Not Quite Nice

by Celia Imrie

  The robber had been expecting this man. He tapped his watch and gave an indignant shrug.

  The other man shrugged and threw his hands out in a ‘sorry there was nothing I could do’ gesture.

  He lifted his head, and Theresa could see his face. She recognised him instantly.

  It was William’s partner, Benjamin.

  Theresa shot a look up the hill, where one of the children, still playing ‘He’, dashed out of a doorway and scurried to join the others.

  There was a swift exchange between the two men. Benjamin handed the thief something. Money?

  Wishing she could stay where she was and observe, Theresa knew she had no choice but to follow the girls up the hill before they got hopelessly lost in the maze of dark alleys that made up the Old Town.

  She gathered her skirts and dashed to catch the girls before they disappeared altogether.

  When Theresa and the girls finished their cat-and-mouse game through the steps and alleyways of the castle hill, she made them join hands and they descended together arriving in the Cours Saleya to find Imogen sitting on a sunny terrace enjoying a salad at a table with Carol, William and some other woman who Theresa didn’t recognise.

  Imogen gave them a bright wave, but as there was no adjacent table for four, Theresa went with the girls to an empty table at the far end of the terrace.

  The children eagerly inspected the food on the neighbouring tables.

  ‘I want a pizza,’ said Lola.

  ‘I want a pizza too,’ echoed Cressida.

  ‘They’re all made of frogs’ legs and snails,’ said Chloe haughtily. ‘That’s what French people eat. I know these things.’

  ‘French people eat slugs and poo,’ said Lola.

  ‘Now look what you’ve started.’ Theresa gave Chloe a stern look. Her mind was still churning over the implications of Benjamin being friends or having some unexplained business with the man who had deliberately pushed her over, stolen her handbag and caused her such distress. She glanced over towards William, wondering should she tell him about Benjamin and the thief. He was laughing at something Carol was saying.

  Theresa also knew that Benjamin had been up to something clandestine with Pierre in the furniture cave. Benjamin certainly had secrets to keep from William.

  Was it her business to expose them?

  But then he had been talking, exchanging money, with the man who robbed her, so . . . ?

  William saw her looking at him and gave a little wave, and a look of sympathy, presumably because she had been relegated to the kiddies’ table. She decided she would tell him later, whenever they got a moment alone. If she was William, she’d want to know.

  The waiter arrived and Theresa ordered a large pizza and salad with three knives and forks for the three girls. For herself she first chose a piece of fish, then changed her order. She had decided to have some fun and so, instead, picked a local speciality, merda de can.

  The pizza arrived and Theresa helped cut it up so that Lola had a chance of getting some.

  After they had devoured a few mouthfuls Theresa’s dish arrived. Merda de can, a kind of special Niçoise version of gnocchi, is made with chard so that it comes out an off-green brownish colour, a tad darker than khaki. The literal translation of the name from Nissart, the ancient Niçoise language, is dog shit, which it resembles in every way but taste.

  Theresa tucked in.

  ‘Granny?’ Cressida glanced, then stared at her plate, cocking her head. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s a special dish you can only get here,’ she replied.

  ‘Looks like poo,’ said Chloe.

  ‘It’s called dog poo in the local language, but it tastes delicious,’ said Theresa, taking another mouthful. ‘It’s like spaghetti, but it’s a French joke.’

  Lola leaned in and sniffed Theresa’s plate. ‘I want some.’

  ‘No problem.’ Theresa took a spoon and dropped a little on the plate beside the pizza. Lola ate.

  ‘Mmmmmm!’ She gave a naughty grin. ‘That’s a good joke.’

  Theresa nodded towards the pizza.

  ‘If I can have some of yours, you can have some of mine.’

  Theresa and the three children happily tucked in, attacking each other’s plates with gusto.

  ‘Granny,’ said Chloe. ‘You have to promise not to tell Mummy about this. Then when we come back we can pretend it’s real dog poo.’

  Theresa took the last bite, just as Imogen arrived at the table.

  ‘What on earth are they eating?’ she moaned

  ‘It’s delicious, Mummy,’ said Cressida. ‘Look, we finished everything.’

  ‘We like it in France,’ said Chloe.

  ‘Merci beaucoup, Madame!’ said Lola. ‘See, Mummy! I can speak French, too.’

  ‘They’ll be getting tired,’ said Imogen. ‘Give me the key and I’ll take them back for an afternoon nap.’

  The strangest thing then happened. The three girls pulled the faces they usually reserved for Theresa, but instead directed them at their mother.

  As Imogen got them up from the table, they clung to Theresa.

  ‘We want to stay with Granny,’ said Lola. ‘We like her best.’

  Imogen yanked Lola’s arm and dragged all three children (now yowling and yearning back in Theresa’s direction) into the throngs of the market and away.

  Theresa moved over to sit with Carol, William and the other woman.

  ‘Theresa,’ said Carol as she arrived, indicating the stranger. ‘This is Sally’s daughter, Marianne.’

  ‘Did you come over by car?’ asked Theresa.

  ‘That depends what you meant by “come over”,’ said Marianne. ‘I flew in from London last night; however, this morning, I came here to Nice with my dear mother in her new boat. My mother is ditzy enough, but Ted was at the wheel and had a strange fit of manliness.’

  Carol gave a quizzical look.

  ‘As we came into port he declared he was going straight out again to, in his own words, “put the old girl through her paces”. I asked to be put ashore.’

  ‘Who on earth was he talking about?’ asked Theresa. ‘Jessica?’

  William gave an explosive laugh as Carol spurted her drink out, and started frantically dabbing at her chin with a pale turquoise handkerchief, which matched her silk blouse.

  ‘Theresa, dear, now we know what you’ve been thinking during all your Cookery Club meetings!’ William shot her an old-fashioned look. ‘I imagine Ted was actually talking about the boat.’

  Theresa felt herself blush a deep red.

  ‘Look, the others are on their way over, with their hair in the air,’ laughed Carol, pouring some rosé from a carafe into an empty glass for Theresa.

  Sally approached, looking windswept, with Jessica in tow. Carol gave them a vigorous wave, but Jessica glanced at the table, shook her head, exchanged a few words with Sally and strutted off alone, stabbing a number into her mobile phone.

  ‘I think Jessica looks a little green around the gills,’ said William. ‘She’s clearly no sailor.’

  ‘Missing Ted already, perhaps?’ suggested Carol. ‘Who else is on the boat, Marianne?’

  ‘My hippy brother and some idiot called David, who’s acting like Ted’s personal puppy dog. That girl was clinging all over Ted. It was sickening. I told her, in no uncertain terms, to leave the poor man alone.’

  Carol opened her mouth to speak but Theresa noticed William press down hard on her leg.

  ‘A butch boys’ jaunt,’ said William. ‘What fun . . . not!’

  ‘It’s not all boys,’ said Marianne. ‘Those two ancient raddled viragos are still on board.’

  If this was how she described Zoe and Faith, Theresa didn’t like to think what descriptions Marianne would be coming up with about her as soon as she was out of sight.

  Sally squeezed through the rows of tables, and indicated that she was going inside to use the ladies’ room before joining them.

  ‘Poor Ted.’ Theresa sipped her
drink. ‘It must be terrible to live your life on the edge like he does.’

  ‘Do you mean his womanising?’ asked Marianne.

  ‘No, I meant being stalked by a girl who’s working for his own wife.’

  ‘So Sally’s told you about Sian’s spy, too.’ William leaned in to Theresa. ‘What do you think? This is Sian Kelly we’re talking about, by the way, Marianne, the famous entrepreneur.’

  ‘I do know,’ said Marianne starting edging her chair back. ‘I’m in business myself.’

  ‘How rude you must think us.’ Theresa turned back to Sally’s daughter. ‘What a lovely surprise for your mum. My daughter arrived for Easter too. Are you here for a holiday?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Marianne. ‘I’m working on a business franchise and renewing some contacts pertaining to my project.’

  ‘Really?’ Theresa sipped her wine. ‘How exciting. What’s the project about?’

  ‘Errrm . . . business.’ Marianne glanced at her watch.

  ‘What kind of business?’

  ‘I’m checking out . . . wedding venues.’

  ‘How lovely,’ said Theresa. ‘Who’s getting married?’

  ‘If you must know . . .’ Marianne downed her drink and smoothed down her tight skirt, ready to stand up. ‘I am.’

  Carol, William and Theresa all grinned and said ‘congratulations’ and at this moment Sally emerged to join them on the terrace.

  ‘Sally must be so excited.’ Theresa twisted in her chair to smile at Sally.

  ‘Not at all. In fact, she doesn’t know. I haven’t had a chance to tell her. She’s been too busy fussing over my delinquent brother and playing with her toy boat.’

  Marianne was already standing. She tossed a twenty-euro note on to the table and gathered up her things. ‘Now I’m going to see whether I can tear her away from all this gay camaraderie long enough for us to have a serious chat.’

  In silence, Carol, William and Theresa watched Marianne walk over to Sally, and whisper something in her ear. Flustered, Sally glanced in their direction, gave a farewell wave and left with her daughter.

  Carol, William and Theresa all remained mute for a few seconds but, once Marianne and Sally had vanished into the crowd, they turned to one another and pulled faces.

  ‘Good Lord,’ said Theresa, realising that Imogen was probably making just such a bad impression on her neighbours.

  ‘Puppy dog!’ said Carol. ‘Bloody cheek.’

  ‘She might be up for Businesswoman of the Year, but she certainly won’t be winning the Miss Congeniality prize any time soon.’ William pulled his fingers across his closed lips. ‘As to the wedding, my lips are sealed.’

  ‘Makes you wonder who’d marry her!’ Carol laughed.

  ‘Change the subject.’ Theresa downed the rest of her glass. ‘We’ll all just have to pretend to be very surprised.’

  MERDA DE CAN

  Ingredients

  1.5kg floury potatoes

  500g swiss chard (or spinach and lettuce mix)

  350g flour

  1 egg

  1 tablespoon olive oil

  Salt and pepper

  Parmesan, grated

  Method

  Peel and boil potatoes till soft.

  Blanch the chard in boiling salted water for 4 minutes.

  Squeeze in towel, finely chop and leave chard in a sieve to drain.

  Purée or mash the cooked potatoes, and add flour, lightly beaten egg, drained chard and olive oil. Season to taste.

  Make sure it has a firm consistency. Then leave to rest for half an hour.

  Roll out into long tubes, and shape to dog-turd form.

  Drop into boiling water and cook till they bob to the top.

  Drain.

  Sprinkle with parmesan.

  Serve – with sauce of choice or plain with butter.

  17

  Sally couldn’t make up her mind whether she was quite over the moon now that her daughter had come to Bellevue-Sur-Mer to tell her she was getting married. For a start, Sally had never before heard a word about her proposed son-in-law-to-be and Marianne still wasn’t letting on any details. Plus it all seemed very rushed. Though, who knew, perhaps Marianne had been seeing this mystery man for years and had only now decided to marry him.

  Marianne had given Sally her news in the taxi back from town.

  As they walked through the marketplace in Nice, Sally had been told, in no uncertain terms, that nothing on earth would persuade Marianne to climb back on the boat ‘with that bunch of imbeciles’, so Sally left Ted to take everyone else back on his own. Sally hoped they’d be all right, as Ted was rather cavalier about checking the charts and screens for depth and hidden obstacles, although he did know a fair amount about the finer technical points of engine maintenance.

  ‘You could always have the reception at my house in Bellevue-Sur-Mer,’ Sally had suggested to an icy reception from her daughter.

  ‘I want somewhere with a five-star reputation,’ replied Marianne. ‘This is going to be a special day. Let’s face it, I could come to your place any time I wanted.’

  ‘Where will everyone stay?’ asked Sally. ‘Hôtel Astra?’

  Marianne looked Sally in the eye. After the smallest hesitation she said: ‘That dump? Are you joking?’

  Crushed, Sally took out her local guidebooks and placed them in a pile.

  ‘It’s not that bad,’ she said.

  ‘It’s creepy,’ said Marianne.

  ‘If you’ve never stayed there how would you know?’

  ‘Everyone knows.’

  Sally gritted her teeth. ‘If you say so.’

  She decided to stop coming up with ideas and just be happy that her daughter had decided to have the wedding nearby, rather than in London. So she sat at the kitchen table with a notepad and a map, preparing to note down all the nearby posh restaurants and potential wedding venues from the fancy guidebook Marianne had bought, while Marianne herself sat in the corner reading a brochure she had picked up from a five-star hotel in St-Jean-Cap-Ferrat.

  ‘Will my hippy brother be here for ever?’ Marianne asked. ‘Or could you encourage him to go on his travels again . . .’

  Sally was stabbed to the heart by this. She had only just got Tom back. How could she send him pack­­­ing just because Marianne wanted him out of the way?

  ‘If you don’t want him here, Marianne, I’m sure Tom will be happy to go out for the day.’

  ‘Aren’t you friends with Sian Kelly?’ asked Marianne out of the blue.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sally. ‘And Ted.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘OK,’ said Sally, smelling fear. ‘Is there any particular reason you ask?’

  ‘What’s the time?’ Marianne glanced at her watch. ‘I forgot to change regions. Are you an hour forward or back?’

  Sally saw the avoidance technique, which made her all the more worried about everything to do with this potential wedding and especially the groom. Why wouldn’t she talk about him? Why had Marianne not even proffered a photograph? Was he very old, very ugly, a jailbird . . . what was wrong with him, that Marianne chose to avoid the subject?

  ‘Is he handsome?’ asked Sally. ‘Tall? Clever? Don’t you have a photo?’

  Marianne shook her watch at Sally, who timidly said ‘Forward an hour.’

  ‘What’s she like?’

  Sally was taken aback for a moment, then realised that Marianne was harking back to her neighbour, Sian.

  ‘Sian is very nice,’ she said, despite the niggles in her head. Her conscience prickled too, because Sally disapproved of the way Sian had set up that girl as a spy on poor Ted.

  ‘That’s not the impression I got from the others in town. Among other things, they called her a dragon.’

  ‘She’s very protective of Ted. Overprotective really. It’s her big weakness. Apparently she’s set up some girl to report back on her husband’s behaviour in her own absence.’

  Marianne smiled. ‘I’d heard.’ Marianne laid down
her brochure. ‘You know what’s really odd, Mum? Sian Kelly runs one of the most prestigious businesses in Britain. And yet she is married to her own Achilles heel. Now there’s irony for you.’

  Sally knew that often marriages didn’t work. Husbands and wives lied to one another. Husbands and wives strayed. I mean . . . she had the evidence of her own failed marriage to go by, and yet, somehow it seemed to Sally quite immoral, and at the same time pointless, that Sian had gone to these lengths. But she was puzzled about why any of this would matter to Marianne.

  ‘So why, all of a sudden, are you so interested in Sian and her husband?’

  ‘Because, Mama, Sian Kelly is one of the UK’s top businesswomen.’ Marianne picked up a pencil and started doodling. ‘And then, one day soon, you watch me – I’m going to have a business empire even more successful than hers.’

  Sally gulped.

  After Carol had driven Theresa back to Bellevue-Sur-Mer, with William in the back seat, they stood on the quay and watched Faith and Zoe getting off the boat.

  Zoe gave an expansive wave. ‘What a marvellous day. Hey, you three!’ she called to them. ‘Come on. Let’s get drunk and disorderly.’

  As they reached the harbourside terrace bar– brasserie, Zoe plonked herself at a sunny table.

  Faith stayed standing and said: ‘It’s been a gorgeous day, Zoe, but a bit too exhilarating. I really should take a little nap.’

  ‘Sleep?’ Zoe screeched. ‘We’ve got eternity to sleep, woman. Come on.’

  Faith sat, taking a seat next to Carol, while Zoe ordered a bottle and six glasses.

  ‘How did David do?’ asked Carol. ‘Did Ted let him have a go?’

  ‘The men had a great time. They’re going out again. Look!’ Zoe shaded her eyes and pointed in the direction of the boat, which was already pulling out into the choppy waters of the bay with David and Tom standing near Ted in the wheelhouse. ‘Those men and their machines.’

  ‘They’re all still boys at heart,’ said Faith.

  ‘Except my husband,’ added Carol. ‘Apparently he’s a puppy dog.’

  ‘He is rather cuddly,’ said Faith, not picking up Carol’s irony. ‘I suppose they want to enjoy a bit of speed without us old ladies on board.’