Not Quite Nice

by Celia Imrie

  Roll out pastry to cover a pizza pan, and blind bake.

  Chop onions and fry in olive oil.

  When they are soft, add a squeeze of garlic, salt and a good grind of black pepper, and a dash of balsamic vinegar.

  Sprinkle with thyme.

  Spread mixture on to the pastry.

  Arrange the olives and anchovies on the top.

  Bake at approximately 180°C for 20 minutes or until golden.

  Cut into slices and serve.

  20

  Next morning Sally bumped into William in the boulangerie. He was standing in the queue to be served. They both wore dark glasses.

  ‘Benjamin’s finally come clean, and told me he’s back on cocaine,’ said William. ‘If I can borrow Carol’s car today he’s going back into rehab.’ He nodded towards Sally’s eyewear. ‘And you?’

  ‘I had a huge row with Marianne,’ she said. ‘I didn’t tell anyone what I’d done, because Faith and I made a pact. But the truth is Faith’s son wanted her to buy a house here while she only really wanted to rent. As you know, I’ve been looking to buy for so long, so we went to the lawyer together. I bought the house, and she rents it from me so we’re both happy. Marianne didn’t like it at all.’

  ‘Why’s it any of her business?’ asked William.

  ‘Yes, why? That’s a point,’ said Sally. ‘Her life may be all sums and interest rates, stocks and bonds and all that financial jargon, but I can’t live like that.’

  ‘And why should you? Look at all you mothers being bossed about by your children. Faith’s son, for instance. What business is it of his if she rents or buys? It’s not right. Parents should leave their children alone, and children should have the decency to do the same in return.’

  Sally made a quiet sound of approval.

  ‘Why was her son so keen on her buying anyhow? To get her stuck over here?’

  ‘From what I gathered, it was more that he didn’t want her frittering away “his inheritance”. But poor old girl, she wants to make the most of her last years, and why not?’

  ‘I think you did the right thing, Sally. You were worried about leaving all your money in some bank. Well now it’s safe, you get a decent income from the house, the capital’s still there, and Faith can live the high life. Everyone’s happy.’

  ‘Except Alfie and Marianne.’

  ‘Alfie doesn’t know, nor did Marianne till Ted opened his enormous Ozzy gob.’ Sally sighed and said, ‘Marianne went on and on about property values and sitting tenants.’

  ‘Oh poo! You now possess a valuable house instead of a dodgy bank account. I wonder in the light of all the recent bank collapses how these financial gurus have the nerve to keep going on about banking and stocks being the answer to everything.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Sally. ‘But I suppose it’s Marianne’s job and I don’t want to upset her. I always feel you can have fun with a house or a painting or things, but having money in the bank makes you feel like Fagin.’

  ‘If she’s so worried about sitting tenants, remind her that Faith’s knocking on a bit.’

  ‘She’s of an age with Zoe,’ said Sally.

  ‘A hundred and four, you mean?’ William laughed. I don’t think Zoe’s face is any indication of anything, with the Botox and the lip plumpers, and those nasty injections she has in Switzerland.’

  ‘Oh, by the way, take care when you see Carol,’ said Sally, paying for her baguette and cramming it into her shopping bag. ‘I think that spat with David last night really hurt her.’

  ‘Oh, I know,’ said William, ordering a couple of croissants and a seeded loaf. ‘As I came up here I saw David heading off towards the boat just now with Ted.’

  ‘Why did I ever take those power-boat classes?’ Sally grimaced. ‘This is all my fault.’

  ‘Come on, Pandora,’ said William, linking arms with her and swinging out into the alleyways of the Old Town. ‘I don’t think we can quite lay all the troubles of the world on your shoulders . . . yet.’

  Sally got home and laid out breakfast for three: herself and her two grown-up children, then sat down to read the paper.

  After a little while Marianne emerged from her room, looking sombre and wheeling the same suitcase with which she had arrived a few days before.

  ‘Oh, Mum, you shouldn’t,’ she said. ‘I should have left you a note. Have to fly out this morning, so I won’t have time for breakfast.’

  ‘You’re not leaving because of our row about me buying that house, are you?’

  Marianne looked surprised. ‘No, actually. After sleeping on it, I think it’s a better idea than when you first told me. It gives you an income, and you still have the capital. Plus you make that old woman happy. Well thought out, Ma.’

  Sally felt a gush of relief, not only that the quarrel with her daughter seemed to be resolved, but that Marianne was not the total monster that so many people in the financial sector appeared to be.

  ‘You’re not worried about Faith being a sitting tenant?’

  ‘She’s respectable and she’s old. She might die soon, and if she doesn’t, it wouldn’t be too hard to get her out, if we needed to.’

  Sally shuddered and said, ‘Shall I come with you to the taxi rank, or the station?’

  ‘Really no. David’s giving me a lift.’

  Marianne brushed her lips across Sally’s cheek.

  ‘I thought he was in the boat with Ted?’

  Marianne shrugged. ‘I know nothing,’ she said.

  ‘They’re not thinking of taking you there by boat, are they? You can’t land a pleasure craft near the airport, you know!’ said Sally. ‘Security—’

  ‘He’s taking me in the car.’ Marianne talked to Sally using a face reserved for addressing idiots.

  ‘Marianne? About the wedding . . . When will I meet your young man?’

  Marianne glanced at her watch. ‘Look, I’ll be late. It might not happen. Don’t waste any time on it.’

  She wheeled her case to the front door, turned back and mimed a phone, using a finger and thumb, her usual goodbye gesture.

  ‘I’ll call you, Mum. Thanks for the mini-break.’

  Sally stood dumbstruck for a few seconds then Tom shuffled in from his bedroom, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, running his fingers through his shaggy hair.

  He looked down at Sally’s breakfast spread. ‘I couldn’t face any of that.’ He glanced at the oven clock. ‘Got to rush. I’m going out on a jaunt—’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ said Sally. ‘In the boat with Ted and David.’

  ‘No.’ Tom gave her a second version of that ‘reserved for idiots’ face, then poured himself a glass or orange juice and drank it in one quaff. ‘Actually I’m going on a date.’

  ‘Oooh!’ cooed Sally. ‘How exciting. May I ask who’s the lucky girl?’

  ‘The lucky girl who what?’

  Sally wondered if there was something wrong with her accent. Maybe too long living here and speaking fluent French had messed with her English accent. How else to explain why this morning no one seemed to understand her?

  ‘The lucky young girl you’re taking on a date?’

  Tom rubbed his eyes, snatched up a croissant and took out a huge bite.

  ‘Who said anything about a young girl?’

  He chewed the mouthful and swallowed before striding across to the front door.

  ‘I’m going on a date with Zoe.’

  Before Sally got her breath back, Tom was gone.

  As Imogen was going home on a late flight out that evening, she asked Theresa if she’d mind taking care of the kids while she spent a final day on the local private beach, being pampered.

  Theresa gladly agreed and after Imogen left, the kids all got together and helped Theresa to create a picnic.

  Just as Theresa had packed up and was leaving, the phone rang. It was Brian. She explained that, inspired by his suggestion, she was going for a picnic up at the arenas in Cimiez.

  ‘I don’t suppose you fancy joining us?’
she asked him.

  ‘Which way will the car come?’ asked Brian. ‘I could wait along the road, in Nice.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Theresa. ‘We’re going by bus.’

  ‘Carol’s going by bus? Pourquoi?’

  ‘Oh, no. It’ll be just me. Me and the kids.’

  There was the briefest of pauses on the line.

  ‘OK. Fine. So where do I hop on?’

  ‘At the 22 bus stop. Massena.’ Theresa hesitated for only the slightest moment before posing her question for him. ‘My lot go back to England late tonight. Would you like to have your old room back?’

  ‘Not sure,’ said Brian. ‘I’d have to give notice where I’m now staying . . .’

  ‘I understand. Just in case . . .’

  Another pause, which Brian broke. ‘So, then, I’ll see you later?’

  As she replaced the receiver, Theresa looked down at the three eager faces waiting by the front door.

  ‘I don’t want to go home,’ said Chloe.

  ‘Nor me,’ said Lola.

  ‘Nice is nice,’ said Cressida.

  They rode on the bus into Nice and Theresa tried to work out whether she was misreading Brian or had something just gone wrong during their phone call? Of course, wherever he had moved to, he must be happily settled. And why would he want to be a lodger when he could be an independent man? She wondered where he stayed now. He’d said in Nice, near the port, so perhaps he lived in one of the side streets, the bus was passing at this moment.

  Theresa didn’t want to be nosy, but equally Brian had been keeping rather private about himself and his whereabouts in the few days since he had moved out.

  Theresa’s musings were brought to an abrupt halt when, just as they were coming past the port, heading up towards Place Garibaldi, the bus driver stopped the bus and grumpily told the passengers to descend as it was ‘terminée’.

  Theresa and the three girls marched along. Up one of the side streets a little band was playing, so the children naturally ran towards the music.

  They caught the tail end of some marching display by some boys in the junior department of the Foreign Legion, which, till this moment, Theresa had always thought was a jokey thing from history, not a military reality still going in the present day.

  ‘Granny?’ asked Lola, squinting upwards. ‘Who is that woman up on the wall?’

  Theresa dreaded to think but her eyes followed Lola’s gaze to a giant bas-relief statue of a woman holding something like a cricket bat and a gigantic flag.

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Theresa. ‘But I can see from the sign that she was apparently a laundress called Catherine Ségurane and she had repelled an invading Turkish army with nothing but a flag and a washing beater. Come along. Brian will be waiting.’

  Theresa picked up the picnic basket and marched onwards. ‘We have another bus to catch – then it’s lunch.’

  Brian was duly waiting, waving at the bus stop. Once they arrived in the olive grove of the old monastery gardens and spread out their plates and sandwiches, Brian looked around. ‘Pity there isn’t a bar, and I could buy us a bottle.’

  ‘I shouldn’t,’ said Theresa. ‘Not when I’m in charge of the kids. Maybe this evening, after they’ve gone?’

  Brian thought for a little while.

  ‘I have a little business this evening. I doubt I’ll be through before about ten.’

  Theresa felt that she had been pushy, and regretted it. She’d forgotten all the rules of dating. It was like being a teenager again.

  ‘Another time,’ she said, and felt better for being more cool about it.

  While they ate, Theresa and Brian talked about Bellevue-Sur-Mer and its inhabitants.

  After a few words with Chloe, Brian lent her his phone so that she could look up the story of Catherine Ségurane.

  ‘Wow,’ she said after a few minutes. ‘Listen to this. To frighten away those invading armies, that woman we saw on the wall pulled up her clothes and bared her bottom at an army of men – and they all ran away.’

  The three girls giggled wildly, and munched on.

  ‘We love France,’ said Lola.

  The other two nodded firmly, their mouths too full to speak.

  Once Imogen and the children had climbed into the taxi bound for the airport, Theresa felt empty and disillusioned. She pottered about, cleaning the kitchen tops, putting away her blow-up bed and changing the sheets in her own room.

  Once it was made up, she flopped down on her bed, and lay gazing out of the window at the sheer wall of the Hôtel Astra. She could hear a couple up in the hotel room there chatting away. The well gave a strange echo today. It was like hearing voices from a television set next door. They were English, debating what to pack, and what to ditch.

  She bent her head to look up to the light flooding out of their open window.

  That really was some leap that Ted had made, to land on his feet, though naked as a jaybird, in her little yard. She hoped the girl had been worth it.

  Imogen and the children must be touching down soon in London. She was glad to have at last found the grandchildren good company. They were, in fact, rather a delight. And now that Imogen had been hurt so badly she also seemed much kinder. Theresa wondered whether they would all come back, for the summer, perhaps, or Christmas.

  It was too depressing lying there, fully dressed, alone. She got up and went out to walk along the seafront in the dark. She took a book, though really she hoped that maybe one of the gang might be already in the bar and she could sit up and chat with them for a while.

  She pushed open the door. Sally was there, sitting in the corner, deep in conversation with Carol and Faith. Theresa was glad she wouldn’t have to sit alone with a drink like some desperate character in a Jean Rhys novel.

  ‘My son is arriving on a late plane tonight,’ said Faith, as Theresa pulled out a chair. ‘It was too nerve-racking just sitting waiting on my own. Then the girls walked past my house, heading down here, so I came out and joined them.’

  ‘My lot have just gone back to London,’ said Theresa, ‘so I was restless for the other reason.’

  ‘We all have our little burdens,’ said Faith. ‘But it’s nice to have some camaraderie, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m an empty-nester too,’ said Sally. ‘Marianne left this morning.’

  ‘But you still have lovely Tom,’ said Theresa. ‘He’s a charming boy.’

  ‘Lovely Tom has gone off for a dirty weekend with Zoe,’ exclaimed Sally. ‘He phoned to tell me the gory details.’

  ‘Not the actual gory details I hope,’ said Carol, crossing herself.

  ‘Almost. I couldn’t listen.’

  ‘And those were his exact words,’ asked Carol. ‘A dirty weekend?’

  ‘A dirty weekend.’

  Carol gave her familiar low laugh. ‘Oh, dear, Sally. I wouldn’t worry. As long as he doesn’t come back with a glassy smooth brow and a new pair of lips.’

  ‘Men are certainly strange creatures,’ said Faith.

  ‘Well, Zoe is also a pretty strange creature and my son is very impressionable.’ Sally knocked back the rest of her glass. ‘She must be about ninety-nine, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Not so much,’ said Faith. ‘I believe we are of an age.’

  ‘They’ve gone to St-Paul-de-Vence.’

  ‘Maybe they’re going to see the art?’ suggested Theresa.

  Sally snorted. ‘That’s a new word for it.’

  ‘I’d say it gives us all hope, Sally.’ Carol picked up a cocktail stick and used it to stab an olive. ‘With that acid tongue, and a face that looks as though she got stuck in a wind tunnel, if Zoe can pull a handsome young blade, we might all still be in with a chance in the romance stakes. Look at us. We’re all stuck. Dinosaurs, rotting away in a lonely paradise.’

  ‘Oh, what are you on about, Carol? You’re all right.’ Sally put up her hand to call the waiter. ‘You have David. We’re the old maids.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ replied Carol. ‘Frankly, I
feel done in, and in need of a change.’ Her phone, sitting on the table in front of her, buzzed – a text. She picked it up and looked at the small screen, then tapped in a few letters.

  When Theresa tried to top up Faith’s glass she put her hand on top.

  ‘I’d better be getting back,’ she said. ‘Alfie will be arriving any minute, and I should be both present and sober when he turns up.’

  Sally also rose from the table. ‘I’ll pay for everything so far, girls,’ she said. ‘But I’m turning in too. I’ll walk you back home, Faith.’

  The two women left, leaving Theresa alone with Carol.

  ‘I’m ravenous,’ said Theresa. ‘Would you share a bowl of frites?’

  Carol glanced at her watch.

  ‘I shouldn’t – the figure, you know.’ Carol took a deep breath. ‘But what the hell? I need a little comfort food.’

  Soon after the waiter arrived bearing chips, the bar door opened and Brian stood on the threshold, beaming.

  ‘Ladies!’ he said. ‘What a lovely surprise. Had a little business in the area and thought I’d pop in on the off-chance, little thinking I would actually find my favourite two women in Bellevue-Sur-Mer, locked in a nocturnal tête-à-tête. What will you both be having?’

  Theresa’s heart skipped a beat. Brian had come looking for her, after all!

  She decided to throw caution to the winds and asked for another glass of rosé.

  ‘Did Theresa tell you about our glorious pique-nique today, Carol? We had a lovely time, didn’t we? Your grandchildren are enchanting. Rather like you. Did they all get off all right?’

  Brian arranged the three glasses on the table and sat next to Theresa, facing Carol.

  ‘Husband still off, sulking?’ he asked. ‘It’s a madman who’d let you down,’ he said. ‘Cheers!’

  Theresa loved the way Brian was always so gallant.

  ‘Sometimes things are meant,’ said Carol, her face resigned. ‘He misses America, I think. It was me who wanted to live in Europe. He’d prefer to be wandering round Greenwich Village eating bagels, not tucking into bowls of olives in our little French town. This row has stirred it all up again. Last night he threw down the gauntlet. He wants us to move back to the States.’