinoise potatoes, I hear Flavia say, ‘It’s hard to decide what the best bits were, actually. There were so many highlights.’
‘I agree,’ I say, recovering. ‘Obviously the safari was amazing. The food. The New Year’s Eve beachbraai. Table Mountain. All just fantastic.’
‘How was the accommodation?’ My motherwinksas she speaks. Well, she almost does. She isn’t actually very good at winking; she has to use her whole face.
I wince, as does Flavia. Sofia maintains an impressively straight face. My father remains oblivious.
Flavia fixes my mother and her own, in turn, with a gimlet eye, and then says, very sternly, likeno-one is allowed to argue with me, ‘There was a mix-up with the rooms and we were forced to share, but it was absolutely fine because we were in a wonderful suite with a separate sitting room, which had a sofa bed in it, so all good. The suite was on the corner of the building and hadthemost out-of-this-world views over the sea and the mountains. So, yeah, we were incredibly lucky with the accommodation, actually.’
I want to applaud her.
My mother hasn’t finished, though. ‘Was your lodge room a suite, or… not?’ she asks.
‘No, it wasn’t,’ I say. I can’t leave all the heavy lifting to Flavia. ‘But fortunately there were two enormous sofas, so no-one had to sleep on the floor. And we were very tired because we’d had an early start, so we could both have slept anywhere.’
‘Oh, well, what a relief that the accommodation worked so well.’ Sofia smiles at us both, definitely looking a bit disappointed. ‘I hope you’re enjoying your beef.’
We all tell her that it’s perfect, and then Flavia starts talking about biltong, and we are very, very firmly off the subject of room-sharing. I cannot actually believe how ridiculous both our mothers are, frankly. You could say that they wererightin thinking that Flavia and I might get on well. But you could also say that Flavia and I are both in our mid-thirties and therefore three decades too old to have our friends chosen for us.
Flavia finishes a particularly long discourse on canapés, having segued from biltong ones to more universal ones, and I grin at her as she finally pauses for breath.
She mouths, ‘Phew,’ at me as our mothers begin to swap risotto recipes and I mouth, ‘Well done,’ in reply.
And from then on the awkwardness between the two of us seems to have dissipated, and this could almost be described as a nice evening. I really hope that we can maintain this on the occasions we see each other in the future. Like Judith and Mike’s wedding, for example. (They’ve already set a date in June.) As long as Flavia doesn’t attend it with Jed.
I love what I see of her relationship with her mother. It’s like they’re best friends while maintaining a mutual, very respectful understanding that they are mother and daughter rather than actual peers. They know so much about each other’s daily lives, like they talk all the time, but they also very much have their own lives. It’s lovely.
When my mother looks at her watch and says, ‘Good heavens, it’s eleven thirty already; we should go,’ I feel suddenly bereft. Because this is it. No more Flavia until Judith and Mike’s wedding. And then after that maybe next Christmas. Or maybe never; maybe she’ll move back to Australia soon, with Jed.
We all stand in the hall and say goodbye to each other.
When it’s our turn, Flavia and I look at each other almost guiltily and then share a brief hug. I have to force myself to release her appropriately quickly.
And that’s that.
It’s goodbye.
And, even though I feel like someone’s taken my heart out and twisted it before shoving it back in, in not quite the right place, I know that it has to be like this. I can’t interfere with her getting back together with her husband. Plus, Vinny’s right. I never want to hurt Flavia. And I would.
So, yep, it’s a final goodbye.
‘Maybe see you at Judith and Mike’s wedding,’ I say. If she isn’t already back in Australia by then.
‘Yep.’ Her smile looks a little strained. ‘Happy New Year!’
