Bren, Josie says, before Nora can find her tongue.
Ignore him, Freya tells Robin, as she passes him the coleslaw. He’s just out of the loop, as usual.
Clearly, Bren says. Seeing as I put my life on hold for a wedding I’ve now found out isn’t happening.
Nora puts her fork down, hard.
It’s happening, she says, hoping that Robin hears this, and believes her. And you didn’thaveto put your life on hold.
Except you asked me to be best man, Bren says, so it was kind of implied, wasn’t it? And now you’re what, rescheduling? Eloping?
Eloping! Josie says, with a clap of her hands. Oh, that would be lovely!
Maybe, Robin says, maintaining his easy demeanour. He dishes some coleslaw onto Josie’s plate, his movements deliberate, like his words. The world’s our oyster, I suppose, he says, but he does not look at Nora as he says it.
Have you ever eaten an oyster, Bren asks, and Robin blinks. Freya says Nora, d’you want some pine nuts on your salad?
Contentious, aren’t they, Bren says. Either dodgy as hell, or the height of sophistication. Two extremes, really.
Nora is not sure where he’s going with this. She pours herself more Pimm’s, finds that she’s shaking, slightly.
Everyone says they taste like the sea, Bren goes on, but that’s kind of unoriginal. To me, they taste like risk. They taste like life. They taste like doing something in the moment, shuckedstraight from a fisherman’s bucket in Phuket or a shack on a Tasmanian beach, just because youcan. Because you can’t not.
Pine nuts, Bren? Freya asks.
I’ve had oysters before, yes, Robin says. He has stopped smiling, now, is passing the bread basket to Josie who shakes her head, says she’s still got half a roll left, thanks, and Freya says Bren, your salad’s getting cold, and nobody laughs.
Quiet, for a moment. The tablecloth fluttering in the wind. Josie says well, this looks, and Freya says donotsay lovely, Jose, and the two mothers begin to eat. Nora is looking at Robin, trying to communicate without words. Robin looks down at his napkin. Bren looks up at the sky, as if wishing he were on a plane, and Nora finds, for the first time since he got home, that she’s wishing the same thing.
I thought about grilling peaches, Freya says, to put in the salad.
Small sounds of cutlery on the side plates.
Why didn’t you, Robin asks, and Freya says oh, she’s not cleaned the barbecue in a decade, it’s congealed in this burnt-black carcinogenic matter, so.
Jon used to clean it for her, Josie adds.
He was the barbecue king, Freya nods. And Bren swears, then, under his breath, but loud enough that everyone hears. Freya cracks some black pepper, loudly. Josie glances over at her son.
Tasmania, she says, to change the subject. I didn’t know you’d been there, pet.
Yes you did, Bren says. I lived there for four months, a few years back.
Really? Josie picks at her lettuce with her fork. You’ve been so many places, darling. It’s hard to keep track.
I know nothing about that place, Robin says, when Bren hasn’t responded. My sole knowledge of it comes from that kids’ cartoon.
Which cartoon? Josie asks.
Ta-Ta-Taz-Mania? With Bushwhacker Bob? Constance and Thickley?
You’ve lost me, Josie says. Freya winks at Robin, whose returned smile seems to take quite an effort. Nora wants to reach out, touch his hand. Tell him everything’s fine. She promises. He’ll see.
You’re missing out on some great tommies here, Bren, Freya prompts. Bren stays seated for a moment but then gets up and comes over to the table. Picks up his plate to start serving himself. Sets it back down.
We had several long calls when I lived there, he says to Josie. When I was walking the Three Capes track, with a hiking group.
Ah, says Josie, yes.
