“It’s my birthday,” he whispered, and pointed at the cake put aside for him in a corner of the display case. “Happy Birthday Johann”, it read in curving chocolate swirls.

“Happy birthday!” we said, and then I said: “Does that say ‘You are still a country bum’?” But then I leaned in closer and saw, behind the cream slice, that the icing read: “You are still a country boy to me”.

“She says this because she thinks I am still young,” he said, and he smiled, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepened.

We were in Maison Bertaux, Suzzan and me, for a little teatime treat, and you cannot help but like Maison Bertaux because of the blue-and-white teacloth tablecloths on the small wooden tables outside. The teacloth tablecloths are held down on each table by a small glass of red flower, and their corners lift in the passing breeze. The storefront display case is a miracle spread of cream pastries and fruit tarts. You cannot help but like Maison Bertaux, also, because inside, there are swathes of pink gauze for decoration, and mince pies on the cake stand on the wooden counter, and a mirror painted with flowers and ice cream sundaes to celebrate the birth of a child. Inside, too, there is Johann, with a greying ponytail and a limp, Johann from Austria, who once said: “A man came in and asked for a cup of decaffeinated coffee, and I said, ‘We don’t have any, but our regular coffee is so weak it won’t make a difference’.”

So there we were, picking out sweet treats from the display case, and I pointed at a thing of chocolate, and said: “What’s that?” and Johann said: “It is a chocolate truffle cake, but you shouldn’t have it, because it will be too much for you.”

“Oh,” I said, “yes, truly, I am not looking for anything too heavy.”

“No,” he said, “I don’t want you to grow and grow and become big.”

“Uh,” I said, and started to maybe like Maison Bertaux a little less. “Are you suggesting that we are in danger?”

“Oh, no, no,” he said, “but if you come in every day and eat one of these, then yes.”

“There was this woman once,” he said, and his accent was very Austrian. “She would come in every day and buy a couple of pastries, and she always told me, ‘I am buying one for my boyfriend who is at home.’ She would come in and say: ‘I am buying one for my boyfriend who is at home.’ And four months later, she had put on so much weight, and I said: ‘Tell me the truth.’ ‘Tell me the truth,’ I said. ‘Are you buying these for yourself?’ And finally she said: ‘Yes’.”

“Did she cry?” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “And then she collapsed into my arms and I had to be nice to her.”

We picked out an almondine tart and a cream slice topped with fruit (for part of our five-a-day), and went upstairs, where an indie-rock waiter in Buddy Holly glasses brought us a pot of English Breakfast tea.

“He’s nice!” “Yah! He’s nice!” “And Maison Bertaux’s nice!” “Yah!” “My cream slice is frozen.” “What?”

And frozen it was, the pastry hard, the cream tasteless with cold.

“But— how— but— wait— that can’t be right.”

After much nervous discussion, we tiptoed downstairs and nipped into the kitchen, where Suzzan brandished the plate of frozen. “Is this supposed to be cold and frozen like this?” she said, and the indie-boy waiter looked at it, and then he looked at us, and then he said: “Yes. Frozen. A little.”

And now that I am writing this I remember when I was a child and my mother used to say, “Look my in the eyes and tell me the truth”, and I would LOOK HER IN THE EYES AND LIE.

“Yes,” he said, unblinking behind his glasses. “Frozen.” So we said, because what were we to say?, we said: “Oh. Okay.” and went back up the narrow stairway.

I’ll say the little almondine was exactly what I was looking for, but Suzzan spent the next so many minutes stabbing at her frozen confectionary. “Don’t eat it if it makes you unhappy,” I said. “And also then you can throw it at him on the way out. ‘I hope your birthday sucks!’”

When we left, Johann was showing off his birthday cake to another couple of girls. Johann, are you what one might call HUM SUP? “Good-bye!” we said. “Good-bye!” he said. “Come back soon!” he said. “Okay!” we said, and we walked through the small doorway into the stilling drizzle. We may still have been smiling through the window when Suzzan shut the door behind her and said: “I’m never going back there again.”