Шоколад / Chocolat

“It isn’t up to me – or anybody – to decide how these people should live their lives.”

Caroline gave me a venomous look.

“Oh, well, if that’s how you feel”– turning superciliously towards the door – “then I won’t keep you from your business.” A slight emphasis upon the last word, a disdainful glance at the empty seats. “I just hope you don’t regret your decision, that’s all.”

“Why should I?”

She shrugged petulantly.

“Well, if there’s trouble, or anything.” From her tone I gathered the conversation was at an end.

“These people can cause all kinds of trouble, you know. Drugs, violence…”

The sourness of her smile suggested that if there were any such trouble she would be pleased to see me the victim of it. The boy stared at me without comprehension. I smiled back.

“I saw your grandmother the other day,” I told him. “She told me a lot about you.”

The boy flushed and mumbled something unintelligible.

Caroline stiffened.

“I’d heard she was here,” she said.

She forced a smile. “You really shouldn’t encourage my mother,” she added with counterfeit archness. “She’s quite bad enough already.”

“Oh, I found her most entertaining company,” I replied without taking my eyes off the boy. “Quite, refreshing. And very sharp.”

“For her age,” said Caroline.

“For any age,” I said.

“Well, I’m sure she seems so to a stranger,” said Caroline tightly. “But to her family…” She flashed me another of her cold smiles. “You have to understand that my mother is very old,” she explained.

“Her mind isn’t what it used to be. Her grasp of reality-” She broke off with a nervous gesture. “I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you,” she said.

“No, you don’t,” I answered pleasantly. “It’s none of my business, after all.”

I saw her eyes narrow as she registered the barb. She may be bigoted, but she isn’t stupid.

“I mean…”

she floundered for a few moments. For a second I thought I saw a glint of humour in the boy’s eyes, though that might have been my imagination.

“I mean my mother doesn’t always know what’s best for her.” She was back in control again, her smile as lacquered as her hair. “This shop, for instance.”

I nodded encouragement.

“My mother is diabetic,” explained Caroline. “The doctor has warned her repeatedly to avoid sugar in her diet. She refuses to listen. She won’t accept treatment.” She glanced at her son with a kind of triumph.