Page 33 of Where Do We Go From Here?
‘Yes. This. More pretty than Lille where I am coming from. But Lille is maybe more easy for the talking.’
‘Really?’ Jill says, as if that’s the most interesting fact she’s ever heard. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Yes, people in the south are not so easy. You talk to me because the English same. The English are easy like the people of Lille, I think.’
‘Oh, we’re very easy, aren’t we?’ Jill giggles.
Wendy smiles despite herself. She’d been in the process of thinking up exit strategies – calculating ways of getting away from Théo. For her, it’s an automatic reflex. But now they’ve been labelled friendly representatives of their country, it’s become more difficult to do so politely.
‘You are from London?’ Théo asks, glancing between them.
‘No, but not far. The south-east. Maybe an hour away. A one-hour drive from London.’
‘My best friend live in London. I visit him two time. I like. Maybe you know him…’
So they stay, and Jill and Théo natter easily, randomly, about anything and nothing, frequently talking at cross purposes because of the language barrier. And once the third spritz kicks in Wendy finds herself joining the party.
Théo explains that he’s an ex-teacher become estate-agent ‘because the money is more big’ and touchingly reveals that his wife is currently in hospital undergoing chemo.
When he returns to the bar to refill his glass, Wendy suggests they slip away while he’s distracted.
‘Oh,’ Jill says, checking the time on her phone. ‘Really? It’s still early, babe. The restaurants serve late here, don’t they? I think it’s like Spain.’
‘We can go somewhere else first, ifyou want,’ Wendy says. ‘In the meantime, I mean. I just think it might be a good idea to lose you-know-who. He’s a bit insistent, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, don’t be like that,’ Jill says. ‘I think he’s cute.’
‘You’re drunk,’ Wendy says. ‘He’s not cute at all. He looks like a frog in a suit.’
‘… bit racist…’ Jill mocks.
‘Oh I didn’t mean…that…’ Wendy says. ‘But you get my point. If his eyes were any further apart he’d be a fish.’
Jill laughs so suddenly, so unexpectedly that her drink goes up her nose. ‘That’s true, actually,’ she whispers, once she’s pulled a tissue from her bag. ‘I’m struggling to look at both eyes at once. But I’m enjoying having a chat with an actual Frenchie, aren’t you? He’s sweet. Anyway, he’s married. His poor wife, though. I wonder how bad it is. I didn’t dare ask.’
‘He’s drunk,’ Wendy says, glancing over at the bar. ‘And so are we. And wife or no wife, he’s definitely chatting you up.’
‘You’re only jealous because I’ve still got it,’ Jill laughs.
At that moment, Théo returns carrying a tray of drinks – a pint glass of beer and two fresh glasses of spritz.
‘Oh, no, really…’ Wendy says. ‘I couldn’t possibly.’
‘Théo, honey, that’s sweet, but we can’t,’ Jill agrees. ‘We have to go soon.’ But her tone of voice and body language are expressing the exact opposite.
‘You do not refuse my drink, please,’ Théo says, sounding serious, as he slides the tray on the table. ‘This is how we do it in Lille. We buy our friend a drink. Do not be like the Niçois!’
In the end, even Wendy relaxes into the moment, though after four spritzes in three hours, this isn’t something for which she can claim any credit – the alcohol is fully to blame. But an hour later, when they stumble from the bar, they are easily as drunk as Théo, and he’s unarguably their new best friend.
After a random stumble through Nice, and without anyone visibly deciding, they end up in a strange old-fashioned ballroom where Théo’s best friend Cyril just ‘happens’ to be waiting to make up a foursome.
‘What was it you were saying about the eighties?’ Wendy giggles, as they check their coats into the cloakroom.
‘More like 1955,’ Jill says, looking around wide eyed. The ballroom, with its glitter balls, gold-painted chairs and white tablecloths wouldn’t look out of place on a cruise ship.
They choose a table at the edge of the dance floor and watch the elderly yet spritely crowd jiving to a French version of ‘Rock Around the Clock’ performed by an equally old-school five-piece band.
‘Isn’t this amazing?’ Wendy murmurs in Jill’s ear. ‘Who even knew that places like this still exist?’
