No and Me

by Delphine de Vigan

  My parents had gone out early to the market. I’d leave without seeing them, I’d leave like a thief. My throat was tight. I was going to leave because there was no other solution, because I couldn’t leave No, couldn’t abandon her. I made my bed, pulling the undersheet tight and smoothing the quilt. I plumped up the pillow. I folded my nightdress and put it in the top of my bag. In the kitchen I found some packets of cakes, which I put in too, as well as some kitchen roll. I sat down with a sheet of paper, picked up my pen and tried to find the right words, words that were adequate. ‘Don’t worry. Don’t tell the police. I’ve chosen another life. I must follow it through. Follow it through to the end. Please forgive me. Don’t be angry with me. The time has come. Farewell. Your daughter who loves you.’ But everything seemed laughable, ridiculous. Words weren’t up to the seriousness of the moment, they couldn’t communicate the necessity or the fear. I closed the pad without writing anything. I put on my parka and closed the door behind me. I hesitated for a second on the doormat, my heart thumping so fast that that second seemed like an eternity. But it was too late. My bag was at my feet and I’d left my key inside.

  I walked quickly in the street, crossing without looking. The cold caught at my throat. I climbed the stairs four at a time. At the top I needed several minutes to get my breath back. Lucas opened the door. He looked almost as freaked out as she did. He was running around, grabbing things at random, coming back to the bedroom and going out again. No was sitting motionless on the bed.

  She looked at me imploringly. It was the same look she’d given me at the station the day she asked me to talk to her, only more serious, more tense, the kind of look you can’t refuse. I looked for her clothes, got them on her, and then her shoes, and combed her hair with my fingers. I picked up the things that were lying on the floor and stuffed everything I came across into her case. I made the bed and opened the window wide to air the room.

  Eventually No got up to get the brown envelope hidden in a cupboard. I helped her on with her jacket. I warned Lucas that my father had probably called his mother. He needed to get his story straight. We were all standing in the hall. Lucas saw my bag lying by the door. I pulled No’s sleeve. We had no time to lose. The question was hanging in the air between us. What are you doing, Chip? Where are you going? I met his eye. He looked at a loss. I pressed the lift button without turning round.

  I caught up with No in the street. It was icy cold. I was holding her case in one hand and my bag in the other. There was no one about. I thought, I’ll never go home again, I’m outside with No for the rest of my life. I thought, that’s exactly how things collapse, without warning, no sign, that’s how things stop and never return. I’m outside with No.

  We stopped off at a café nearby. No had money. She wanted me to have a croissant, some bread and butter and a big hot chocolate. She insisted. She wanted us to have a super-mega breakfast. She rummaged in her envelope to find a twenty-euro note. We devoured every last crumb. It was warm and we were doing fine. I reckoned that her body was gradually calming down. She was shaking less. She ordered another hot chocolate and smiled. We stayed there at least two hours because of the warmth. It reminded me of the first times we’d spent together when I was preparing my class presentation. When anything seemed possible. I didn’t really want to be sad so I told her about a cartoon about the fear of flying, which I’d seen a few days before on TV. She laughed. After that we didn’t really talk that much, we just looked around, at people coming and going. We listened to conversations at the counter. I’m convinced she would have fallen asleep if she’d shut her eyes.

  It was her idea to go to the cinema. She begged me again. I was annoyed she was spending all this money. She told me not to worry about that and said ‘please’ again: ‘It’s been so long since I went.’ We took the metro to the Forum des Halles. She was carrying my bag and her case. From a distance, we must have looked like two tourists trying to find their hotel.

  We chose the film at random and settled down in our seats. No had bought popcorn. She’d insisted. We shared the tub as we watched the ads. I felt sick to my stomach, but I wanted to make her happy. I think she dozed off towards the end, but I pretended not to have noticed. In any case, she didn’t miss much. We spent the rest of the afternoon in the same area. She wanted to buy everything, a scarf for Lucas, hair slides for me, packets of cigarettes. She’d stop in front of every window, go into the shop, insist that I choose a candle or gloves or postcards. She kept saying ‘don’t worry’ and patting her jacket where the inside pocket was. I had to pretend I didn’t like anything to stop her buying any and everything. I wasn’t able to stop her buying a hat for each of us, the same style. At about six we sat down on the edge of the Fontaine des Innocents. It was still just as cold. We shared a huge waffle with Nutella and stayed there, passing remarks about the people going by. She asked me to invent lives for them, like before, so I invented a heap of things, each more incredible than the last, to make her laugh. I talked so that I’d forget I’d left home without leaving a note. I talked so that I wouldn’t think about my parents’ faces, their worry, about the possibilities they must have considered without really believing them. By now they must have been starting to get scared, maybe they’d have gone to the police. Or maybe they’d waited, thinking I’d be back. They trusted me, they were still waiting. I saw my mother on the sofa, my father pacing up and down, his eyes fixed on the clock in the living room. It had got dark. I was afraid of not being up to it, of not having the strength. I chased the image away but it came back, getting clearer. I pushed it far away. I wanted to be here, with No.

  It suddenly seemed so simple to me, to leave your own subset, follow a tangent with your eyes closed and walk on a wire like a tightrope walker, to leave your life. It seemed so simple to me. It made me dizzy.

  ‘We’re going to Ireland. I’m coming with you.’

  No turned to me. Her nose was red, her hat pulled down to her eyes. She didn’t reply.

  ‘Tomorrow we’ll take the train from Saint-Lazare to Cherbourg. It’s either direct or you change at Caen. When we get to Cherbourg we’ll find the port and get tickets. There’s a boat every other day. If I’d known I’d have looked at the dates. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, we can wait. And from Rosslare there are trains to Wexford.’

  She blew on her fingers to warm them up. She looked at me for ages. I could tell that she was on the point of crying.

  ‘Do you want me to come with you or not?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you want to go tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you got enough money?’

  ‘I told you. Don’t worry about that.’

  ‘The ferry takes eighteen hours. Do you promise that you won’t spend the whole time being sick?’

  We high-fived to show that we agreed and laughed really loud. People turned to look at us, but we couldn’t care less – we were going to Ireland, where the grass is greener and the sky is bigger, where No would be happy and where Laurent was waiting for her. I followed the trail of our breath in the cold air and stamped my feet to get warm. We got up and wandered aimlessly. It must have been at least ten o’clock at night. There was less traffic. We continued along the boulevard Sebastopol towards the Gare du Nord. We were in the street. On the street. We had nowhere to sleep. No told me to put on my hat and to tuck my hair up in it so that no one would recognise me. Every step I took beside her took me further from home. Every step in the dark seemed irreversible. My stomach hurt.

  No knew a hotel at the top of the boulevard de Strasbourg where we could spend the night.

  The owner recognised her. He asked for the money up front. She got some notes out of the envelope. I really wanted to see how much was left, but she put it away immediately. He handed us a key and we went up to the room. The walls were yellow and dirty, it smelled of urine, the sheets didn’t look clean, and the black
marks in the shower showed that it hadn’t been cleaned in ages. This is where she used to sleep before I met her, when she had the money. This was the kind of dump where she crashed when begging had gone well. This was what you had to pay for a filthy, cockroach-infested room.

  No went out again to get a McDonald’s, but she didn’t want me to go with her. I stayed by myself. I couldn’t get warm. I looked for the radiator and then I thought about my room at home, my rainbow quilt cover, my old yellow rabbit sitting on a shelf, the sliding doors on my cupboard. I thought about my mother, the way she called me from the kitchen, how she wiped her hands on a tea towel that hung by the sink, the way she read, sitting across the armchair, the way she looked over the top of her glasses. I thought about my mother and I missed her. All of a sudden it was like a lift had gone into free fall. Luckily No came back. She’d got two cheeseburgers, fries, milk shakes and a little bottle of whisky. We sat on the bed and she started drinking. She insisted that I should eat while it was still hot. I thought about the envelope. There couldn’t be that much left, what with all we’d spent. And then I told myself that if we had to we could hitch to Cherbourg and then we’d manage somehow or other. No got off the bed. She was in her pants and T-shirt. She held the bottle as if it was a microphone and pretended to be Johnny Hallyday. It was dead funny. We sang at the tops of our voices, ‘I love you, I love you and light the fire.’ We couldn’t have cared less about people banging on the wall, or about the smell of old fish, or the creepy-crawlies on the walls. We were together, we were going away, making tracks, going far away.

  By the time we went to bed she’d finished the bottle. The fries had fallen on the floor. I hadn’t put on my nightdress with the moon on it and I hadn’t brushed my teeth. I felt lighter than I’d ever felt before. Everything was calm in my head. It had never been so calm and clear. There were no more words, only gestures. I pushed everything off the bed, we slipped between the sheets and I turned off the light.

  .

  Chapter 49

  The next day I woke up at eight. It was Monday. I thought about Lucas. I thought about Mr Marin, who must have been in the middle of doing the register. I recited it in my head along with him – Amard, present. Antoine, present. Berthelot, present. Bertignac? . . . I saw it as if I was there. I heard the silence in class. Miss Bertignac isn’t here. Miss Bertignac has left the building. Miss Bertignac has disappeared.

  No woke up much later. I’d had time to tidy the things in her case, to throw away what was left of the McDonald’s and to count the flowers on the wallpaper. We took the metro to Saint-Lazare. Opposite us was this man who kept getting up and sitting down. He’d check his collar and adjust his tie, pull at his shirt, look at himself in the window, then a few seconds later go through the same motions in the same order. It was proof, if proof were needed, that something was up. You just had to take a look around. All you had to do was see how people looked, to count the ones who were talking to themselves or had gone off the rails – you just had to take the metro. I thought about life’s side effects, the ones you never see on any sign or instructions. I thought that violence was there too. I thought that violence was everywhere.

  Wind rushed into the station. We stood beneath the departure board to read the timetables. The next train for Cherbourg left in two hours. We looked for the waiting room to put down our things. We sat on the plastic chairs furthest from the door. No rolled a cigarette and said, ‘I’ll get the tickets, you wait here.’

  I don’t know how I didn’t notice that she took her case with her. I don’t know how that was possible. I asked her again if she had enough money. And she told me again not to worry. I had my nose stuck in my bag looking for a Kleenex as she went off. I didn’t see. I didn’t see that she was pulling her case behind her.

  I waited for her to come back. I didn’t get worried. I waited half an hour. And then another. And then I noticed that her case had gone. I waited a bit longer, as there was nothing else to do. Because she couldn’t have gone off without me. I waited because I was afraid that we might miss each other. I waited without moving so that she knew where to find me. I waited and it got dark. I think I may have dropped off for a bit. At one point I thought that someone was standing behind me tapping on my shoulder. I opened my eyes, but she wasn’t there. I waited and she didn’t come back.

  It was cold and I hadn’t eaten a thing since the morning. In the end I left the station. The last train for Cherbourg had gone. I crossed in front of the station to the rue Saint-Lazare. There was noise all around, cars, buses, horns, and my head was spinning. I stopped. I stroked the little Opinel knife that I always take with me, the one Lucas dropped in the playground one day without realising.

  No had left me. No had gone off without me.

  It didn’t go quiet around me. Street life just went on, noisy and chaotic.

  We’re together, aren’t we, Lou? We’re together. Do you trust me? You trust me. Call me when you leave. I’ll wait for you at the bottom of the steps. I’ll wait for you outside the café. It’s better paid. I work nights. Let me sleep. I’m knackered. I can’t move. We don’t need to talk about it. We’re together, Lou. If you tame me you’ll be unique in the world for me. I said I wanted to speak to Suzanne Pivet. If you could come with me. You ask too many questions. You’ll end up blowing a fuse. We’re together, eh? So are you coming with me? I’ll never be part of your family, Lou. What do you think? So you’re coming with me? I’ll go and get the tickets. This isn’t your life, do you understand? It’s not your life.

  .

  Chapter 50

  I walked home. I didn’t have a metro ticket. I didn’t have anything. I walked for ages. I didn’t hurry and I didn’t ask for help. I didn’t go to the police. My trainers hurt. Something had happened to me. Something which I should understand, which I should take stock of for my whole life. I didn’t count the traffic lights or the Clios. I didn’t do multiplication in my head. I didn’t try to find synonyms for ‘disinheritance’ or definitions of ‘complexion’. I walked looking straight ahead. I knew the way. Something had happened that had made me grow up. I wasn’t afraid.

  I rang the bell and my mother opened the door. She looked haggard and her eyes were red. She stood there in front of me, no sound seemed to be able to come from her mouth, and then she pulled me towards her without a word. She was crying like I’ve never seen her cry before. I don’t know how long this silence lasted, her body jolted by sobs. I hurt all over but I didn’t have tears. I hurt as I’ve never hurt before. Eventually she said, ‘You gave us a fright.’ And she went into the living room to call my father at the police station.

  .

  Chapter 51

  Lucas and I waited a few weeks before going to see Geneviève. We took the metro to Porte de Bagnolet and got a trolley to take into the superstore. We drifted with the music. There were bells ringing and Easter eggs the whole length of one aisle. We queued at the deli counter. Geneviève recognised me and said that she had her break in a quarter of an hour and would meet us in the cafeteria.

  We waited for her with a Coke under the orange plastic lights. She came without her lace cap. She only had twenty minutes. Lucas offered her a drink but she said no. I thought that No might have sent her a card, as a reminder of the times they’d spent together with Laurent, that she might have wanted to tell her that she was over there, that she was doing better. But Geneviève hadn’t had any news. She told us exactly the same story about Laurent that No had told us – how he’d gone to Ireland, had promised to write. But No never heard anything. Neither then nor later. It was one of the teachers who told them that Laurent was living in Wexford and working in a bar. He never wrote.

  .

  Chapter 52

  Mr Marin has just finished the lesson. We’ve taken notes and didn’t miss a word, even though it’s the last day of term. He’s finished quarter of an hour early so that
we have time to tidy the classroom. We take the posters down from the walls, roll up the maps and the graphs carefully. The classroom is going to be painted during the holidays. Next year Lucas is going to live with his mother in Neuilly. They’re selling the flat. Next year I’m going to go to Léa Germain’s birthday party. She made me promise in front of witnesses. Next year Mr Marin won’t be here. He’s retiring. He looks a bit sad, even though he complains that standards go down every year, getting worse and worse. He’d rather give up before he’s teaching sheep.

  I’m looking at the bright sky through the window. Are we such tiny things, so infinitely tiny, that we can’t do anything?

  We’re leaving the class. The students’ goodbyes are heartfelt. ‘Goodbye, Mr Marin. All the best. Have a good holiday. Have a good rest.’ Just as I pass the door he calls me back.

  ‘Miss Bertignac?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’d like to give you something.’

  I go over to his desk. He hands me an old book, covered in brown paper. I take it and open it at the first page. I don’t have time to read the title, just his name written in blue ink: Pierre Marin, 1954.

  ‘It’s a book that was very important to me when I was a young man.’

  The paper is yellow. The book seems to have survived four or five hundred years. I say thank you. I’m alone in the class with him, overwhelmed. I’ve no idea what to say in situations like this. I’m sure it’s a really nice present. I say thank you again. I go towards the door and he calls me back again.