‘Having a party?’
‘Something like that.’
He dishes out the food into steaming containers and then hands them over until we come to an impasse. I don’t have enough hands.
‘I’ll come back…’ I start to leave but Florian is already taking off his apron.
‘Ava, let me help.’ He shouts something to the other man on the stall who looks at me quickly with a small smile and then ushers him off. I realise that rejecting his help would be pretty pointless and just make me look like a petulant child.
‘Are you with friends?’ he asks as he catches up to me. We weave through the crowd, making slow progress as we near the dancing.
‘Sort of.’
‘What, they’re not your friends?’
‘They are… just not what you probably are expecting.’
‘Well, it’s good that you have some people around.’
‘You don’t need to worry about me on that front.’
We reach the table, The American and Crispy are deep into an impassioned argument so they don’t notice my arrival. The second bottle is now empty and a third has made an appearance. Florian’s brow is furrowed, his eyes scanning the table for where my group of age-appropriate friends could possibly be.
‘Just set them down here.’ I try to give off the impression that he should leave now, but I can see the curiosity eating away at him.
‘It’s fine, I’ll take them to you.’
‘Thisisme,’ I hiss. It is a sound that grabs their attention and two drunken octogenarians turn to face me, their eyes going from me, to the food and then falling on Florian behind me.
‘Oh no dear, I couldn’t possibly manage him too,’ The American drawls and then the both of them fall about in a fit of cackles.
‘Right, food time.’ I place the containers down in front of them, add a wooden fork and then open up the water for good measure. I go to take my portion from Florian who has an infuriating smile written large on his face.
‘Don’t…’ I warn him.
‘I get why you wanted the bread now.’
‘Yeah, let’s hope this will do. Thanks for helping.’ I sit down on the bench and Florian turns to leave.
‘Oh, don’t go!’ Crispy shouts out through a mouthful of food.
‘He’s working,’ I say quickly and push the paella a little closer to them.
‘Florian.’ The American suddenly has all of the clarity of someone who has never touched a drop of alcohol in their life and holds out her scrawny hand for Florian to take. ‘It’s nice to meet you properly, without all the shouting.’
Florian looks sheepish and mumbles a polite ‘Enchanté.’
‘Sit down and have a drink,’ she orders with the authority of a judge. I don’t blame Florian who hesitates before obeying. I watch as his eyes pass over to the stall, tries to assess its length, whether he’s needed. I look too, see the dwindling line, his colleague methodically plating up without much effort. Florian sits down next to me, hands knotted together, waiting for the questions.
Crispy starts to slur to someone else next to him, leaving Florian to an interrogation.
‘So, you’re the brother-in-law.’ She slides over a wine and Florian takes it, cradling it between his palms.
‘Yes… I was.’ He nods solemnly. I try to distract myself by chasing rice around the container with my fork.
‘You’re not any more?’
‘Well I mean… I was never exactly a great brother-in-law when Ettie was here, I’m sure she doesn’t need me now he’s not.’
