Soft in the Head by Marie-Sabine Roger

Author:Marie-Sabine Roger [Marie-Sabine Roger]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781782272045
Publisher: Steerforth Press
Published: 2016-08-23T04:00:00+00:00

THERE WERE BIG changes at Francine’s. With Francine, not the restaurant.

I showed up one night at about seven. She was on her own, cleaning glasses behind the bar. I put both hands on the zinc counter and leaned over to kiss her cheek. I said:

“Hi! All right?”

I could tell it was the wrong question, because up close it was obvious that Francine was anything but all right. She had a red nose and eyes to match.

I rephrased and started over:

“Hi! Not good?”

“Not great…” she said in a tiny voice.

“You’re not sick?”

She shook her head, No, no.

“So what’s the matter? You look like someone died…”

She burst into tears and rushed into the back room.

I was completely discombobulated—see also: disconcerted—you could have knocked me down with a feather.

Jojo came out of the kitchen waving at me to shut up.

I whispered:

“What’s going on?”

“Youssef is gone.”

“Gone where?”

“What do I know? He’s gone, that’s all there is to it. There was a row yesterday when they were closing up. Turns out he’s seeing someone else. Francine isn’t taking it too well, so best not to rub salt in the wound, you understand?”

I understood perfectly, especially since we’ve spent the past three years taking bets on how long they would last. Francine still looks good, for her age. Problem is, that means she could have been his mother if she’d started young. She’s got sixteen years on him, imagine! And she’s jealous with it. She couldn’t stand another girl so much as looking at her man sideways.

Now, Youssef’s not the kind to bang anything that moves, but it’s only human for a man to have close encounters of a sexual kind. As long as it’s hygienic, I’m not about to cast the first stone.

Jojo added:

“This is just between us, so you have to keep it to yourself, OK? The girl he’s banging is Stéphanie.”

I said, Oh, shit!

He said: Yeah, but shh!

Stéphanie’s just a kid—she’s eighteen, maybe not even that. Francine has her help out behind the bar sometimes when the place is rammed. I’m not saying it’s her own fault.

When Francine came back, snuffling, I comforted her as best I could.

“Give it time, he’ll get tired of Stéphanie, you’ll see. Youss’ is the stay-at-home type, he’s a creature of habit. Besides, he knows the best wine comes in old bottles.”

Francine looked at me like she couldn’t believe what I’d just said, then wailed and ran out sobbing.

Jojo threw his arms wide and said:

“Jesus, you’re really amazing, you know that.”

I said:

“Don’t mention it, just trying to help.”

Later, I reassured Francine. I explained that even if the bodywork had seen better days, it was her inner beauty that mattered. As an example I told her about Monsieur Massillon and his black 1956 Simca Versailles, and how, even though it looked like a Sherman tank and some people laughed at him, he’d had an offer of €7,000 for the old wreck, so there!

Francine sobbed some more.

Women are like that, they need to pour their hearts out. In the end

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