Page 33 of Five Gold Rings

Eve drops to the floor quickly to help. ‘It’s OK. I’ve got it,’ she tells her, putting a reassuring hand to her back.

‘Merci,’ she replies in withered tones and puts a hand to Eve’s arm, giving her a kind and enquiring look, noticing she may have been crying. ‘Je paierei aussi leurs cafés,’ she tells the girl behind the till. The old lady then looks at me and scowls. I didn’t make her cry, madame. That was the big ice-skating place across the way, the crappy ex. Eve looks at me, confused.

‘The lady would like to pay for our coffees,’ I tell her.

Eve shakes her head, but the lady insists. ‘C’est Noël.’

‘Nöel. I know what that word means, it’s Christmas. Merci, madame,’ Eve tells her and I watch as she helps her to a table, while I carry a tray of coffees and cake. The old lady pats the seat next to her and takes another look at me, still trying to work us out. Are we together? Why is she crying? Is this the beginning of a date or the end of a very long night?

‘Parlez-vous francais?’ she asks me, still not sure about me.

‘Oui, Madame. Vous semblez être très en colère contre moi. Elle ne pleure pas à cause de moi, si c’est ce que vous pensez,’ I tell her.

Eve swivels her head at me. ‘You speak French?’

‘Yeah, a bit. I think she thinks I made you cry,’ I say, watching out for this old lady in case she attacks me with her fork or sets her small dog on me.

Eve is quick to react. ‘Oh no, he is mon ami.’

‘Pas ton petit ami?’ the old lady asks.

‘Non,’ I reply. ‘Elle avait un petit ami, mais c’était un gros con…’ I gesture this is why she may be tear-sodden and sad.

The old lady nods, taking a sip of her coffee and reaching out to Eve’s hand.

‘What is she asking?’ Eve says.

‘I’m explaining to her that you’re crying because your boyfriend was an arsehole.Un connardorun con.’

Eve nods at the lady. ‘Not him,’ she tells the lady in slow tones. ‘Not a connard.’

The old lady laughs and looks at Eve’s face again. ‘J’espère que ton ex se fasse attraper le pénis dans un piège d’ours.’

I choke on a sip of coffee as the lady guffaws heartily, Eve’s eyes turning to me.

‘She said she hopes Chris gets his dick stuck… in a bear trap.’

The old lady pretends to be a bear. Eve bursts out laughing and wipes the tears from her eyes. ‘Je m’appelle Eve,’ she says in her elementary French.

‘Enchantée. Henriette et Jovie,’ she tells us, pointing to her dog. She turns to me and looks at my face. ‘Tu devrais remplacer l’idiot. Vous feriez un beau couple avec vos tenues chics. C’est Noël, après tout.’ I can tell Eve has lost track, but I know exactly what this woman just said. She said we look cute together in our fancy clothes and should get together because it’s Christmas. I shake my head at her.

‘She said we both look very chic,’ I tell Eve.

Henriette pushes her patisserie at Eve, steals a fork from another table and encourages her to take a bite.

‘Chaque Noël, je viens ici. Je venais avec mon amant, mais’ – she puffs out her cheeks and turns her palms to the air – ‘il n’est plus là.’

‘She comes here every Christmas; she used to come here with her love, but he’s now passed,’ I repeat to Eve who instinctively grabs her hand.

‘Ne soyez pas triste pour moi. Clément était un homme bon. Nous avons vécu une belle vie ensemble et nous avons baisés comme des lapins. Il était exceptionnellement doué.’

While I’m pleased to hear that her dead lover, Clément, was a good man, she’s also told us that he was exceptional in bed and they shagged like rabbits. I don’t dare translate that out of respect to him. I turn to Eve. ‘Don’t be sad, her love was a good man, and they had a good life.’

‘Mais, je viens ici. Je me souviens. Dans la meilleure pâtisserie en dehors de Paris, et les noms rigolos des gâteaux me font rire.’

‘She comes here to remember. Best patisserie outside of Paris and she likes their funny Christmas themed cakes.’

The lady seems to have warmed to me with my knowledge of French.

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