Julian wove his way down the train aisle on his way back from the buffet car, bouncing off the seats on either side, with Keith clutched under one arm. Hazard winced, having visions of having to get Julian stretchered off the train with a fractured hip.
“As suspected, the wine selection on the train is appalling. Just as well I came prepared,” he said, as he pulled out a bottle of champagne from his bag. Hazard wondered how long it would take Monica to protest.
“Julian, it’s breakfast time,” she said. Not long, as predicted.
“But, dear girl, we’re on holiday! Anyhow, there’s only enough for a small glass each. You’ll join me, won’t you, Mrs. Wu? And you, Alice?”
Hazard wondered if Julian had any idea how much he’d love to wrestle that bottle off him and drink the lot. No need to bother with a glass. He caught several of their fellow passengers looking at them askance. They must look like a rather unlikely group, with over fifty years’ age range from Julian down to Benji and Alice—actually, seventy-nine years if you counted little Bunty. Was Mrs. Wu older or younger than Julian? No one had dared ask.
Julian sat down happily with his champagne and his sketchbook. He was drawing Keith, who was sitting in the chair opposite, staring out at the sheep in the Kent fields. He’d probably never seen a sheep before. A conductor approached, looking authoritarian and disapproving.
“Excuse me. No dogs on seats. He’ll have to sit on the floor,” he said to Julian.
“He’s not a dog,” said Julian.
“What is he then?” asked the conductor.
“He’s my muse.”
“No muses on seats either,” replied the conductor.
“I’m sorry, my good man,” said Julian, who obviously wasn’t, “but where in your rule book does it say no muses on seats?”
“Julian!” said Monica. “Do what you’re told. Keith! Down!” Keith jumped down immediately. He knew not to mess with Monica, even if Julian hadn’t caught on.
Monica carried on laying waste to a book of Sudoku puzzles. Whenever she got stuck (which wasn’t often), she would tap the side of her head with the end of her pencil, like a magician trying to magic a rabbit out of a hat. Bunty had her little face squashed up against the train window, which she was banging with her fists, while Alice took pictures of her with her iPhone. Riley was watching surfing videos on YouTube and handing round a huge bag of M&Ms. Betty had covered the entire table in front of her with a tangle of wool and was doing some knitting.
Hazard had been thrilled when Julian had asked him to join their trip to Paris. He was hoping that this eclectic bunch might welcome him in and replace his old friends.
One thing that was slightly taking the edge off his enjoyment of the day was Monica, who was definitely giving him the cold shoulder. Hazard wasn’t used to being ignored by women. It seemed rather unfair, since he’d spent weeks on Koh Panam trying to help her out. He’d even sent her a postcard! Not even his parents had gotten a postcard, as his mother had pointed out more than once. There’s gratitude for you. He tried again.
“Monica?”
She peered at him suspiciously over the top of her Sudoku book.
“Thanks so much for inviting me along today. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s Julian you should thank, not me. It was his idea,” she said. A bit gracelessly, he thought. Trying to get near Monica was like trying to cuddle a hedgehog.
Hazard had never been bothered about other people’s opinions of him before, but since getting sober he found himself wishing that, just once in a while, someone would tell him he was doing a really good job, and that he wasn’t a terrible person. But he knew that someone was unlikely to be Monica.
He steeled himself, conjuring up Tom Cruise in Top Gun. Goose, we’re going in again.
“I really admire you, you know,” he said, realizing, as he did so, how true it was. Usually the way he admired women was almost entirely carnal, so this completely wholesome admiration was a new experience. Monica looked up. Ha! Got her attention! Lock and load.
“Oh, really?” she asked, a little suspiciously. Stay on target!
“Well, look how you’ve brought this motley, but rather cool, group of people together!” he said.
“It was Julian’s book that did that,” Monica protested, although she was looking a little less prickly.
“Sure, the book kicked it off,” Hazard replied, “but it’s you, and your café, that has pulled it all together.”
Monica actually smiled. Not at him, as such, but in his general direction. It’s a hit! Back to base. We live to fight another day.
Hazard turned his attention to Alice. An entirely different kettle of fish from Monica. Actually, he realized, that was a totally inappropriate expression, as nothing about Alice resembled either a kettle, or any type of fish. Maybe a sleek, photogenic dolphin, but they were mammals. She was far friendlier and more relaxed than Monica, and, Hazard had discovered, she was @aliceinwonderland! One of his ex-girlfriends had been obsessed with her and had shrieked every time Alice liked one of her Instagram posts. It had driven Hazard mad, but he was secretly impressed that Alice had managed to amass such a dedicated following. He took out his phone, glad that he’d finally upgraded the ancient Nokia, and surreptitiously opened up Alice’s Instagram page.
There, as Hazard had expected, were lots of pictures of Alice wearing the right clothes, in the right places with the right people. But also, not at all as he’d expected, were two pictures of Julian! One was obviously taken in the cemetery, near the Admiral, and in the other he was leaning against a lamppost on a London street with Keith at his feet. If anything, he looked even more eccentric and incredible on Instagram than he did in real life.
“Alice,” he said, forgetting to act cool, “you’ve posted Julian on your Instagram page!”
“Doesn’t he look marvelous?” she replied. “How many likes does he have now?”
“This last one has more than ten thousand,” said Hazard.
“The dog helps,” said Alice. “There’s no such thing as too much dog on Insta.”
“And he’s had loads of comments. They all want to know how to follow him. We have to make him a page,” said Hazard. “Julian, can I borrow your phone?”
Hazard moved to sit next to Alice, and they bent their heads over Julian’s phone.
“What shall we call him?” Hazard asked her.
“How about @fabulousat80?”
“I’m only seventy-nine! I was born on the day war was declared, so no one paid me the blindest bit of notice. I’ve been fighting for my share of the attention ever since,” shouted Julian from two rows ahead, causing several of their fellow passengers to lower their newspapers and stare over at them.
“You can’t be only seventy-nine, that’s a total contradiction in terms,” said Alice. “Anyhow, it’s near enough to eighty. Right, let’s upload the two shots I’ve got, tag all the designers he’s wearing, and add all the fashion blogger hashtags. Then I’ll let my followers know where to find him. He’s going to be a sensation.”
Watching Alice work her way around social media was incredible. After ten minutes of furrowed brows and furiously flying fingers, she put Julian’s phone down in a way that signaled satisfaction with a job well done. “That should do it,” she said.
“I’m not sure what you’re up to, you two, but I hope it’s legal,” said Julian. “I haven’t been arrested since that night with Joan Collins in 1987.”
No one was going to give Julian the satisfaction of asking him to elaborate.