Chapter 3 - Just because you are paranoid...

422 20 0
                                    

The next morning Rashid laid on his comfy bed, in his cosy little room and looked out of his window at the beautiful blue sky and fluffy white clouds. Last night he had slept peacefully for the first time since arriving in France, and this morning he was full of positivity about his new life as a Parisian.
He would spend the next few days sitting in that lovely little café, where he'd had the best night of his life, and invest his money in those delicious frothy coffees. He would listen to the conversations going on around him, absorb the language and, most importantly, the accent. Then he would get to know the waiters and offer to help out. Before they knew it, he would be indispensable. He would have himself a full-time job and make this lovely little hotel his permanent home.

It was after ten when Rashid finally swaggered from his room.

'Morning Claude,' he confidently bellowed down in reception, putting on his most convincing French accent.

'Err, morning,' replied the bemused receptionist.

Wearing his favourite white hoodie, black quilted jacket and blue jeans, Rashid paused on the front step of the hotel and surveyed the view. The road had its usual hubbub and Rashid smiled at what was becoming a familiar scene. Tourists and locals busily walked in both directions; some chatted and meandered, while others strode with purpose, but all were on the move. All except for Rashid and a conspicuous bald man with an enormous moustache, who stood in a doorway on the opposite side of the road.

Rashid looked in the direction of the café then looked back across the road. The bald man turned smoothly away and talked into his phone. Rashid shrugged and skipped off the step to begin his journey towards his future place of business. He walked the short distance to the café and saw an empty alfresco table, near the door. He walked straight up to it and sat down to face the way he had come.

It was then that he noticed the bald man walking up the road. He couldn't have been more than fifty-metres behind him. Rashid began to feel uneasy about the guy, who was tall, athletically built and wearing a brown leather jacket and blue jeans. Rashid always found it difficult to put an age on bald men, but he guessed that this one couldn't have been much over thirty. That moustache just didn't seem to fit. Was he a British policeman who had come to France to arrest him? Rashid could easily justify breaking that sixth former's jaw, but he didn't know if the kid's parents had reported him. The police could be after him for grievous bodily harm.

Rashid's newfound sunny disposition vanished and Paris began to look as threatening and hostile as it had done before the kiss. The bald man was still on his phone and striding up the street towards the café. Rash pushed his chair back slightly so he could get up and run if he needed to. He was glad that he was in the habit of bringing his money with him whenever he left the hotel but was not chuffed about the prospect of having to leave the rest of his stuff behind.

The bald man was now only a few metres away and looking steadily at Rash. Rash twisted his body a fraction and prepared to get up, but, as the man came level with him, he looked away and kept on going. Rash sighed with relief then nearly jumped out of his skin when the waiter from the night before appeared and snootily asked for his order.

Rashid tucked into his brunch with a smile on his face. He thought he might be getting a bit paranoid and, as he drank his Orangina, he decided to just stick to the plan and learn to blend in.

***

After a day of sipping frothy coffee and earwigging on the clientele's conversations, Rashid was experiencing a strange mix of boredom and contentment. It was early evening before he realised that he had burned through about three days' worth of his budget. But the money had been well spent, as he was confident that he was getting a better grip on the language. Now at least he understood how many of the words were supposed to sound, even if he wasn't totally sure how he was going to bend his mouth to make them.

Hidden DepthsWhere stories live. Discover now