‘What?’ I ask, smiling as I do so.
‘Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra. And Grace Kelly, of course.’
‘I know. But why?’
‘It’s an antidote to modern life. It’s old-fashioned and romantic, and Grace is utterly gorgeous in it. But, you know, gorgeous in a way that makes you want to fall in love with her, not gorgeous in a way that makes you... you know, the other thing. It’ll do us good. Some wholesome, 1950s romance.’
‘Wholesome?’
‘Yes!’
‘Apart from the fact one of the reasons Grace Kelly’s character is considered aloof is because she disapproves of her father having a mistress.’
‘Shhh.’
‘And if we ignore Bing Crosby not kicking the tail off being thirty years older than her, which is kind of creepy.’
‘Shhh. It’s romantic. I love that movie, and you’re not spoiling it. It’ll do us good.’
I let out a long sigh, take a drink of wine. Hold her gaze across the table. Some 1950s romantic decency. Maybe she’s right. I certainly don’t want to think about Clayton, and I don’t want to think about the catalogue of depressing psychological horror contained on the disk.
‘That sounds nice,’ I say.
‘Good. Grace Kelly it is. And we might as well plan a getaway while we’re at it. We both need cheering up.’
‘Really?’
‘Some r&r. I’ve got a month off and you’ve near as dammit a month. We should go and recuperate by the seaside.’
‘Like 19th century poets?’
She laughs. ‘Yes, exactly. Like 19th century poets.’
‘Millport?’ I say.
‘God, no,’ she says. ‘I was thinking the south of France. Or Brittany, at the very least.’
‘How about a Swiss lake?’ I venture. ‘That’s what the poets would’ve done.’
She laughs, takes a drink, lifts the bottle and tops up both our glasses.
‘Settled,’ she says. ‘We shall take to the Internet after dinner and map out a plan. We’ll be drinking champagne and eating olives in the shadow of the Alps by this time on Friday.’
We clink glasses, we laugh, we drink. Normal, jokey, surface conversation, covering up the hurt and the turmoil and all the shit that lies beneath.
Maybe this is all that the upward swing of the rollercoaster is. Idle chatter, passable food, decent wine, chat with a friend. There are no fireworks, there’s just doing what you can to get by, and letting someone else help you every now and again.
‘Mountain air,’ I say.
‘Exactly,’ says Sgt Eileen Harrison. ‘Mountain air.’
~ The End ~
By Douglas Lindsay
The Barber, Barney Thomson
The Long Midnight of Barney Thomson
The Cutting Edge of Barney Thomson
A Prayer For Barney Thomson
The King Was In His Counting House
The Last Fish Supper
The Haunting of Barney Thomson
The Final Cut
Aye, Barney
Curse Of The Clown
The Barbershop 7 (Novels 1-7)
Other Barney Thomson
The Face of Death
The End of Days
Barney Thomson: Zombie Slayer
The Curse of Barney Thomson & Other Stories
DS Hutton
The Unburied Dead
A Plague Of Crows
The Blood That Stains Your Hands
See That My Grave Is Kept Clean
In My Time Of Dying (Oct 2020)
DCI Jericho
We Are The Hanged Man (DCI Jericho Book 1)
We Are Death (DCI Jericho Book 2)
DI Westphall
Song of the Dead
Boy In the Well
The Art of Dying
Pereira & Bain
Cold Cuts
The Judas Flower
Stand Alone Novels
Lost in Juarez
Being For The Benefit Of Mr Kite!
A Room With No Natural Light
Ballad In Blue
These Are The Stories We Tell (2020)
Other
For The Most Part Uncontaminated
There Are Always Side Effects
Kids, And Why You Shouldn’t Eat More Than One For Breakfast
Santa’s Christmas Eve Blues
Cold September
DS Hutton Box Set Page 105