Taking Some Time Out
Was it only to help a friend that high-flier Nel was waitressing in a French village…
Sod it!” Nel muttered, pulling out her euros and handing them over, frustrated that even with her Speaking French app she’d been unable to make herself understood.
Stuffing her phone into her pocket, embarrassed to question where the translation had gone wrong, she dragged a huge round of cheese off the counter with a thud and moved away from the busy stall.
She rolled back her shoulders, easing the tension, looking again at the shopping list Beti had left her for the restaurant.
Beti was Nel’s best friend. They’d met waitressing at an American-style restaurant in Cardiff, and while Beti had moved to France to run her own restaurant Nel had stayed on, working her way up the corporate ladder.
When Beti had despaired that she was short-staffed for a wedding that weekend, Nel knew she couldn’t let her down. She had to come to help.
It had been ages since she’d seen her godson, Patric, and how he’d grown! She’d missed his last birthday. Too busy working. Nel was always working.
Helping Beti was the least she could do – and it was a good way of taking her mind off the fact that, back home, a board of managers held her future in their hands.
Ever since Nel’s fiancé, Richard, had called off their engagement three years ago, work had become her life. She was absolutely determined to get that promotion.
Nel looked up and down the street. In one direction were second-hand stalls piled high with clothes and neon swimwear. In the other, attractive displays of dried herbs, charcuterie, fruit and vegetables. Nel headed towards the food, the huge cheese banging against her calves in its bag. It would be much quicker to go to the supermarket, she thought. At work their produce was delivered, pre-packaged, at the click of a mouse. She’d moved into the restaurant head office, and she was good at her job.
Taught by the best – her boss. Well, ex-boss now. Roger Peabody had been with the company all his life. He’d just retired and was finally going to live out his dreams in Barcelona.
Nel knew Roger had recommended her to take his position. She just had to wait for the call.
She stopped again and attempted, with the help of her app, to buy olives – ending up with a tiny bag, barely enough for one. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t helping at all!
Heading past paellas in huge dishes, and rotisserie chickens gleaming on their spits, Nel watched a man in his thirties as he lifted tomatoes on the vine, smelling them in turn, and gently placing them down again, until he found a couple he wanted.
She moved closer. Suddenly he turned and smiled. He had freckles across his nose, pink with sunburn. He offered up a bunch up of tomatoes for her to smell too.
She stepped forward and breathed in deeply, beaming and nodding, and the stallholder bagged them for her.
She turned over the cucumbers, earth still clinging to them, and tried smelling the cherries as her shopping companion smiled on.
As she pulled out her PHONE, a stack of crates TOPPLED releasing CHICKENS
She finally bid them both, “Merci. Au revoir,” and walked away, bulging bags in each hand. She sensed her companion’s gaze upon her and felt a little sway in her hips.
As Nel reached the flower stall her phone vibrated, making her jump. She grappled for it, bags swinging on her wrists.
A dog started yapping. With a yank she pulled the phone from her pocket, stepping away and into a stack of crates which toppled, releasing chickens squawking and flapping around market goers’ feet.
Amid the chaos, Nel read the message.
“You OK?” her shopping companion asked, a chicken under one arm. “You’re English?” He shrugged. “But you didn’t speak back there.” Nel was surprised.
“Sometimes you don’t have to. Why overcomplicate life?” He frowned. “Sure you’re OK?”
“I… need to get these to my friend’s restaurant. La Bonne Vie. She’s understaffed. Thank you anyway.”
Hands shaking, clutching the phone, she hurried towards the river. She found a café, ordered, then shut her eyes and turned her face towards the sun.
The text was from Roxy in the office. Her old boss, Roger Peabody, had just had a heart attack. All that time, working towards the day he could start living, and it might be too late. Is this what would happen to her? Would she be so busy working towards the next promotion that years would pass, more birthdays missed?
When would she sit and let the sun warm her face again? When would she take time to smell the tomatoes?
Her phone heralded another text, this time from her manager, telling her she’d got the promotion.
Nel watched the tablecloths blowing in the breeze, feeling numb. Would she end up like Richard, never finding time to share her life with anyone? Didn’t she want something more than work rotas, suppliers’ lists and budgets?
At La Bonne Vie restaurant, Beti was beaming as she relieved Nel of her shopping and the mountain of cheese.
“This is Ed!” she announced, waving at a familiar figure in her kitchen.
“Hope you don’t mind? I’m here grape picking and when you mentioned your friend was short-handed, I thought there might be a job.” “Ed’s a chef,” Beti grinned. “Years in a big events kitchen. I was taking some time out…” “To smell the tomatoes.” Nel smiled. “This seems a good place to start cooking again. Sometimes remembering the simple things helps us work out where we want to be.”
Nel looked out towards the market. “You still need a waitress, right?” Beti nodded. “Then I’d like to apply.” “But, Nel – your promotion?” Beti asked, stunned.
“I think I need to remember how to enjoy the simpler things in life too.” Beti hugged Nel. “I hope your waitressing is better than your shopping,” Ed joked.
“And I hope you know what to do with this ton of cheese I’ve just bought!” Nel retorted, feeling as if a huge weight had just been lifted from her. And not just the cheese.