Home

We did our cleaning team stint, packed our stuff around the drift wood in the car, I left Nico swearing at the hoover and took Bernie down to the sea.  He was surf worn out, as was I.   We were a desultory couple, sand tired and the sea was as lacking in waves as we were in energy.

I took Bernie to the Bar Basque where I ordered a coffee I broke my  little biscuit into bits and fed the crumbs to him from time to time.

We followed the Pyrenees  from the Basque coast until we found our own mountains and turned south because they are ours and they mean home. 

The moulin was mortuary cold but the terrace was warm;  Jo arrived with a bottle of wine, Lizzie joined us, full of her bad dreams from the night before.  I took her home,  lit the fire and told her NOT to go leave the house in the night. 

The Red Fish just looks on and she waves goodnight.