dimanche 04.03.07 House bound
I’m woken up by Nicola. She’s in my bed telling me that she’s too unwell to go to church. I’m still up for it but I’m not actually up. Why didn’t I rise then instead of trying to clutch on to another half hour of slumber? My alarm doesn’t do it’s job and I wake up in a panic two hours later. It’s 9,30. Someone was waiting to collect us at 8,45. Poor Christina. I presume she’ll be at the service and would not appreciate her mobile jumping about any more than she does being stood up so I send a text apologising. I use Nicola’s poor health as a poor excuse. What else can one do? I’ll call later and explain myself.
There are unfortunately bigger explanations due today. Madame Arlette was on the phone to someone this morning complaining about us. Nicola heard her giving out about the revelry, errr… ruckus last night. Noise and smoke are the main grievances. Last night’s tempest, it turns out, was not enough to mask our merriment and today’s tempest will not be of the meteorological sort.
I’m aware that we were a bit noisy but I’m not aware of these grumblings until Nicola appears for lunch. She seems a bit tentative as she emerges from the apartment and sparks up on to the peanut/ash dashed terrace. I’m simultaneously ashamed, amused and anxious as I listen to her recount the overheard conversation in hushed tones. She was afraid to venture out of the house until now in case Arlette marched downstairs and gave us our marching orders. The only thing we can do is apologise. We wait until the evening as hopefully Arlette will have cooled down with the day. We’re so sheepish as we mount the stairs to Maison MontJean. What will she do? What will she say? We’ve worked ourselves up so much we’ve even rehearsed what we’re going to say.
Richard is the first to see us. He embraces us. It’s unexpected but what is even more unpredicted is the warmth with which Arlette greets us; there’s a similar warmth being emitted from our faces. Perhaps our guilty looks softened the situation sufficiently. We apologise. Arlette is surprised to hear that we were having a soirée for Fred. Fred smokes like a trooper so he’s dropped in it too and a bit of the blame wafts up the road to him. We’re pardoned. She tells us that it’s not a regular occurrence so it’s not a real concern. In fact she tells us that if we want to stay until mid-May the place is vacant. Aha! Thoughts of hypochondria and avarice replace those of sudden homelessness and shame. As she hobbles off to find a calendar Nicola and I exchange a momentary glance; relief, confusion and delight now paint our cheeks. Richard did not hear a thing. I bet he’s inwardly chuckling at the whole incident yet our presence confirms his wife’s grumbling. I silently thank God that she has him to rant to. His presence appeases the situation and I think that he probably administered more than advice during the day; some drugs do work.
With the deed done we leave with a bunch of bananas and are told that a plumber may be around tomorrow to check the pipes in our apartment – it’s such a strange, but welcome, outcome.
And where were the other perpetrators? I saw Oliver off to the bus this morning after breakfast. He spent the day with his boss at a cock fight and he rings that evening to check in on us. He doesn’t agree with cock fights but I think it may have been a fraction more bearable than the horrible scenarios Nicola and I conjured up all day. Last night’s soirée was Fred’s farewell and he is indeed sent packing this morning. Oliver and I spied him on our way to the bus. He’s soon off up the road to his new residence. He was very cagey about his new location. But now we know that he’s still our neighbour the revelry seems a bit inadequate now as he’s a stone’s throw away. Ah well, all in all it was a good night even if it meant missing church and cardiac somersaults.
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