“We’re going to have a picnic,” I say, moving to the front of the car. The smoke has dissipated and I secure the bonnet, look inside.

“What can you see?” Iris shouts over.

“I’m not sure,” I say.

“Can you be more specific?” she says.

I should have done that night class on car maintenance. Brendan said he’d do it, so I thought, well, there’s no point in the two of us doing it, is there? So I didn’t sign up for any of the courses even though the girls said I should. I worried that I might end up being one of those people who go to the first couple of classes and then abandon the course. Imagine how that would make the teacher feel?

I take my phone out of my handbag. No signal. “Do you have any signal on yours?” I ask Iris.

She shakes her head.

I cast about. There’s not a sinner. It’s like there’s been a plague or something and we’re the only people left on the planet.

“What are we going to do?” I say.

“You said we were going to have a picnic,” says Iris.

“I only said that to keep Dad happy,” I hiss at her.

“Well, that cherry cake’s not going to eat itself,” says Iris. I look at her, but nothing about her suggests concern about this development. Which will most certainly incur a delay of perhaps twenty-four hours. Perhaps even longer. And Zurich is still two hundred fifty kilometers away.

I unpack the picnic.

Afterwards, Dad falls asleep on the grass. At least he’s in the shade. Iris takes off her jacket, folds it, and tucks it underneath his head.

I study the road map. “I think we’re about eight kilometers from this town here, see?”

Iris glances at the map. “I don’t think I can walk that far,” she says.

I stand up, brush crumbs off my linen dress. “Don’t worry, I’ll go,” I say. “You stay here with Dad, and I’ll get some help.”

“You’re like Skippy the Bush Kangaroo,” says Iris, grinning.

“I’ll be as quick as I can,” I say.

“Take your time,” says Iris, lying back on the grass and lifting her face towards the sun.

“Have you got sunblock on?”

“Yes, Mammy.”

“I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“You already said that.”

“There’s more water in the boot if you get thirsty. And Dad needs to take his next tablet at two o’clock.”

Iris struggles into a sitting position, looks pointedly at me.

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” I say, walking away, trying not to look back, then glancing back just once to see the pair of them stretched out on the grassy bank with the remnants of the picnic on a blanket beside them. There is something so peaceful about the scene. So innocent. There is no hint of dementia. Or suicide.

Not a shred of either.

23

What to do if you are dazzled by another vehicle’s headlights:
Slow down and stop if necessary.