Son of Serge Bastarde (10 page)

  'It's OK, Johnny,' said Serge. 'Claudette lives next door. She's a very conscientious worker, a real professional.'

  'She's a
pute
,' said Diddy matter-of-factly (a whore). 'This man is from England,' he said. He had raised his voice. 'He's a
brocanteur
. He lives here in France.'

  Claudette looked surprised. Her expressions were exaggerated, as if she were starring in a silent movie.

  'He's English,' said Diddy. 'You know... England!'

  Claudette treated his patronising manner with the contempt it deserved.

  'I have many English friends.' She trailed off, remembering. 'I like English people. They have manners.' She shot Diddy a look. 'They know how to treat a lady.' She stood up straight.

  'You are fond of France?' she asked.

  'Yes, I like it here,' I said.

  'I love English things,' she said quietly. 'You English have so much class.'

  I nodded and smiled, acknowledging the compliment.

  'I have English furniture in my home.'

  'Oh, really?' I said.

  'Yes, but I have too many things. I have a beautiful English writing bureau I wish to sell. Would you like to take a look at it? It is of top quality.'

  'I'm actually off home,' I said. 'My wife is expecting me.'

  She looked disappointed. 'Are you sure? It wouldn't take a moment to look.'

  'I really ought to go,' I said. 'I am late already.'

  She was deflated. She pulled a little face with pouted lips.

  'I could come back later,' I said. 'In the day, maybe.'

  She looked at me with wide eyes.

  'It's been nice meeting you,' I said, starting for the door.

  'Let him go, Claudette,' said Diddy. 'It's past his bedtime.'

  She came after me, taking me by the arm. 'Yes, come back like you said... in the day. Bring your wife; I should like to meet her.'

  'I will,' I said. 'I'll do that.'

  She gave my arm a squeeze. 'We could have tea... and scones.'

Helen was upset that I had returned so late. She had seen a house she liked and wanted me to visit it with her the next day. But I pointed out I would be at Dax market all day and I had promised to help Serge with his items for the Romanian's container in the evening. 'Wouldn't tomorrow be OK?' I asked. 'What's the rush?' It was another case of me shaping awkward as my heart wasn't really in the move.

  Later that evening, after the market had packed up, I felt rotten and I began to regret not going with her.
How did I ever let Serge talk me into this one?
I thought as we climbed up a metal-runged ladder on the side of a giant skip round the back of a furniture and electrical warehouse. We were on a quest for jumbo-sized cardboard boxes. Since Serge had destroyed the beautiful walnut buffet he had been terrified of being found out. 'I've managed to stall that Romanian guy but he wants me to box up a load of furniture I promised him ready to pack in his container,' he said. 'If we drive out to Conforama on the
zone commerciale
, we're sure to find some old packing cases big enough for antique furniture,' he had assured me. Conforama is the name of a chain of retail warehouses with branches right across France.

  But up here, straddling the edge of the metal skip, I wasn't so sure this was a good idea. 'There are some good ones in here Johnny, come on.'

  Orange sodium light shone down on us and in the distance I could hear homeward-bound traffic on the
rocade
(ring road) as I clung to the icy rungs, pulling myself up step by step.

  'See? There – just what I'm after.' He pointed into the far corner of the skip.

  'Yes, but how do we get down there?' This was the biggest skip I'd ever seen up close, and the ground looked a long way down.

  'We'll just get a few boxes and then nip into Mook-Don-Aldies, Johnny. It's just round the back there. I'll treat you to a large American coffee and a doughnut.'

  What was he on about? Mook-Don-Aldies? Then the penny dropped. He meant McDonald's. Most French people refer to McDonald's as 'McDo' and they have generally embraced the hamburger chain with great gusto. They see it as the ultimate American experience and the drive-in restaurants are a big attraction. Serge clearly was no exception. But Mook-Don-Aldies? I'd never heard it called that.

  I was beginning to wish I'd never agreed to come. Serge had roped in Diddy to help us and he was down below in front of the van listening to hip hop on his iPod. Serge was edging himself along the rim of the skip. 'I'm going down,' he said. 'I need to take a closer look at those boxes.'

  I had a flash premonition of him falling and breaking his neck. I was imagining what Helen would say if she could see us now. I hadn't phoned her as I'd hoped this would only take a few minutes and I'd be home in time for dinner. Serge was lowering himself, hanging by his hands. There was a pile of boxes and broken sheets of polystyrene below and he let go and crunched into them, rolling over and sliding through until he hit the bottom of the skip.

  'I'm down!' he yelled, delighted. His voice echoed in the metal box. There was a scrunching noise as he blundered about, and then a loud 'bong' followed by a string of curses.

  'Hey, Johnny, you still there?'

  'Yes, Serge,' I said, 'I'm still here.'

  'I've found a couple of good ones. I'm going to pass them up to you. Get Diddy over here, he can help you.'

  I looked down at the shadowy figure of Diddy. He was now leaning against the van, nodding his head in time to the beat, nonchalantly smoking a cigarette. He didn't give a damn. I shouted down to him. 'Your dad wants to know if you're coming up to help him!' He flicked a glowing cigarette stub into the dark in a shower of sparks.

  'I'm going for more fags.'

  I called down to Serge: 'He's going for cigarettes.'

  'What? Tell him to wait a minute, just to get these boxes out.'

  But it was too late. Diddy had jumped in the van, revved it up and driven off.

  'What's going on? Was that the van?'

  'Yes, he's gone,' I said.

  'Gone?' He was astounded.

  'He said he wouldn't be long.'

  'He's a half-wit that boy,' groaned Serge. 'What am I going to do with him?'

  It was cold and I'd had enough of this pantomime. I was remembering the times Serge had been hurt being called a 'half-wit' himself. I was ready for my promised American coffee and doughnut. 'Come on then pass them up,' I said, 'I can do this on my own.'

  'They're a bit hard to manoeuvre Johnny, but I'll try.'

  There was a scraping and the side of a cardboard box caught me in the face. I grabbed it and gave it a yank. It was a big one and the end was caught under the other boxes. I leant in to get a better hold, gave it a tug, then slipped and found myself rolling over the edge and falling down into the skip. I landed face down on a load of expanded polystyrene.

  'Johnny, are you OK?' The voice was loud, right in my ear.

  'I thought you wanted a
coup de main
,' I said, pretending I'd gone in to give him a helping hand rather than admit I'd fallen in. I looked up at the orange sky framed by the sides of the skip. 'Look, let's just get the boxes out and go for our coffee and doughnuts, eh?'

  'Yes, fair enough, Johnny. Just lift the other side of this one and we'll push it out.'

  I took one end of the flattened box and we pushed it up, trying to heft it over. But it didn't quite make it and fell back on us.

  'If Diddy was up there he could pull it out,' said Serge irritably. He went to grab the other end of the box and let out a yell of pain.

  'What's up?' I said. 'Are you OK?' He was bent over like a monkey.

  'I think I've done my back in,' he said through clenched teeth. 'It's happened before.'

  'Oh no!' I sympathised – it was the furniture dealer's nightmare, all too common.

  'I always carry my belt with me, Johnny, for when my back goes, it's in the van.'

  'Diddy'll be back in a bit,' I said. 'He can get it for you.'

  'Where is he when I need him? He just doesn't seem to give a damn.'

  'Oh, I think he does,' I reassured him, 'he's just young, that's all.' But my words had a hollow ring. Serge hobbled over to the side of the skip and tried to straighten up. He failed, gave a terrible moan and crouched down again.

  'It's bad, Johnny,' he said looking sideways at me. 'I've really done it this time.'

  'You'll be all right,' I said. 'Don't panic.'

  'I'm not panicking, Johnny, I'm in pain.'

  'I know,' I said. I was at a loss as to what to do. I reached up and grasped at the side of the skip. It was higher than I thought and the inside was smooth. I managed to hook my fingers over the top and pull my chin up to the rim, but I couldn't find a toehold and slipped back down again.

  'Give Diddy a ring,' I said. 'Hurry him up. There's no way I can climb out without a leg up and with your back that's not an option.'

  'Sorry, Johnny, but I left my phone in the van. I can't believe this has happened.'

  'Don't worry, Serge, we'll be out of here soon.' I squatted down beside him. There was a chill in the air and I realised I'd left my mobile phone in my jacket in the van as well. I was just hoping Diddy wouldn't be long.

  The
rocade
had gone quiet. Everyone was at home eating their suppers in front of the telly. That's where I'd have liked to have been. Helen would be worrying about where I was and I wished I'd rung her and told her where I was going. She would have advised me to come home and leave Serge to it and it would have been good advice in this case.

  'What time is it?' Serge was bent over, leaning his bottom against the metal side of the skip. I pulled a polystyrene box over and sat down beside him and checked my watch. 'Just gone nine – Diddy will be back in a minute.'

  'I hope so, Johnny. To be honest I wouldn't even trust him to put his trousers on.'

  We sat listening. It was deathly quiet. Out in the country far from the centre of town most of the French seem to go to bed at nine and are up early with the birds. It was growing colder. Our breath was steaming and the chill was biting through my light windcheater.

  'Feels like a frost's on its way,' said Serge. He looked a bit pathetic hunched over like that. 'How's the back?' I said.

  He made an attempt to half stand and let out a squeal of pain. 'Not good. Even if Diddy comes back I don't know how I'll get out of here. You'll have to leave me for the binmen to take for recycling.' He gave an ironic laugh. 'I only wanted a couple of boxes, is that a lot to ask?'

  'It'll be OK, we'll get you out,' I said. But as I thought about it, how exactly would we do that? I jumped up and down and slapped my arms against my sides. We were going to freeze in here.

  'It's getting chilly,' said Serge. 'We could make a kind of little camp out of cardboard boxes to keep us warm, that's what
les clochards
do.'

  I hesitated to ask him how he knew so much about what tramps do. But maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. I pulled one of the big flattened boxes over and tried to reassemble it. It kept collapsing but I managed to hold it together and wrap it round the pair of us. When I pulled the top flaps across it formed a little cardboard hut. It was slightly warmer inside and kept the cold air out.

  'Thanks,' said Serge leaning in closer. 'We could pass the whole night here if we have to.'

  'I bloody hope not!' I cried. I wasn't keen on spending the night in a cardboard box with Serge. He smelt strongly of tobacco and sweat, but it was definitely warmer in here and his body was giving off welcome heat. How did I get into these ridiculous situations with him? It was like he was jinxed.

  'OK if I have a cigarette?' he asked.

  'Well, no actually,' I said, feeling like a complete prig. 'I mean, you don't mind do you, Serge? Only I'll choke on the smoke in here.'

  'But it might help ease the pain in my back, take my mind off it.' He sounded pathetic.

  'Oh, all right,' I capitulated, 'but can you blow the smoke out of the box? They're a bit strong those Gitanes.'

  He fumbled about and lit up, took a deep drag and let out a sigh of satisfaction. The classic aroma filled the box. I'd stopped smoking years ago but I was almost tempted to have one myself.

  'How's it going with your move?' asked Serge. When I had told him about Farmer Fagot and how he was going to build a housing estate on the fields round our house he was shocked. 'I love your place,' he told me, 'it's so tranquil.'