you never know.’
‘Exactly, you never know,’ Al fires back.
‘Oh, come on, guys. The woman was familiar, that’s all. Maybe she just looked like someone I knew at home. No big deal.’ Forget about it and move on.
‘Well, you started it with your déjà stuff,’ Doris huffs. ‘How do you explain it?’
Justin shrugs. ‘The optical pathway delay theory.’
They both stare at him, dumb-faced.
‘One theory is that one eye may record what is seen fractionally faster than the other, creating that strong recollection sensation upon the same scene being viewed milliseconds later by the other eye. Basically it’s the product of a delayed optical input from one eye, closely followed by the input from the other eye, which should be simultaneous. This misleads conscious awareness and suggests a sensation of familiarity when there shouldn’t be one.’
Silence.
Justin clears his throat.
‘Believe it or not, honey, I prefer your past-life thing,’ Al snorts, and finishes his beer.
‘Thanks, sweetie.’ Doris places her hands on her heart, overwhelmed. ‘Anyway as I was saying when I was talking to myself in the kitchen, there’s no food, cutlery or crockery here so we’ll have to eat out tonight. Look at how you’re living, Justin. I’m worried about you,’ Doris looks around the room with disgust and her back-combed hair-sprayed dyed red hair follows the movement. ‘You’ve moved all the way over to this country on your own, you’ve got nothing but garden furniture and unpacked boxes in a basement that looks like it was built for students. Clearly Jennifer also got all the taste in the settlement too.’
‘This is a Victorian masterpiece, Doris. It was a real find, and it’s the only place I could find with a bit of history as well as having affordable rent. This is an expensive town.’
‘I’m sure it was a gem hundreds of years ago but now it gives me the creeps and whoever built it is probably still hanging around these rooms. I can feel him watching me.’ She shudders.
‘Don’t flatter yourself.’ Al rolls his eyes.
‘All the place needs is a bit of TLC and it’ll be fine,’ Justin says, trying to forget the apartment he loved and has recently sold in the affluent and historic neighbourhood of Old Town Chicago.
‘Which is why I’m here.’ Doris claps her hands with glee.
‘Great.’ Justin’s smile is tight. ‘Let’s go get some dinner now. I’m in the mood for a steak.’
‘But you’re vegetarian, Joyce.’ Conor looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind. I probably have. I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten red meat but I have a sudden craving for it now that we’ve sat down at the restaurant.
‘I’m not vegetarian, Conor. I just don’t like red meat.’
‘But you’ve just ordered a medium-rare steak!’
‘I know,’ I shrug. ‘I’m just one crazy cat.’
He smiles as if remembering there once was a wild streak in me. We are like two friends meeting up after years apart. So much to talk about but not having the slightest clue where to start.
‘Have you chosen the wine yet?’ the waiter asks Conor.
I quickly grab the menu. ‘Actually I would like to order this one, please.’ I point to the menu.
‘Sancerre 1998. That’s a very good choice, madam.’
‘Thank you.’ I have no idea whatsoever why I’ve chosen it.
Conor laughs. ‘Did you just do eeny-meeny-miny-mo?’
I smile but get hot under the collar. I don’t know why I’ve ordered that wine. It’s too expensive and I usually drink white, but I act naturally because I don’t want Conor to think I’ve lost my mind. He already thought I was crazy when he saw I’d chopped all my hair off. He needs to think I’m back to my normal self in order for me to say what I’m going to say tonight.
The waiter returns with the bottle of wine.
‘You can do the tasting,’ Al says to Justin, ‘seeing as it was your choice.’
Justin picks up the glass of wine, dips his nose into the glass and inhales deeply.
I inhale deeply and then swivel the wine in the glass, watching for the alcohol to rise and sweep the sides. I take a sip and hold it on my tongue, suck it in and allow the alcohol to burn the inside of my mouth. Perfect.
‘Lovely, thank you.’ I place the glass on the table again.
Conor’s glass is filled and mine is topped up.
‘It’s beautiful wine.’ I begin to tell him the story.
‘I found it when Jennifer and I went to France years ago,’ Justin explains. ‘She was there performing in the Festival des Cathédrales de Picardie with the orchestra, which was a memorable experience. In Versailles, we stayed in Hôtel du Berry, an elegant 1634 mansion full of period furniture. It’s practically a museum of regional history – you probably remember my telling you about it. Anyway, on one of her nights off in Paris we found this beautiful little fish restaurant tucked away down one of the cobbled alleys of Montmartre. We ordered the special, seabass, but you know how much of a red wine fanatic I am – even with fish I prefer to drink red – so the waiter suggested we go for the Sancerre.
‘You know I always thought of Sancerre as a white wine, as it’s famous for using the Sauvignon grape, but as it turns out it also uses some Pinot Noir. And the great thing is that you can drink the red Sancerre cooled exactly like white, at twelve degrees. But when not chilled, it’s also good with meat. Enjoy.’ He toasts his brother and sister-in-law.
Conor is looking at me with a frozen face. ‘Montmartre? Joyce, you’ve never been to Paris before. How do you know so much about wine? And who the hell is Jennifer?’
I pause, snap out of my trance and suddenly hear the words of the story I had just explained. I do the only thing I can do under the circumstances. I start laughing. ‘Gotcha.’
‘Gotcha?’ he frowns.
‘They’re the lines to a movie I watched the other night.’
‘Oh.’ Relief floods his face and he relaxes. ‘Joyce, you scared me there for a minute. I thought somebody had possessed your body.’ He smiles. ‘What film is it from?’
‘Oh, I can’t remember,’ I wave my hand dismissively, wondering what on earth is going on with me and try to recall if I even watched a film any night during the past week.
‘You don’t like anchovies now?’ he interrupts my thoughts, and looks down at the little collection of anchovies I’ve gathered in a pile at the side of my plate.
‘Give them to me, bro,’ Al says, lifting his plate closer to Justin’s. ‘I
