WRITERS ABROAD MAGAZINE: THE THIRD SPACE
Making Good
BY VANESSA COUCHMAN
François claps you on the shoulder. You flinch.
‘You’ve got no ambition, you lot, ‘ he says. ‘Look at me. I started the same as you, but
I got there through hard work. And contacts. That’s how you get on.’
You look into your pastis and bite your lip.
At first, you didn’t recognise the fat tycoon with the gold watch and bulging wallet.
Was he really that weedy kid from school? But even then François dealt in marbles like
share-options. And he always got what you wanted. He got Justine, then he dropped her,
then she left. You clench your jaw and glare at his distorted jowls through the bottom of
your glass. The air is thick with Gauloise smoke and hostility.
François pats your arm. ‘And old Marcel here. With your dad in the motor trade, you
didn’t need to find a job, did you?’
You glance down at your oil-stained overalls.
‘That reminds me,’ François says. ‘Have you seen my car? ‘
A gleaming black saloon the size of a small tank is parked outside. A battered builder’s
van and a rusty Renault 5 stand alongside like beggars pestering an affluent tourist.
‘Bet you’d like to get your hands on that, Marcel. ‘
Wouldn’t you just?
François drains his pastis. ‘Well, I can’t chew over old times all night. I promised to
stay with my mum. Might as well leave the car here.’ He saunters out into the dusk.
Next morning, you watch the black car glide past the garage and gather speed
downhill.
Later, the gendarmes question everyone. But it remains a mystery why François’ car
plunged through the barrier and rolled down the cliff until it was mangled scrap at the
bottom.
You shrug and examine your fingernails. ‘These modern cars. They don’t make them
like they used to.’
25 | November 2016