Snippets

'You Can Make Somebody Buy Your Book!'

A/N: More and more British expatriates are coming to live in France. They range from newly married couples through to retirees. All are seeking a better quality of life and the adventure and challenge of living in a country that is not only foreign to them geographically, but also in culture, customs, language and systems- and how unfathomable and illogical those systems can be. This story is a peek into the life of one such couple.

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  ‘You cannot do that!’ 

  The thunderous voice of Angela Hargreaves echoed from the wooden vaulted ceiling and reverberated from the stone walls of the cavernous 13th century gatehouse building giving a greater emphasis to her words. 

  ‘You cannot make anybody buy your book!’  Angela strode from the end of the room towards Phyllis Grainger; her face severe; and her second chins wobbling in unison with her short, pigeon steps.  The ten others who were standing around the ancient refectory table, packing their things away at the end of their meeting froze to witness the verbal assault on the luckless Phyllis as it took place.  

  All were members of La Climoberie Writer’s Guild, organised and hosted by Angela for the British expatriate community in the Haute Vienne department of France. A creative dozen who meet each month to review each other’s writing. 

  Phyllis shrank back as Angela approached.  She wasn’t scared of Angela, not physically frightened of her that is, but she disliked being the centre of attention. They all suffered Angela’s strident mannerisms without complaint simply because they knew her and her ways. Nevertheless, whenever she made a statement it was always in the manner of a pronouncement and they stopped whatever they were doing to observe and listen.  

  Angela had spent forty years in private education; thirty of which were as Deputy Head of "Larksmoor School for Young Ladies".  Everybody knew instinctively that she resented having been passed over for the top position whenever a Head Teacher had moved on.  Richard Moss, a retired undertaker from Rotherham had once defined her behavioural trend to the group as being typical of a person who was “always the bridesmaid, but never the bride.”  The group had learned it was best never to ask Angela about her past life in education

  ‘I was only joking Angela.’ Phyllis’s voice had risen an octave above its norm. She fidgeted with her fingers as she endeavoured to explain.  Angela now stood close beside her.  Phyllis could smell the taint of cigarettes on Angela’s breath and could see the dark discolouration between her teeth as her lips quivered in token of her apparent outrage.  Angela slapped the table with the flat of her hand. Its sharp report resounded around the room as a prelude to her next diction.

  ‘You cannot, cannot, cannot, make anybody buy your book! Don’t ever think that you can!’

  ‘Yes Angela,’ Phyllis replied meekly.  She felt she ought to explain.  ‘It was a joke really, Angela.   We were discussing what we would send around for review for the next meeting.  I said since I am on the last chapter of my novel I would try a short story for next time.  Gracie had said she wished to know what happened and all I said was “I think I’ll make you buy the book.” That’s all.  It was a joke.’

  The meeting dispersed, but the discomfort of the encounter stayed with Phyllis on the thirty-mile drive home from the mediaeval town of La Climoberie.  The upset of Angela’s attack stayed with her.  She muttered things to the steering wheel that she wished she’d had the courage to say to Angela’s face.

  ‘Silly old Bat! Still thinks she’s back at school. Runs us like a bunch of blessed fourth formers. Anybody would think she was a great author the way she carries on sometimes.’