Not Quite Nice by Celia Imrie

be full,’ said Alfie.
    Sally had an idea. ‘I have a spare room in my place,’ she said. ‘You could pay me less than you’d pay the Astra. It would give me a little pin money.’
    ‘No doubt to spend on lessons in astronomy and motorcycle maintenance.’ Zoe gave a little wave to no one in particular and walked on. ‘Good luck to the lot of you.’
    ‘Don’t worry about Zoe,’ Sally whispered. ‘She’s a little eccentric.’
    ‘Heard that,’ shouted Zoe without turning round, as she beetled up the hill, round a corner and out of sight.
    Sally went with Faith and Alfie to see the only available room at the Astra. It was a dark poky space with a tiny window looking out on a wall. It had a shabby rug on the scratched wooden floor and was not easily reached, necessitating a hefty climb up a complex set of irregular stairs. Sally asked the manager if that was the best he could do, and he explained that there was a much nicer double room but it had been booked a month ago by a local person on behalf of a young lady who had been already installed, though she might be leaving in a day or so. But the room was reserved for her with a retainer on a short notice basis.
    ‘In other words,’ snapped Sally, ‘it’s already taken. Why not just say so?’
    Sally took them up the road to her house.
    There it was agreed all round that, rather than pay to take the dingy box room at the Hôtel Astra, Faith would spend the waiting weeks in Sally’s better spare room, the one she kept pristine at all times in hopes of a visit from Marianne.
    ‘Let me give you a deposit,’ said Alfie, pulling out his wallet as he flopped down on the bed.
    ‘It’s all right, I’ll do it.’ Faith took a while to get her purse out of her bag, but she handed Sally the money. ‘Here. This is what I would have paid the hotel for the whole stay. You must have it.’
    ‘But I couldn’t . . .’
    ‘Please,’ said Faith. ‘It will make me feel better knowing it’s all settled.’
    ‘If you insist. Look, you make yourself at home, while I go downstairs and rustle up a cup of tea. Would that be nice?’
    ‘Lovely,’ said Faith.
    ‘Strong please,’ said Alfie, ‘with one sugar and a tiny bit of milk.’
    ‘He’s very particular,’ said Faith. ‘Alfie likes things just so.’
    As she pulled open the tea caddy Sally felt elated. Still clutching the wad of euros she picked up the phone and dialled one of the numbers she had written down from the cards on the noticeboard, the class that earlier this morning she thought would be way beyond her means.
    ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’d like to sign up for the power-boating course.’

9
    Theresa was totally panicked at having been thrown into this cookery class idea of Carol’s, though it would certainly be one way of raising the money for a new boiler.
    Wrapping her new turquoise mac tightly around her she opened the front door, and peered out, scanning the road for hysterical blondes on the rampage. When she saw that the coast was clear she furtively darted up the street in the direction of the main town and the railway station.
    She only had a few minutes’ wait on the graffiti-smeared platform before a train pulled in for the ten-minute journey into Nice. Her plan was to find a bookshop and buy a few recipe books to pore over, and also to get a basketful of goodies from the vegetable market.
    In the central part of town she bought a shopping trolley. After a quick browse through a second-hand bookshop she found some interesting-looking old recipe books, and by the time she reached the market she was just in time to catch the last of the stallholders packing up before the market space was taken over by the bars and cafes for the afternoon. Somehow Theresa just managed to buy some great cheeses, a bag of olives and a random selection of vegetables.
    Exhausted but inspired, Theresa flopped down at a sunny terrace table and ordered a coffee. The waitress was rather snippy with her as the