Ulrika is gazing at her Facebook profile in disbelief. Surely Winona had not meant to send her an invitation to the engagement party for her and Will?
Professionally, a detente is in place. Will has been pleasant, but opaque. Personally, despite avoiding places like “their” cafe and the bar-where-everyone-goes, Ulrika is up against Wellington being a small town. When she went to drop off a batch of gingerbread for the Christchurch volunteers, there was Winona, with a box of lumpy biscuit slices.
Is it time to perhaps go back to Switzerland? Have an extra summer in her life? And yet, looking at scenes of Europe in a movie at the Film Society the other day, it seemed so closed and sterile. After two years in New Zealand, what used to seem unkempt, imperfect, not even trying, seemed human and relaxed now. Free, in a way.
And now this. Is the invitation an olive branch, or is Winona flaunting her triumph? After a furious hour, painting her nails gunmetal tipped with hot pink, she concludes that she has been invited simply because Wellington is so small, and…she’s there.