‘Yes, it’s really something.’
‘Well surely you see the resemblance, don’t you?’ Madame Grenaud persists, her expression sharpening slightly. It is an almost indistinguishable change but when you’d spent a few awkward dinners at her mercy, you learned to prepare yourself for the blows.
‘The resemblance?’ Florian interrupts, looking equally bewildered; it is pretty hard to resemble anyone when you’re a faceless man.
‘Of course, my love, well clearly it’s our Etienne.’ I notice how she directs the inclusion of ‘our’ to the two of them. ‘The hair, the posture, the metaphor, he would have loved it.’ She reaches out to Florian who is stunned into inaction; her hands cradle his face and she plants two kisses on his cheeks.
I could stay, wait for the next blow that she’ll have been saving up since she last saw me; it would be the polite, English thing to do, but I don’t have much patience for politeness any more. Instead, I turn, walk towards an emergency exit door whilst Florian tries to wrestle himself free.
The exit leads on to a turret which feels suitably grand as an escape option. I perch on the wall, fumbling around in my bag for a cigarette, until it’s there, in my mouth, and I can breathe in the bitterness away from everyone else.
I think of Ettie in a way I haven’t for a while, as a figure that is tangible, here, next to me, laughing at the situation. He would think it’s all hilarious; he always had a way of making his mother look so ridiculous that it became a competition to get her to say the most outrageous thing so that we would have something to talk about in bed later.
‘There you are.’ The silence is broken by a sheepish-looking Florian, emerging through the door.
‘Here I am.’
‘I didn’t think she was going to come, she never replied to my messages. I would have warned you…’
‘You don’t have to warn me, she should be here. I’m sure I’m just as much of a shock to her.’
‘You don’t have to be so nice about it. I know she’s difficult.’ He perches next to me, gestures for the cigarette and I pass it to him. It’s funny, the familiarity we’ve slipped into now that we have something else to focus on other than the chasm between us. The night at the market had made things easier; it was as if he was an entirely different person to the man I had known before.
‘She’s your mother, I know better than to agree with that.’
‘She’s been making an effort recently.’
‘Good,’ I smile. ‘I’m happy for you.’ Age must have done a number on me because I genuinely am happy for him. I want her to be better, to at least form some semblance of a functioning relationship with one of her sons. It’s what Ettie would have wanted too.
‘I know she made life hard for you,’ he says to his shoes.
‘It’s fair to say I was never her dream daughter-in-law.’
He passes the cigarette back to me, and I take the last few drags before it fizzles into a tasteless blur. ‘Her dream daughter-in-law doesn’t exist, because no one would ever be good enough for Ettie, let alone…’
‘Go on… say it,’ I tease, ‘an English girl.’ I put on a sultry French accent and pout in his direction.
‘I was going to say someone who made Ettie so happy that his entire life’s dream was to just exist with them in that café.’
I catch his eye briefly, nod slowly at quite how lovely that was to hear. I had wondered whether he shared his mother’s views, that I was something just holding Ettie back from greatness, but clearly I had misread that. Florian and Ettie had similar values when it came to career plans.
‘I’m going to get my passenger and make a quick exit.’ I stub out my cigarette and shake the ash off my trousers.
‘Don’t go,’ he pleads. ‘It gets more fun, I promise. She won’t stick around for long.’ He looks almost sad that the night has panned out like this.
‘You’re very kind, but you don’t need your ex-sister-in-law cramping your style.’ He smirks but doesn’t correct me.
‘Sunday then?’ he says quickly. So quickly that at first I think he’s speaking French.
‘Sorry?’
‘There’s this community gardening project. We meet at ten in the car park.’
‘Gardening?’ It comes out as a half-laugh.
‘Yeah.’ He pushes himself off of the stone wall and then gestures to his outfit. ‘Do I not look like the type?’
‘I’m more surprised that you think I do!’ Although, the thought of him in gardening gloves and a sunhat does feel misplaced. I wonder if Ettie could have ever imagined his renegade little brother engaging in something quite so mundane.
