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‘Did you leave it at Mr Sports Car’s house?’ asks Sandy, tapping a finger against her chin.
‘Probably,’ I sigh. ‘This is a disaster.’
‘Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,’ says Gerry, tipping his head backwards and looking up at the sky.
‘Well, it is. If my boss can’t get hold of me—’
‘Oh, I meant to tell you, the Wi-Fi’s down,’ says Sandy. ‘There’s some glitch across the whole of St Ouen’s, should be back on in an hour or two.’
‘What?’ I cry, horrified. ‘I can’t be offline.’ As I say it, I hear how pathetic I sound. I’m not a doctor on call or a politician running the country. Then I think of my argument with Dee, the need to amend my flight, the fact that Dionne and Saul are coming here on Monday – the constant nagging feeling that I have a thousand phone calls I should be making.
‘You can use my phone, if there’s anything urgent?’ Sandy offers.
‘Do you know what happens when you don’t have your phone?’ Gerry asks, and I look at him, waiting for an answer. ‘Life.’
‘Alright, Yoda,’ says Sandy.
‘Yes, “live for today” is all very well until I lose my job and can’t pay the rent,’ I tell him.
‘Someone sparky like you?’ Gerry gives me a wink. ‘You’d find a way.’ Then he bows his head and presses his papery-skinned hands together in prayer. ‘There is an old proverb: he who fears to suffer, suffers from fear.’
‘Oh no,’ Sandy says, covering her eyes, ‘you’ve unleashed the proverbial Gerry.’
‘Man who waits for roast duck to fly into his mouth must wait very very long time,’ says Gerry.
‘He’ll just keep spouting proverbs at you until you beg him to stop,’ says Sandy. ‘He has proverbs for every occasion, mainly from cheap Christmas crackers by the sound of them.’
‘Fear blows wind into your sails—’
‘OK, she gets it,’ Sandy says, standing up and putting both hands gently around Gerry’s neck, pretending to throttle him. This makes Gerry stop his guru impression and wrinkle his nose into a silent laugh. I smile at them, cheered up by their jokes, but the conversation does make me pause to think. Would it be so terrible if I lost my job? If I didn’t have the familiar routine? But then the thought makes me feel a bit sick and panicky, so I ask Sandy if I can bring my laptop over and hotspot off her mobile, just to get through my most urgent tasks.
Sandy goes to make a pot of herbal tea, and she and Gerry carry on chatting as I sit beside them tapping away on my keyboard and making calls from Sandy’s mobile. I change my flight, email work with an update, giving them Sandy’s phone number and the address at Sans Ennui in case of emergencies. I call Maude from Sandy’s phone, asking if she’s seen my mobile at her house; she hasn’t but gives me Jasper’s home number. I call him and it goes to answerphone, so I leave a message explaining the situation, asking if we can meet for lunch at his place tomorrow.
Gerry and Sandy, who have been subjected to hearing all my logistical arrangements, both pretend to yawn at how boring I’m being.
‘It’s a wonder the human race survived as long as it did without mobile telephones, isn’t it?’ Gerry says, pushing his neck back against his collar.
‘You are king of the Luddites, Gerry,’ says Sandy. Then turns to me and says, ‘He was opposed to the wheel when that came in too.’
‘Terrible, newfangled round things,’ says Gerry in mock disgust.
Taking the hint, I shut my laptop, give Sandy back her phone, and finally give them both my full attention. I know they are only teasing me, but now I feel rude to have disturbed their peaceful evening. As we drink tea, they share stories about the island and its history, what happened here during the war. Gerry tells me about the Occupation, how the Nazis used forced labour to build most of the tunnels and sea defences still visible around the island. A few of these prisoners escaped and were sheltered by local families who risked their lives to help them. He tells me his mother and grandmother hid a starving Ukrainian in the eaves of Sans Ennui for more than a month. ‘He was called Avel and he loved birds; he left scratched drawings of starlings and seagulls in the beams of the loft, and you can just about make them out if you crawl up into the rafters.’
‘Oh, you must tell that story to whoever buys your house,’ I say, ‘otherwise it will be lost and no one will even know the drawings are there – that’s a part of history.’
‘A lot of history gets lost,’ Gerry says sombrely.
We move on to talk of cheerier things, and I absorb their words and stories like warmth from a campfire. Sandy kindly suggests I borrow her bike over the next few days if I want to get around independently. Eventually she stands up and says, ‘Right, Gerry, I should be getting you back or they won’t let me take you out again. Strict curfew, they said.’
‘Rules are there to be broken,’ Gerry replies.
‘Not by me.’ She stands up and holds out an arm to help Gerry to his feet.
‘Do you think Ted’s OK then?’ I can’t help asking for a final time. I wonder if he’s tried to call me.
‘He’ll be back, Laura,’ says Sandy.
‘What makes you so sure?’
