“Misty days always have a je ne sais pas, a certain something about them, wouldn’t you agree?” Marius, feeling protective, removed his trench coat and wrapped it around Jenny.

 

“It’s not working, Mar. You have zip savoire faire, I’ll save you the trouble of showing off your French. Your mist is just our London fog done up with overpriced baguettes instead of baps and it doesn’t have double-decker buses.” She shrugged off his trench coat and stepped ahead of him. “Here. If you haven’t noticed, I’m wearing my own coat.”

 

“Jen, wait up!” Marius struggled with his coat and stumbled over the belt that had become tangled between his feet. He made one more attempt, “Damn it, Jen, I asked you to wait!”   

 

Jen heard the desperation in his voice and, deciding goodbyes deserved to be definite, raised her right hand high above her head, extended her middle finger, and laughed, “Bugger wants French, finger to the sky and buh-bye, Marius.”

 

She turned at the next corner and hurried back to their pension. They had checked out that morning and the hotel was holding their backpacks in a room next to the desk. I know Marius. He’s going to stop at the first open bistro and get a beer. Make a fuss if they don’t have bottles of English ale on hand. Campaigned for BREXIT and now refuses to understand why the French aren’t bending over backwards to carry English products. Probably thinks I’m just going to turn up at Quai de Bercy and sit down next to him on the overnight bus to Nice as if nothing happened. Screw that! I’m going home, find my own flat.

 

By the time Marius had straightened his trench coat, adjusted the belt, and cinched it fashionably over his left hip, Jen was long gone. Fuck it, bitch will show up at 6 at the bus station and want to sit next to me as if nothing happened. We’ll see about that. It’s not always my fault.

 

Marius walked to the corner, looking left and right. Fuck all. He turned around. Be just like the bitch to sneak up behind me and go “Boo!” He made a face, rolled his eyes and retraced his steps to a bistro he had passed mid-block.

 

The bistro was half empty. He went up to the counter, nervously stuttered for a coffee, pointed to a brioche, and asked if he could sit at one of the window tables.

 

“Bien sûr, monsieur. You’re English, yes?”

“Oui.”

“And you love our Paris. But you look cold. I’ll bring also a little something for your coffee. It will warm you. No charge.” He quickly filled a mug with coffee and placed three cubes of sugar on the saucer. “Milk will only curdle with the liqueur. Trust me. And when the little lady comes, ah, the language of love will fall from your lips like dew from flowers.”

 

Marius placed the saucer on one of the tables and carefully folded his trench coat over the wire-backed chair opposite. Jen’s bitched about that coat from day one. Said it was pissing money away that we don’t have. “Nothing wrong with the old one.” Yeh, except it’s old and I thought it’d be nice to look stylish for a change.

 

The barman brought the brioche, utensils and napkin. “Everything all right, monsieur?”

“Yeh, maybe. Little tiff this morning with my girlfriend. She’s supposed to meet me here.”

“In the City of Love, she will be here, sans doute, you’ll see.”

 

Marius sat and stared out the window, first drumming his fingers on the table and then cracking his knuckles.

 

He had his doubts. I probably blew it yesterday when Jen asked for coffee. “Café Olé.” I said it’s “Café au lait” and not like you’re in a bull ring. She said that’s what she said and I said, no, I could actually see you waving a red cape when you said that. And then she changed the subject and claimed I was just picking a fight so I could get rid of her and hit on the barista. “I saw your eyes popping out and rolling down her cleavage. That’s why you wanted that new coat. ‘Marius the Man! It’s always been ‘Marius the Man! Hasn’t it!”

 

Marius sighed and tried to smile. I guess it’s over, how do they say it here, je n'ai aucun regret, I have no regrets. He lifted his mug and saw it was empty. He paused for a moment, then turned and signalled to the barman for another cup of coffee and two shot glasses of the liqueur. He had plenty of time to catch the evening bus to Nice. And winking at his coat, he thought he’d not lack for company once there.