Wild Fiction

‘Her name was Rebecca de Winter, not Rebecca du Maurier.’
‘I don’t care, I prefer du Maurier.’
They were now in the food section of M&S. Miss R. du Maurier had placed a basket in the author’s hand and was leading him around. Before anything was placed in the basket the author had managed to trip over a blind man’s guide dog, fall on the basket and break its plastic frame. Miss R. du Maurier apologised profusely to the blind man, told the author not to move and fetched another basket. Taking more care, the author followed Rebecca (he was already tired of referring to her as Miss R. du Maurier) to the wine section where she chose a chilled bottle of Frexinet Cordon Negra, her favourite Spanish Cava. Next came the cheese counter where a selection of Roquefort, Gruyère, Cambazola, and Emmental were picked out. Finally, some Carr's water biscuits were placed on the top of the pile. ‘Always get the water biscuits last,’ Rebecca said. ‘That way they sit on top of everything and can’t be crushed.’
Rebecca noticed that the checkout girl had a nametag that read Deborah but appeared to be too grumpy and miserable for a Deborah. She suspected that it was not Deborah’s real name but kept that thought to herself. The author noticed nothing.

Chapter 51

The author and Rebecca walked to Kensington Gardens where they found a shady spot under a large oak and opened their picnic.
‘Damn, damn, damn, I’ve forgotten the paper cups,’ Rebecca hit herself on her forehead with the heel of her hand each time she said damn. The author lent over and took the bottle of Cava from her. Holding the cork tightly with one hand, he twisted the bottle inch by inch. The gas escaped with a sharp hiss. Rebecca stared at the top of the bottle expectantly. There was no white foaming at the neck and she nodded at the author.
‘That was very impressive.’
He nodded back at her. ‘Not many people know how to open a bottle of bubbly properly,’ he said in a haughty voice.
He offered the bottle to Rebecca. She shook her head. ‘You first.’