CHAPTER 19
“What? So it’s Quebec rather than Ontario? Sue me!”

“It’s not that, Jacky: what the hell is it?”

“Poutine, of course!”

Mary said, rather archly, “Think of it as cheesy chips. With gravy. And without curry sauce. I’ll do a lamb dopiaza tomorrow, with sag aloo”

Jacky sat down with her own plate of questionable content.

“That’s all Indian”

Mary was unabashed.

“Our national dish is now said to be chicken tikka masala, which was invented in the UK. It’s certainly more interesting than France, whose national dish is steak and chips, or Denmark, where it is basically a spherical beefburger. With boiled potatoes and beetroot. Yes I’m a teacher”

I explained how I had laughed when presented with the ‘Aussie’ dish of ‘pie floater’, which was just another name for pie and peas, as eaten in every pub north of Watford, and then Mary explained exactly what faggots were.

“And, just to be weird, the leading brand in the supermarkets is called ‘Brain’s’. And there’s Brains’ beer as well. And that photo Ellie showed me, of that cheese in Australia, called after a rude word for a black person”

Mary paused as she ingested more substances from her plate.

“I looked it up, girls. Couldn’t believe that name was real. Couldn’t believe they were still bloody using it, to be honest. Apparently, it’s from the name of the man who found a way to ruin cheese, then went to work for what became Kraft, the company that ruined Cadbury’s. Not only that, I saw that just after Ellie came home, they’d changed that cheese name to ‘Cheer’. God knows why it took them so long”

Jacky laughed.

“Very serious talk for a food discussion! What’s up with Cadbury’s?”

Mary put down her fork.

“There are times when the way, the truth and the whatever is chocolate. When I was younger, it was always Cadbury’s, or sometimes Terry’s. Both taken over, their recipes changed so that they’re more like American stuff”

Jacky made a face.

“I see what you mean”

Mary was nodding.

I thought you would, after what you said about Belgium and….”

She was suddenly almost braying with laughter.

“Jacky---just a second. Oh. Ambush memory! Ellie, remember that shop, just off the big square in Bruges? With the, er, special chocs?”

My own laughter burst out.

“I take your point! Jacky, They did chocolate boobs”

“Yeah, seen those”

“And chocolate penises”

“And seen those. Hold on---you’re going to say chocolate, you know, THOSE BITS?”

“Yup. Their chocolate genitalia is equal opportunity”

“This girl’s just gotta go there, then!”

It was a very happy evening. Once Mary and I were in bed, we got onto the internet and booked a Bath hotel for the weekend, as we had agreed. Present Jacky with a done thing before she could object.

I managed to get through the rest of the working week without being totalled, as Jacky grew more excited. Mary had taken her into London one day for a ‘general sights’ tour, and shown her how the transport worked, and into Oxford on another, so Jacky was really bubbling. I’d managed to get the Monday off, so we left very early on the Saturday morning for the drive to Stonehenge by way of Durrington Banks and Woodhenge, and then across country to Bath.

I had done some research, and suggested that one thing we could do would be to ride the off-road cycle path from Bath to Bristol and back, on hired bikes, there’s a hire place just ‘here’, and--- I got a solid ‘no’ for that idea.

Stonehenge brought the predictable comment from Jacky about how much smaller it was than she had imagined, but as we had explained the layout of the area at Durrington, Woodhenge and the Cuckoo Stone, she was getting a very f=good idea of much bigger the whole thing was than one stone circle. I always get a real sense of Deep Time there, realising that our history as a social species goes so much further back in time than the starting point of most history books. I had, of course, seen native Australian relics that went back even further, and it really beggars the mind.

Jacky was pensive in the car as we continued to Bath.

“I was at a gig with Jerome a month ago; French-Canadian folk group, ey? He’s into that stuff big time. Anyhoo, Canada was doing its centennial and a half thing, and one of the musicians shouted out how Montreal was coming up to its four hundredth year. So someone in the audience yells back, ‘You not heard of Newfoundland?’. This, though… makes you think, ey? Anyway, that was--- you two are treating me so well. Can’t thank you enough, so gonna change the subject. Where are we staying?”

Mary prodded me, so I answered for us.

“Chain hotel not far from Pulteney Bridge. Bed and breakfast”

Mary continued.

“And seeing as without you I probably would have lost Ellie here, do shut up!”

“Not just me…”

“Yes, the Aussie girl as well, Learn to take a compliment, Jacky”

“Sorry, Mary. Just been so many years of…”

I realised, with a shock, that she was weeping, and whispered to Mary to pull in as soon as she could. When she spotted a layby, she turned in and parked. As soon as we were stationary, I turned to face the poor woman in the rear seat.

“What’s up, love?”

She shook a hand at me, maybe to say ‘leave it’, but it turned out to mean ‘just a second’. A few deep breaths, and a tissue from the glove box later, and she tried to explain.

“Sorry. Just what Mary said, coming on top of how old that place was, and I got thinking about how long… No, never got compliments, never even got a thanks, and… All those years. I just feel like that Durrington place. And you two…”

“Mary said it, Jacky. Without you and Carly, where would I be? Where would WE be, Mary and me?”

“Yeah, yeah, but it’s… Been thinking about Jerome, and that story about the gig, yeah? Made me think some more, and Jerome, I really, really like him and is he really, can he really, you know, be serious about someone so fucking damaged?”

Mary simply said, “Ask him. I don’t mean up front, love. I have an idea, okay? Now, got a few miles to do, but I’m going to stop for a break. Get a snack, a coffee, you wash your face in the ladies’, then on we jolly well, okay?”

Jacky nodded, settling back into her seat, and we pulled away once again. The ‘next place’ turned out to be a petrol station with a Greggs and a Burger King, unfortunately, but they did drinks and edible sandwiches, and they had decent loos. We didn’t stay long, and eventually we were in Bath, looking for a parking space. Just as we pulled up at our hotel, a car pulled away from a marked space, and with a fist-pump of triumph, Mary nabbed the spot. She was clearly driving now in more ways than one, and hurried us through registration and bag drop before we reassembled in reception, cameras and a free street map to hand.

What to say about Bath? It started with our hotel, which was on a crescent of Georgian Bath stone terraces, all with black-railed cellar rooms that left a little bridge to each ground floor doorway. A short walk brought us to the famous bridge and weir, where we all took more than a few pics, and then it was Roman baths, riverside stroll, as many ‘hits’ as we could squeeze in for the afternoon. A shower back at our room, and change, and this time I was more than happy to go out in a spaghetti-strapped summer dress, which had Mary twitching slightly.

Still not quite there, but slowly, slowly. I’d told Jacky to bring her laptop. And I led the two through Henrietta Park, the sun a delight on my shoulders, as they asked where we were heading.

“Somewhere I found in the Bible, girls”

“You what?”/”The Bible?”

I held it up for them to see.

“Campaign for Real Ale’s Good Beer Guide. Pub’s just there”

The Pulteney Arms was yet another Bath stone building, this one with two floors of bricked-up windows above the entrance. Jacky was pensive.

“It looks abandoned”

Mary laughed happily.

“Teacher time again! Window tax. People used to be taxed on how many windows they had, so they either bricked some up, or, and I think this is one case, they put in spaces that could be opened up if the tax was ever repealed. Ooh! Says it has gas lighting as well”

The inside was everything I had hoped for, with a wood floor, multiple hand pumps at the bar and a rack of tapped and spiled barrels ready for pouring. Sod Aussie brew pubs.

“We gave you a bit of a non-traditional pub in Wycombe, Jacky, so I thought I’d find you a proper old-fashioned place tonight. You like?”

“It’s great, Ellie! Got to get some photos”

They had ales I hadn’t heard of, plus some I knew well. They had a beer garden. They had free wifi. They had food.

Jacky insisted on paying for the food, which was superb, as was the beer, and after I had put away the last of my bread and butter pudding (watch that figure, woman), Mary asked Jacky to set her laptop up.

“Now, downloaded your pics?”

“Not all of them”

“Right. Excuse me?”

That last was addressed to a barman, who was clearing some of our used plates and glasses.

“Yes, madam?”

“Could you do us a favour? Group snap?”

“Course!”

Jacky showed him exactly where to press on her camera, and we wriggled into one of those artificially grinning group poses as he worked the shutter.

Mary called out, “Thanks, mate!” and then asked Jacky to download the card. Once done, she helped her log onto the wifi.

“Right, Jacky: you write an e-mail, and you attach that pic. Say something anodyne about the trip, but then, specifically, mention that you told us that Montreal story. Sort of ‘thinking of you, here’s a funny thing’ message. You’re not being heavy, you’re just letting him know he’s not been forgotten”

When did my wife get so wise?