by A. D. Winch
Eric was too caught up in his thoughts to notice the world around him. One step behind him was a man in red, baseball cap worn low over his eyes. In front of Eric, Andrea suddenly stopped. Eric clattered into the back of her. A rock being hit by a toy, action man would have moved more.
“Andrea! Why did you stop?”
“Because we are at the car,” she replied matter-of-factly.
The man behind side-stepped the pair tutted and walked off into the distance.
Andrea had stopped in front of the Meyer’s new top of the line Range Rover. It was silver with dark tinted windows and grey door handles. She opened the rear door and seemed to strain not to wrench it from its hinges. The new car smell, mixed with the leather aroma of the seats, wafted out of the vehicle as Eric climbed in.
Once Andrea had sat down on the driver’s seat, she turned like a clockwork toy to face Eric.
“I will repeat what I said earlier. You did well today. You are only eleven years old, and you are now the under thirteen European champion. That is an advanced achievement.”
A hint of a smile briefly appeared on her face, and she raised her non-existent eyebrows. There was not one hair on her pale face, and Eric was sure that her short, blonde bob was a wig. In spite of how she looked Eric felt safe and secure around her. If Andrea said she would do something she did it, if Andrea were asked to do something she did it and on the very rare occasions that she could not she would say so beforehand. If only his parents could be the same.
“Thank you,” said Eric quietly, “I’m glad you were there.”
“I would not be anywhere else.”
Andrea started the car. The V8 supercharged engine roared into life, and she pulled cautiously away into the afternoon traffic.
On the back of Andrea’s headrest and fixed into a Mahogany casing was an LCD screen. It was showing a map of their journey home, and as she took lefts and rights, Eric followed the Galileo satellite navigation system. They were just coming onto Place Felix Eboue when ‘Incoming Call’ flashed three times on the screen. The screen flickered with colour and then a woman’s beautiful face smiled at Eric.
His mother’s jet black hair cascaded down over her shapely figure, and she flicked it over her shoulder before she spoke.
“Erika, Bambino,” she purred.
“Mother,” replied Eric through clenched teeth. He hated being called ‘Erika’ and ‘Bambino’ more than he hated losing.
“Did you win?” she asked with the Latin accent that Eric knew turned grown men to gibbering wrecks.
“Yes.”
“I knew you would, that’s why I knew it would not be a problem if I was not there.”
“You said you would!” Eric replied angrily.
“I know what I said Bambino but I managed to get a last minute appointment with Pierre La Vache before he flew off for the Milano show. He is such an exciting young fashion designer, with so many wonderful ideas on how to use fabrics for women that I just had to meet him. If I hadn’t met him today, it could have been up to two weeks before I got another appointment.”
“Oh, lucky you,” Eric didn’t know what else to say.
“I knew you would be happy for me, Erika. I have to go as I’m half way through being measured. Ciao Bambino, see you at home.”
No sooner had the screen turned blank than it filled with colour again. This time a man appeared. He had a long, angular face and blond hair in a side parting, similar to Eric’s.
“Hi son,” Eric’s father never called him by his name, “Andrea’s been telling me you vere great today.”
“I won,” was all Eric could think of to reply.
“You von,” Eric’s father could not say ‘w’. “Of course you did. I expect nothing but the best from my boy.”
“It would have been nice if you had been there father.” Eric almost swallowed the words as he said them.
On the screen, Eric’s father appeared to squirm.
“Sorry son, you know I vood have loved to but these rich Parisians have, how do you say in English, so much money and so little hours.”
“Time. So little time,” corrected Eric. “What happened?”
“I von.” Eric’s dad leaned forward and looked around him to make sure no one was listening and whispered, “Six point seven million.”
“Well done,” said Eric but there was no conviction in his praise.
“Thanks, son. It vill make sure your mother has clothes for a few more days, no?”
Eric’s father laughed falsely and then raised his voice, “Can you hear me, Andrea?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good job on the competition in the newspaper, vell done,” congratulated Mr Meyer. “I saw it was in Le Monde, El Pais, Das Bild and The Times in the hotel tabac vhere I vas playing poker.”
“Thank you, Sir It was in every national newspaper in Europe.”
“Including, San Marino?”
“Of course.”
“What competition was this father?” asked Eric, suddenly concerned that there was something he did not know about.
Once again Eric’s father began to squirm, and Eric knew he wasn’t going to like whatever his father had to say.
“At home I vill tell you.”
After his father had signed off, Eric asked Andrea semi-seriously if it was possible to divorce his parents.
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Chapter 3 - Parents Pet Project
A black crow circled over Ursula’s head before landing on a broken CCTV camera only a few metres from where she stood. It stared at her through its beady, dark eyes and gave a loud squawk.
Even the birds have attitude in les banlieues, thought Ursula and tried to scare it off. The crow refused to move and continued to stare.
It hopped towards her and challenged her right to be there on the roof, eight floors above the ground.
“I’ll only be a minute,” Ursula told the crow.
Apparently satisfied with this statement it flew away over her head. Ursula followed with her eyes as it passed over her neighbourhood and towards the Stade de France.
Despite being only half a kilometre from Ursula’s home, it was another world away. The stadium was covered in advertising boards and was made of the latest materials all welded and concreted stylishly together. It was an arena which people flocked to and marvelled at. When people saw Ursula’s neighbourhood, les banlieues of Saint-Denis, they were just relieved that they did not live there and beat a quick retreat.
Ursula lived in a seventh-floor apartment on a square of four-high-rise blocks. It was a concrete cuboid embedded with small windows, balconies that rarely saw any sunlight and passageways where lights, if they were working, were permanently on. None of the CCTV cameras which watched these areas worked and, like the blocks themselves, they had been painted grey.
The occasional flashes of colour, on these crumbling urban tombstones, were impressive pieces of graffiti that belonged to unknown nocturnal artists or flags of the residents’ home countries. From numerous windows proudly hung the flags of Algeria, Burkina Faso, Cameroon, Chad, Congo, Djibouti, Guinea, Cote d’Ivoire, Morocco, Togo, Tunisia, Zaire and more. To residents they were colourful symbols, which brought welcome relief from the oppressive and overbearing grey. To middle class Parisians who walked past, on their way to the stadium, they were viewed as warning signs telling them to stay away. Ursula liked the flags, could name them all, and was proud of the fact that so many different nationalities were present in her neighbourhood.
Enclosed by these high rises was an outside communal area set in concrete. It had a basketball net woven from metal chains, and around it were patches of green. Three trees continued to survive in spite of the amount of engravings on their trunks, and under them were several broken benches. Ursula knew that there were better places to live, but she loved the area anyway, and it even had its own soundtrack. As she stood on the roof, she could hear Arabic Rai, Euro Pop and French Rap echoing between t
he blocks.
On the corner of her building, she had painted a little, white cross overlooking the communal area. She approached like a panther, bent down and placed her hands firmly between the cross and the edge as she kicked her legs in the air. The world turned upside down. She gazed momentarily at the building above the sky, before swinging her legs down and gripping the edge tightly. Her body turned through one hundred and eighty degrees; she let go and landed almost silently on a balcony below that was completely covered in lush green plants.
The plants emerged from numerous yoghurt pots on the balcony’s ledge, from old plastic buckets on the floor and burst footballs hanging from the ceiling. Amongst them all, in a large, flowery dress and with a watering can in her hand, was Ursula’s Grandmother Benjamin or Mémé, as she liked to be called. She was a short woman shaped like a pear with the largest bottom in the block. Her black hair was wrapped around baby blue curlers, and she looked decidedly unimpressed.
“Salut, Mémé,” greeted Ursula and smiled meekly.
“I’ve told you not to jump down onto the balcony. You will get yourself killed,” she scolded in her thick French African accent. “Where have you been anyway? You have been away a long time!”
“Pardon Mémé, I was enjoying the weather.”
“At least someone is. I’m hotter than a burning coconut. It wasn’t even this hot when I lived near the equator.”
“I know, you keep telling me.”
“You have been enjoying it for a whole afternoon. The pharmacy is only over the road,” and she pointed into the distance.
“It was closed,” lied Ursula. She hated herself for saying this but continued truthfully, “I had to go to another one.”
Mémé clasped her rough hands around the battered watering can and looked at Ursula with eyes that had seen it all. She knew Ursula was not being completely truthful. However, the girl had been brought up to know the difference between right and wrong, and she did what she was told without complaint.
“Well, at least tell me you’ve got Granddad Benjamin’s medicine.”
“Yes, it’s here,” and Ursula pointed to her pocket.
Mémé’s face softened and, still clasping the watering can, she waved Ursula towards the balcony door with her fleshy arms. Ursula squeezed between the plants and her grandmother. As she passed, she gave Mémé a quick hug before being shooed away by the smiling old lady.
The balcony door led directly into the living room, and Ursula stepped inside onto the orange paisley carpet. Instantly Mémé appeared in the doorway.
“Take off your trainers, ma cherie. I’ve just cleaned.”
Ursula sat down on the brown and beige sofa to remove her shoes. She placed them on the mat next to a huge, old television with a small screen. As she stood up she admired the random trinkets in Mémé’s glass cabinet. These included five blown glass animals, a wind-up clock standing on a CD which they had never played, Kinder egg toys and china ornaments. The trinkets and the furniture were all much older than Ursula, but the room was spotlessly clean, and everything had been carefully looked after.
Ursula walked through the living room; past the white Formica table and chairs, past the kitchen and into the short hallway. This led to the other three rooms in the flat: the bathroom, her room and her destination, her grandparents’ bedroom.
It was dim in the room, but she could still see her Granddad who lay fast-asleep on top of the yellow, nylon sheets. He was wearing a string vest and faded black trousers held up by green braces. A thin beam of sunlight from a crack in the purple curtains bounced off his bald, ebony head and lit up the glass on the bedside table. Inside it, covered in water, were his dentures. One day, when she had money, Ursula wanted to replace these with a pair of wind-up teeth. The thought of them in his mouth chattering away uncontrollably often made her giggle, and she knew he would chuckle at it too. Granddad Benjamin had the best and loudest laugh in the world. It was a roaring laugh which everyone found infectious. Unfortunately, he also had the worst and loudest snore in the world. A trumpet blasting snore which could have been put to better use warning ships in fog. Ursula decided to save her ears. She sat softly on the end of the bed, away from the noise, and took hold of Granddad Benjamin’s naked left foot. Gently, she shook it until the old man woke up.
“Hello Granddad,” she said, “I’ve brought your medicine.”
Ever since Ursula was a baby Granddad Benjamin had only spoken English to her, rather than French, and he expected only English to be spoken back. He had told her on numerous occasions that he had been made to learn English, French plus his own language. His view was that if he could learn three then he was sure she could learn two.
He raised his head to look at Ursula, smiled a gummy grin and replied, “Fang oo, dear.”
“Put your teeth in Granddad.”
“Solly.”
He sat up and in one movement took his teeth out of the water, threw them in the air and caught them skilfully in this mouth. Once again he smiled but this time his teeth were at right angles to where they should have been. Ursula laughed, and he waved his hand in front of his mouth until he revealed a beaming crescent moon of a smile. Granddad Benjamin was full of little tricks and, even though Ursula had seen them many times, she still didn’t know how he did them.
“Hand it over then little miss,” he said with a smile as he put out a calloused palm.
Ursula retrieved the box from her pocket and asked, “Will I get your illness, Granddad?”
“Oh no, I suffer from a problem only men and normally only old men get. With better medicine, I wouldn’t be so bad but these are the best for now,” and he shook the box. “But you are trying to distract me. Where is my change?” he asked gently.
Ursula sighed, removed the twenty Euro cents from her pocket and handed it over.
“Is that all?”
“I bought some bonbons,” she lied.
“After running around for your Granddad I’m sure you deserve them. But don’t tell your Grandmother!”
Ursula smiled with relief and promised she wouldn’t. She hated lying, but she felt she really had no choice. Granddad Benjamin needed the medicine, and it was her job to get it for him.
Since Granddad Benjamin had developed his mysterious illness, and Mémé refused to leave the flat without him, Ursula had inherited all the outside chores. Primarily, this meant shopping and going to the pharmacy for medicine. At first, it was difficult for their weekly allowance to stretch to both, but Ursula learnt to shop around. She soon found the cheapest shops for different items and used her keen mental mathematics ability to make it work. However, when prices rose during the financial crisis this quickly became impossible.
Ursula’s grandparents were not economically minded and could not understand it. Even if they could understand, they did not have enough money to change it. As a result, Ursula was forced into an impossible situation - either get Granddad his medicine and have no food, or buy food and deny him his medicine. Neither was a good option so Ursula, even though she knew it was wrong, chose a third way. She was thinking about this when Granddad Benjamin playfully hit her with a newspaper.
“Hey daydreamer, take a look at that,” and he thrust a tightly folded paper into her hand.
Ursula took it, opened it out in front of her and scanned the front page. It was the previous day’s Le Monde, which a neighbour always kept for her Granddad. The headline announced, ‘Hailstones Destroy Vineyards’ and Ursula was not interested enough to read on.
“What’s the big deal?” she asked, scratching her head.
“Not that,” said her Granddad and shuffled up the bed to sit beside her, “but this.”
He opened the paper to page 3 and tapped a full page advert repeatedly with his finger until Ursula started to read it.
WIN 10,000 EURO!
10,000 Euro prize money will be given tax-free to anyone in Europe who can solve this puzzle!
She glanced briefly over the puzzle and then
read below:
All entries should include name, age and address and are to be received within seven days of publication at the following address:
WIN 10,000 EURO PUZZLE, BP 1357911, FRANCE
In the case of a draw, please include a similar puzzle you have written with its solution.
“So, what do you think?” Granddad Benjamin asked. He was barely able to contain the excitement in his voice.
“What do I think about what?”
Ursula was confused.
“For a smart girl you are slow sometimes,” he mocked. “The puzzle! Do you think you can do it?”
Ursula stared intently at the puzzle. It took up most of the page and was made up of an irregular hexagon with letters, numbers and symbols she had never seen before, dotted around its outside edges. Some of them appeared inside smaller hexagons within the larger one, but they were scattered around in what appeared to be a totally random pattern. There were no instructions, no rules and no guidelines given.
Granddad Benjamin took her arm with a sweaty hand and looked at her expectantly.
“Well, can you?”
“Granddad this puzzle is in Le Monde, a newspaper for adults. How am I supposed to do it? I’m only eleven!”
In spite of what she had said, Granddad Benjamin still looked excited. His hand left her arm, patted her on the back, and he said, “I know, but if anyone can do it you can.”
“Okay Granddad, for you I’ll try.”
Ursula gripped the paper tightly and strode purposefully out of the room.
Granddad Benjamin lay back on his bed and thought about what he would do with the money. It was a simple dream, but one that would not go away and one that he had had since Ursula first started talking many years earlier. He would place it all in a saving's account and, when Ursula was old enough, he would send her away to get a good education, to university, and to a better life away from les banlieues of Saint Denis
