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Well, everyone likes a tale with a twist, commercial fiction lives on this formula: disenchantment, epiphany, transformation, major setbacks, and happy resolution. Characters have got to earn their happy endind by flirting a bit too closely with disaster.

Yesterday, I was thinking of Humphrey Bogart in The Barefoot Contessa. His character, a disgruntled screenwriter, says : ‘Life, every now and then, behaves as though it had seen too many bad movies, when everything fits too well – the beginning, the middle, the end – from fade-in to fade-out.’

So here we are in our real life facing a twist that we didn’t see coming at all. Life after all seems to be the most cunning storyteller.

It was Friday and I was rather chirpy in the kitchen, making mango chutney. I knew that Ed was coming back a little later than usual, as he planned on buying a few bits for the weekend. So I didn’t expect him too early. The fragrance of the onions, tomatoes, mango and spices was filling the flat and I stirred the golden mix from time to time, pretty pleased with myself.

I heard Ed’s steps in the garden. I went to open the door anticipating that he would struggle with shopping bags. When I saw that he was carrying his tool bag and my eyes crossed his, I knew instantly that things were not right.

‘I got the sack’, he said, with a sad smile on the corner of his mouth.

Just like that.

The emotions flowed in their course: first shock, then indignation, disbelief, stupor, guilt, anxiety and so on, until we reached the final stage early on Saturday morning; resignation.

‘It’s not the end of the world.’ he bravely added later.

It did feel like it in the moment. The end of the little world we had crafted for the next few weeks and months. Back to uncertainty, our aspirations were blown away like cherry blossom petals on the pavement in spring.

It’s always amused me that our English-French cultural difference is the most striking in times of crisis. Ed stays cool and it’s his main task when the shit hits the fan: keeping his composure. Not showing weakness in the face of adversity. For me, it’s a blend of French existentialism, pessimism, socialist outrage and overreacting. In others words I’m a nervous mess. On Friday, the Titanic had sunk into our kitchen sink.

We irritate each other in our radical attitudes. He prompts me to stay cool and my jaw clenches. I’m fuelled on drama and he wants me to sober up! Sacre bleu!

We ate our butternut squash bhajis with the chutney in silence, our heads buzzing. I stayed up late reading the horror stories in the British Expats forum, about the sometimes harsh reality of the job market here.

Ed had posted about his premature redundancy and 19 people replied. A lot of them explained how this happened to them a few times. One was quite enlightening:

“Wow. You have described my past experiences exactly. I knew it had to be a North American thing. I am a plumber who is returning to Calgary in a couple of weeks. I have been let go from a few jobs like that. Mostly always on a Friday. Always the same reason. “We have no work.” After 2008 everything slowed down a bit and that is the year I also became a journeyman and I guess too expensive to hire.  I always found another job easily afterwards, but it seems like they would hire me telling me how busy they will be for 5 years blah blah blah. Get me to help finish a project, then out I go. No warning. So three months here, four there. ”

I read a whole thread about ‘disposable employees’, painting a grim picture of employers’ behaviour in Canada. Tales of disappointment, contained rage and bitterness. Conspiracy theories about why the Canadian government lets in so many immigrants. Some posts actually recommended people against coming here at all.

I read them avidly trying to find one with which I would relate most and that would sooth the anguish. I started realising that one word was creeping up in the comments of the people who had a good experience here: luck. A lot of senior members of the forum simply stated that sometimes, it just boils down to being lucky or not.

You can hardly construct any kind of scientific theory on this observation, maybe statisticians, some chaos physicists or even the psychologists of risk  would be willing to give it a shot.  Astrologists might have their ideas about the ‘being at the right place at the right time’ phenomena. I could also draft a catalogue of luck cliches – you make your own luck, etc. – and it wouldn’t make it a bit more convincing. But at this stage, in this gamble we have taken, it’s all about keeping those fingers crossed.

We will see what the next chapter has to reveal. Diderot’s Jacques The Fatalist would say that it’s all written, Sartre would argue that our fate is the sum of our decisions, but I’ll stick once again with Sinatra who sings Luck Be A Lady Tonight.

So hang in there, dearest readers, it’s not the end of this story yet. We’re not close to a moving denouement and whatever happens, you can rest assured that there will be a sequel, a spin-off or a French adaptation.

Just wish us luck!

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