Off-White, Her Favourite Colour

The fish stew is served, with potatoes and butter.

Enjoy! says Madame Ponty.

Where's mine? asks Terence.

This is yours, says Belle, tipping some cooled fish stew water into a glass.

Terence drinks it.

Roo-kai eats his mussel.

Well, this is delicious, says Saint Méen. You make a fine cotriade, Madame Ponty.

Thank you, Méen, says Madame Ponty.

May I have the recipe? asks Belle.

Of course, says Madame Ponty. As long as you realise that any fish will do.

I do realise, says Belle. 

What fish would you use back in Adelaide? asks Madame Ponty.

Flathead, says Belle. Sardines. Herrings.

And mussels, says Roo-kai.

Would you like another mussel? asks Belle.

I'll get it for him, says Terence.

He leans forward towards the stew pot, in the centre of the table.

He can't quite reach it.

But that doesn't matter. He'll climb onto the table. 

He climbs onto the table, and crawls towards the stew pot.

Terence! says Belle. What terrible manners! Come back and sit down

Never mind, says Madame Ponty, He just wants to be kind to his bird. Here Terence, use these. No fingers in the stew pot!

She offers him the tongs.

Terence turns to take them.

Now Madame Ponty can see the folded certificate in his shorts' pocket.

Only the top of it. But she knows it is one of hers. She can see the top words: "Certificat d'équitation"

And the colour is also distinctive. Off-white, her favourite colour.

What is that in your pocket? asks Madame Ponty.

Nothing, says Terence, turning, and edging back to his seat without the mussel.

It is most certainly nothing, says Madame Ponty. My certificats d'équitation are valueless without my signature.

Bumhole, says Terence.

Everything has gone wrong, and no one is looking too happy.