Serge Bastarde Ate My Baguette

by John Dummer

  The heat was blistering as the afternoon wore on and we huddled under our parasols, unable to move. It was so hot that the market square was virtually deserted. I was fetching Helen a cold drink from the caravan when I passed Reg and Rita laid out under their caravan awning. They appeared to have given up.

  'Blimey, it must be forty degrees,' said Reg. 'Might as well pack up. Punters don't come out in heat like this.'

  I reluctantly told him what had happened, how I'd been conned by the blonde Gypsy woman and an Indian couple.

  'Didn't I warn you about the gypos?' he said. 'I don't like to say this, but dear oh dear, what a sucker!' Good job it was only Serge's tat that got nicked.' He laughed.

  'But an Indian couple, that's unusual round here,' he said.

  I didn't like to tell him I harboured a grudging admiration for the way they'd carried out the 'sting'. And I certainly couldn't accept his blanket condemnation of a whole race of people, despite what had happened.

  'They must have come from that big gypo encampment on the edge of town,' he said. 'We could go up there later and look for the perpetrators. That fat bloke'd be easy to spot for a start. I could swipe him round the back of the head with a length of four-by-two, knock the fat bugger out. Teach him a lesson, that would.'

  'What about the gendarmes?' said Rita.

  'I think it might be best to leave well alone,' I said. 'It would be hard to prove and I haven't got any witnesses. And anyway I don't think Serge would want me to draw police attention to his jewellery sales.'

  'It's rotten though,' said Rita, 'having his stuff nicked. That poor little Bastarde bloke.'

  'Serge,' I said.

  'Yeah, that poor little Serge Bastarde bloke… he doesn't seem to be having much luck lately, does he?'

  'I wouldn't waste too much sympathy on him,' I said. 'He wasn't that worried. He said the rings weren't worth much anyway. I don't think they were even gold and they certainly weren't real diamonds.'

  'Yeah, anything bright and glittery sends the gypos mad,' said Reg. 'They pretend they know all about it, like they do with violins, but mostly they're just bluffing.'

  I was going to point out that they knew exactly what they were doing when they lifted Serge's Stradivarius, but decided to let it pass.

  By early evening most of the brocanteurs had packed up and covered their stands. The weather forecast was good for the second day of the fair so the majority of dealers had left their parasols up, confident there would be no unexpected storm during the night.

  I went over to see Serge who was hammering guy ropes into the ground just in case. Angelique was helping him, holding the pegs, leaning back, closing her eyes as Serge wielded the mallet.

  I waited till they'd finished, then passed over the takings from the jewellery sales. It came to a considerable sum and after my experience during the day I wasn't keen to have it in the caravan overnight.

  'I'd rather you kept it in the van, Serge. It'll be safer,' I said.

  'OK, Johnny. But I'm not sleeping in the van tonight. I've booked into a hotel in the town. Can't have Angelique all humped up in the van can we? I'm taking her out for a meal. She deserves it.'

  Angelique gave me a shy smile.

  She had changed yet again. She was now dressed in a slinky red number and wearing her trademark black lacy stockings with white high heels. She looked stunning. And Serge had a look on his face like the cat that got the cream.

  'Well, have a nice evening,' I said, giving him a knowing smile.

  'Thanks, Johnny. We will.' Angelique took hold of his arm and he half-turned, gave me a secret wink and they walked off into the sunset.

  20

  HANDBAGS AND WARRIORS

  I headed back to our caravan, chuckling to myself. I couldn't wait to tell Helen the news about Serge and Angelique, how they now appeared to be an item. How had Serge managed it? How had he managed to pull a woman like her? It was astonishing. What a turn up!

  When I told Helen she was gleeful. 'I've been bursting to tell you. Angelique told us all about it at lunch. We three women had long chats in the caravan after you men had gone.'

  'You mean you knew and didn't say anything?'

  'I kept meaning to tell you but we were so busy and with all that business with the rings, I never got a chance.'

  There was me, a bloke, thinking he'd managed to glean a juicy bit of gossip to pass on, only to discover his wife already knew all about it and in every detail.

  'What did she say then?'

  'Well, she kept on about how funny and handsome Serge was and how she loved being with him and asking us if we thought he was too. I couldn't believe it. I think he's pretty much physically repulsive but Rita seems to have a soft spot for him.'

  'Blimey! So what's his secret then? It's not to do with size or anything like that?' I said, trying not to express a prurient interest.

  'Well…'

  'It is to do with size?' I spluttered. 'It's got to be.'

  Helen laughed out loud. She was winding me up.

  'No, we didn't talk about that… strangely enough.'

  'Well, what about Bernard, does he know about it?'

  'Not yet. But she's going to dump him.'

  'She said that?'

  'Yes, and that's not all.'

  'There's more?'

  'Listen to this… Serge has decided to give up brocante, she's pregnant and they're going to get married and move to Martinique.'

  'No!'

  'Yes, apparently it's been going on for a while. She says she loves him, they were made for each other and she wishes she'd met him years ago. She says Serge told her he's got a small fortune tucked away and with his retirement money he need never work again.'

  I was speechless. There was no fathoming the ways of women. And I wasn't sure about Serge's secret fortune. It sounded like he was shooting her a line.

  The evening gradually cooled as we sat outside our caravan under the stars, watching the reflected lights shimmering on the River Tarn. I could smell the river snaking its way through the town. It carried the scent of maize fields, the open countryside and hot balmy summer nights. At least I imagined it did.

  We could see the tip of Rita's fag glowing in the gloom across the way and the dying embers of Reg's barbecue grill as a bright full moon rose in the sky. There was a crunch on the gravel and Reg appeared.

  ''Ere, Rita told me all about Serge and that Angelique sort.' He was jubilant. 'Who'd 'ave thought it, eh? A cracking bird like that falling for a funny little geezer like 'im. Talk about Beauty and the Beast… or Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs in his case.'

  'I know,' I said. 'Brilliant, isn't it?'

  'Well good luck to the little blokey,' said Reg. 'I know I wouldn't turn her down…' He glanced over at Rita's fag glow. '… if I was 'im.'

  'They must see something in him,' I said. 'Women, you know.'

  'I suppose,' said Reg. 'I wonder what it is.'

  'Well, she thinks he's funny and handsome so that's all that matters,' said Helen.

  'He's knocked her up though hasn't he?' said Reg. 'Oo-er! The dirty little rascal.' He let out a delighted cackle. 'Let's hope the kiddie looks more like her than him.'

  'Oh, he's not that bad,' said Helen. She's changed her tune, I thought to myself, after saying he was physically repulsive.

  'Anyway, we're turning in,' said Reg. 'Tomorrow's another day and all that. Night, all.' He crunched off back to his caravan and we heard Rita scream and give a little giggle.

  Helen and I were in bed together in the caravan.

  'It's funny,' I said, 'I was just thinking about Serge and how everyone advised me to steer clear of him because he's a load of trouble. And now he's getting married and swanning off to live in another country I'm going to miss him.'

  'Are you mad?' said Helen, 'He's completely incorrigible – passing all that fake jewellery on us, getting you into scrapes and trouble. I thought it was all going to end in tears. He's got the luck of the devil and so have you. You tw
o are a right pair. Tweedledum and Tweedledee!'

  There was no answer to that.

  'Still, at least Angelique loves him,' said Helen.

  I felt myself nodding off to the sounds of the night – an owl hooting and another responding in the distance; a dog barking, setting off an answering chorus across town.

  I was awake in a flash. Someone was screaming.

  'What the hell's that?'

  'I heard that too,' whispered Helen. 'Is that Rita?'

  There was a loud crash… footsteps running on the gravel.

  'Stay there. I'm going to have a look.' I opened the caravan door, grabbing the lump hammer I kept handy just in case.

  Helen was right behind me.

  There was a blood-curdling howl.

  We looked out onto the square. Someone was heading for the trees… followed closely by a stark-naked white body luminescent in the moonlight, long hair flying, yelling a war cry, brandishing a length of two-by-four – Reg!

  Rita was at the caravan door, ashen faced.

  We went over to her.

  'A hand…' said Rita. She was on the edge, holding back hysteria.

  'A hand… reached in through the window… nicked me handbag.

  We could hear Reg's voice in the distance yelling, the squeal of tyres – a car accelerating away.

  'Oh Christ!' shrieked Rita. 'My Reggie!'

  Everything went quiet.

  'Hang on. I'm going after them,' I said, tightening my grip on my lump hammer.

  'No wait,' said Helen. 'Someone's coming.'

  We stood peering into the darkness, nerves on edge.

  A figure materialised out of the shadows: a naked Stone Age warrior. It was Reg, length of two-by-four in one hand, handbag in the other.

  'Oi-oi,' he said. 'Nearly got the bastard!'

  Rita ran to him and put her arms round him.

  'Are you OK? Did you see who it was?' asked Helen, averting her eyes.

  'Dunno,' said Reg. 'But I don't think they'll be back tonight.'

  'You got the handbag back then?' I said. Like Helen I was concentrating on his face, trying not to let my eyes slip.

  'Yeah, the bloke took one look at me behind him and chucked it. He was lucky; if I'd 'ave caught him, I'd 'ave killed 'im. There was a getaway car waiting to pick him up and he got away… worse luck.'

  He slung down his piece of two-by-four.

  'Maybe now we can get some kip.'

  Helen and I said our goodnights and hurried back to our caravan. The moment we got inside we both collapsed with laughter.

  'I know that was awful but the sight of Reg!' said Helen.

  'They picked on the wrong bloke there,' I said. 'He's a maniac.'

  We tried to get back to sleep but it was hard. One of us would snigger and set the other one off. Eventually I drifted off with the image of the naked Reg burned on my memory.

  21

  INTO THE WILD BLUE YONDER

  'Martinique is a beautiful island. Did you know it's part of the European Union and its currency is the euro? Imagine that, Johnny – nowhere near Europe, in the Caribbean, and you don't need to change your money. Marvellous! And they speak French there – another bonus.'

  We were waiting at Bordeaux airport and Serge was waxing lyrical about his prospective new home.

  'So you'll be off on one of your little expéditions then, soon after you get there?'

  'Heh, no, Johnny. I'm finished with all that. I'm retiring and looking after my new family.' He gazed fondly at Angelique, who despite being six months pregnant was dressed immaculately in a stylish designer number. 'Besides, it wouldn't be the same without my rosbif sidekick, would it?'

  Helen raised her eyes to heaven. 'Yes, well, he's had enough of being led astray by you Mr Bastarde, thanks very much.'

  I grinned sheepishly at Serge. I was feeling a mixture of relief that I wouldn't be mixed up in his future schemes and regret for the fact that life might be less interesting without him. It was true he had led me astray but I had learned a lot along the way.

  'She calls us Tweedledum and Tweedledee,' I said.

  'What is this Tweedledum and Tweedledee?' asked Angelique.

  'They were a pair of twins in Alice in Wonderland,' I said. 'You know the book by Lewis Carroll? A couple of bozos.'

  She looked blank.

  'I'm not sure he's an author who's very well known in France,' I said.

  Serge looked anxious. 'I hope Robespierre will be all right. I hate to think of him freighted up in that plastic cage.'

  'He'll be fine,' I said reassuringly. 'They're used to transporting pets.' I'd have felt the same and tried not to think about Robespierre lonely in his box.

  Now the moment had come for them to leave I had a lump in my throat. It had all happened so quickly. I was going to miss him. Helen and Angelique had become friends. They both shared an interest in antiques and had taken to having long chats on the phone, no doubt discussing their relationships, too. Serge and Angelique were off making a new start but we were going to have to carry on earning a living on the markets in France. I had no pension or nest egg to fall back on like Serge. Maybe I would one day come across that legendary antique find that would earn me a fortune and set me up for the rest of my life. But I wasn't holding my breath.

  'You'll come and stay with us though, won't you?' said Angelique.

  'Of course we will,' said Helen. 'Try and stop us. Martinique sounds fantastic. We'll keep in touch anyway… don't forget to email and phone.'

  The indicator board was flashing that their flight was boarding.

  Serge took me aside. He slipped something into my hand. It was a key with an address on a label. 'Listen, Johnny, don't say anything but I want you to go and collect some stuff from this address and put it in my garage.'

  I couldn't believe he was asking me this. 'No, I'm not doing any of that any more. You're supposed to be starting a new life, what's the matter with you?'

  'Oh, all right. You're probably right, Johnny. Have this anyway.'

  'What is it?'

  'It's a present… for you.'

  I recognised it. It was a leather-bound book – Marcel's L'Art de Péter.

  'I couldn't,' I said.

  'No, I want you to have it, Johnny. You helped me. I was going to sell it but somehow it didn't feel right.'

  'Thanks,' I said. 'I'll treasure it always.'

  'You can sell it,' he said, 'if you need the money.'

  'I'll try not to,' I said, thinking how it was purportedly worth a three-month holiday lying on soft sandy beaches sipping exotic cocktails surrounded by beautiful women.

  Helen waved to us to hurry up. 'Come on, they'll miss their flight.'

  We watched them through security. They turned, waved and disappeared through customs.

  I was holding Serge's present with a tear in my eye.

  Helen took my arm. 'Come on, dear,' she gave me a big hug. 'Now, be honest, how long do you think they'll stay out there?'

  I thought for a bit. 'About five weeks.'

  'Oh, that long?' she said.

  Have you enjoyed this book? If so, why not write a review on your favourite website?

  Thanks very much for buying this Summersdale book.

  www.summersdale.com