"I'll pick you up at about 6.30", said S, the physio. "and we'll go and eat at the cafeteria at Cora."
I had already warned the Bear that I was going out with S and her little girl and he didn't raise any objections. Amazing!
As we drove towards the supermarket she chatted about her boyfriends and the lack of them. She was widowed just over a year ago after nursing her husband for months when he was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumour. Her present motto seems to be 'better single than attached to the wrong man' but she has, nevertheless, had several brief flirtations.
The carpark at Cora was pretty full but she found a space near the cafe and pulled in expertly. We were early so we walked round the 'little' shops inside before making our way back to the entrance.
"There he is", she cried. I looked round and there was this very shy looking chap, dressed casually, who approached us almost reluctantly. He greeted S and her daughter with the usual kisses and then she introduced me to him and after a split second of wondering "handshake or kiss" we went for the latter.
He obviously didn't know what to say to me and studiously avoided eye contact in case he had to speak. We joined the queue and eventually arrived at he point where we could choose our food. It is arranged 'backwards' so you get your dessert first - we all chose Isles Flottantes, then cheese - S took a piece of camembert - then starters, - prawns for S, carrot salad for me but nothing for Monsieur - and, finally, the main course. S went for sauteed turkey and chips plus breaded fish and chips as well as a 'present bag' for her daughter. Monsieur had the lasagne and I decided on fish in sauce with broccoli. At the checkout he and S had an argument about who was paying and were both waving their credit cards about. I suggested we all pay for our own, but, in the end he won and treated us both.
S wanted to eat near the 'playground' and led the way to a table right next to the kiddies play area. Little L was allowed to go and climb immediately but every so often she would come back for a mouthful of fish, chips or cheese. Conversation was a bit stilted as Monsieur spoke very quickly and with a strong local accent, so I had trouble understanding him and it was highly embarrassing to have to constantly ask him to repeat himself.
As the play area filled up with older kids the games became a bit rough and we were all craning our necks to keep an eye on L who is only two and a half. The meal finished, it was S who kept the conversation going, in between dashing after L and feeding her with titbits from the bag of presents. The poor child was swallowing mouthfuls of yoghurt drink, apple compote (in a squeezy packet), the rest of the camembert, chocolate biscuits and the odd cold chip with mayonnaise in any old order. We stuck it out till 9.30 and then were invited to have a coffee with Monsieur.
As we followed him to his home S explained that his wife had died in December but they hadn't collected the hospital bed yet. It was still sitting in his kitchen as a constant reminder. Therefore we would be having coffee in his 'little house' just next door.
It was obvious that he and S knew each other very well and he was perfectly at ease with her and her daughter - to the extent that S even asked him to check whether L had filled her nappy. He sniffed and shook his head.
But, although he is a very nice chap and I would have no objection to meeting him again I can assure you that nothing 'interesting' or 'complicated' will come of it.
S dropped me at the front door at 11.45. CC called from the bedroom window, "What time do you call this, you dirty stop-out?"
Bear was still up, sitting in darkness in his armchair.
"You're late. I thought you'd dropped dead or something".
