The Good{Expat}Life

#3 The Decision

Decision Time 

Penny gripped the steering wheel until her fingers went white. 'George, what are we going to do? Who'd have thought six months after our wonderful wedding that we would be facing bankruptcy and losing our retirement home in Italy?' 

George prised her fingers off the wheel. 'Well that's why we're here. To chat things through with the only two people on the planet who won't judge us, Poppet.' He rubbed her hands. 'Come on, Roger will have been in training with the bottle since breakfast time.' 

Penny nodded and tried to smile but the tears kept bubbling up. She knew George was trying to put a brave face on things, pretending that everything was going to be okay.  

'Let's face it.' Roger filled up their glasses with rich red Pinot Noir. 'It's very plain, indeed the facts are stark.' He pulled at a scarlet pair of braces which reminded Penny of a court scene.  

'Less of the drama, Roger. George and Penny aren't on trial.' Daphne said with a severe tone. Penny sniffed and dabbed at her nose with a very damp, tattered hanky. Daphne patted her knee. 'He's been watching too much day time TV since he retired. 

Roger sat down. 'Very well, but it doesn't change anything. You, my dear friends and more to the more point, your finances, are in the proverbial... poo.'  

'Such a way with words - hasn't he?' Daphne offered George some Marks and Spencer ready-made nibbles but he shook his head. Penny knew he was distracted, they were his favourite and they only ever ate them here. 

'Unfortunately he's right though,' George muttered. 

'And you have an acid tongue, lovebird. But I forgive you.' Roger puckered his lips, and Penny suppressed a giggle but couldn't stop it. Despite Roger's cultured look - he always dressed in Hugo Boss or Armani but never together - he spoke with a broad West Country accent that reminded her of an old farmer she'd met who'd been dressed in Oxfam seconds. 

'It's still snowing.' George kicked Penny under the table and she bit her lip. 'Are you sure it's a good idea to barbeque a turkey?' 

'Don't even go there, George.' Daphne stood behind her husband with her hands on his shoulders. 'Ever since he read an article in one of those reprehensible red top tabloids about some American who cooked his Christmas dinner on the patio in minus 20, he hasn't stopped talking about doing it himself. I find it rather-' Daphne dabbed at her nose with a serviette, 'rather uncouth.' 

Roger nodded enthusiastically reminding Penny of the Churchill Insurance dog displayed in the back of some cars. In fact, she thought with his jowly cheeks and large doleful eyes, he resembled the dog in more ways than one.  

'Red top or not,' Roger retorted, 'I have a state-of-the-art piece of equipment, George. All brushed stainless steel, made in Australia you know. It only cost me-' Daphne pulled his ear. 'Ow! Not a lot of moulah, as it had been reduced. It can do everything apart from pour the wine! You wait until I show you my burners! Now don't you worry, girls. The men are in charge of Christmas dinner. You sit down put your feet up and the food will be on the table in a jiffy. Though we're not allowed a big bird.' He stood up and hugged Daphne. 'She put her foot down. Something about salmonella? Now,' he rubbed his hands together, 'where is that Waga fillet steak we purchased from Japan?'  

Daphne sighed. 'It's not his fault, not really. It's just that he was dropped on his head as a child. Regularly.' 

Penny didn't know what a Waga steak was or why it needed to come all the way from Japan. Surely a trip to Tesco down the road would have been enough? 'What does a candle have to do with cooking a turkey?' She asked.