The Panda Theory: Shocking, hilarious and poignant noir. Pascal Garnier

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      ‘What’s that?’

      ‘A shoulder of lamb.’

      ‘Why are you bringing me a shoulder of lamb?’

      ‘I was thinking of cooking it for the two of us, here, tonight.’

      José’s eyes widened as he looked from the bloodstained parcel of meat to the unblinking expression of his customer standing at the bar.

      ‘That’s a strange idea.’

      ‘Is it? It’s just … As I passed the butcher’s this morning the meat looked good. But perhaps your wife’s back from hospital?’

      ‘No, a few more days yet.’

      José seemed on edge. At the other end of the bar, two regulars had interrupted their dice game to watch them curiously.

      ‘Do you want something to drink?’

      ‘The usual please, a beer.’

      José poured the beer then excused himself and went over to the two men by the till. They exchanged a few words in hushed voices. The men nodded their heads knowingly and resumed their game while José headed back to Gabriel, the tea towel slung over his shoulder.

      ‘All right then.’

      ‘Can you show me where the kitchen is?’

      ‘Follow me.’

      It was small but well equipped and very clean.

      ‘The pots and pans are in this cupboard, the cutlery in this drawer.’

      ‘I’ll manage.’

      ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’

      ‘No problem. It’ll be ready in about half an hour. Would you prefer potatoes or beans?’

      ‘It’s up to you. Tell me, why are you doing this?’

      ‘I don’t know. It just seemed natural. You’re on your own, and so am I. You don’t mind, do you?’

      ‘Not at all. It’s just a bit unusual.’

      The lamb had fulfilled its promise: juicy, cooked medium so it was still pink in the middle, with a crispy skin. All that was left on their plates at the end were the bits of string. The deliciously tender potato gratin had also been polished off. As he had carried the steaming, sizzling dish through from the kitchen, Gabriel had seen José sitting awkwardly at the table like an uncomfortable house guest, staring at his own puzzled reflection in the black screen of the television which he had not dared to turn on.

       ‘Relax, make yourself at home,’ Gabriel had wanted to say.

      They had wolfed down their food, their grunts of satisfaction punctuated by timid smiles.

      When he was full, José had leant back in his chair, his cheeks flushed.

      ‘Now that was quite something. Bravo! You’ll have to give me the recipe for Marie.’

      ‘It’s not difficult; the key thing is the quality of the ingredients.’

      ‘Even so … Are you a chef?’

      ‘No, but I like cooking from time to time. I enjoy it.’

      ‘You’ve got a talent for it. Do you like port, by the way? I’ve got some vintage, the real thing. My brother-in-law sent it to me from back home. You can’t buy anything like it here. They make all kinds of rubbish out of cider or chouchen. Tell me what you think of this.’

      The toys had gone. He had not noticed before. He felt lost all of a sudden, somehow disappointed that the scattered toys were no longer there and the television silent. He felt as though he had narrowly missed something. A train perhaps? His heart was hammering in his chest as though he had been running.

      ‘Here you go, try this!’

      José poured the syrupy ruby liquid into two small glasses. It looked like blood. From the first mouthful, Gabriel felt his insides become coated in crimson velvet.

      ‘What do you say to a bit of fado? Have you heard any Amália Rodrigues?’

      ‘I’m not sure.’

       ‘She’s divine! Hold on …’

      José СКАЧАТЬ