Her hand was still on the receiver when the phone started ringing again.
‘Madame Vélard, it’s Serge … Jaubert.’
‘Hello, Serge, dear. How are your parents?’
‘Not great. Maman would like to see you.’
‘Of course. I was about to come round. I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
‘Thanks. See you soon.’
Éliette bounded up the stairs, threw on the clothes she had been wearing the day before, and hurtled back down again. Something akin to the blades of a food processor was mincing up her slightest thought. She was incapable of forming complete sentences, telling herself only: keys, glasses, bag … Stepping from the gloom inside the house to the full sun of the garden was like walking into a shower of flames. For a few moments she saw nothing. Étienne and his daughter seemed to have disappeared. Then, shielding her eyes with her hand, she caught sight of them curled up like two cats in the darkness of her ‘summer dining room’. They were leaning on the long wooden table and smoking silently, one’s gaze concealed by dark glasses, the other’s obscured by a thick bandage over his left eye.
‘Better now? You’ve calmed down? Show me … That’s an impressive black eye you’re going to have there!’
‘What about this one? Impressive enough for you?’ The girl lowered her glasses. Her right eye was a magnificent green, but the left was ringed bright purple.
‘Étienne, did you …?’
‘No, he didn’t, but it’s because of him.’
‘Agnès, please!’
‘Look, I don’t want to know. Let’s just say it gives you a family resemblance. All I ask is that you avoid making a scene while you’re under my roof. I have to go round to my neighbours’. You know the situation, Étienne. Things are bad enough as they are. Can I trust you?’
‘Absolutely, Éliette. I really am sorry. It was a misunderstanding.’
‘All right. See you later then.’
The one saving grace of the morning’s dramas from Éliette’s point of view was to have discovered that Agnès was Étienne’s daughter and not his girlfriend, as she had first thought. The rest was as confusing as it was unsettling. In what kind of family did a daughter whack her father round the head with a camera while hurling abuse at him? She had been equally shocked by Étienne’s completely passive response. Why had he phoned Agnès? After all, that was the only possible explanation: he had called her last night while Éliette was with the Jauberts … And that bruise on Agnès’s face: It’s because of him … Something was telling her to send the two of them packing, but the memory of the pleasure of Étienne’s company the previous day put her off. She would wait and see. For now, she was coming up the Jauberts’ drive as Serge came out to greet her, another young man of similar age hovering behind him. Both had very short hair and moustaches. Serge looked utterly crushed.
‘Hello, Madame Vélard.’
‘Come on, call me Éliette.’
‘Yes, sorry. This is all so … This is my friend Zep. He’s German but he speaks very good French.’
‘Pleased to meet you. So, how’s your mother?’
‘Still a bit woozy after those drugs you gave her, but …’
‘And your father?’
‘He hasn’t said a word. He’s like a plank of wood.’
The three of them entered the house. It was cool inside and the smell of coffee vainly tried to cover that of aniseed. Paul hadn’t budged from the position he had occupied the day before, sitting with both elbows on the table. Only the empty pastis bottle testified to the passage of time. Rose lifted her puffy face, broke into sobs and rushed over to throw herself on Éliette.
‘My boy! My little boy!’
‘There, there, Rose. I’m here …’
Serge turned his watery eyes to the window and squeezed his friend’s hand. Éliette noticed the gesture but made little of it, turning her attention back to Rose, who no longer even had the strength to cry.
‘Come with me, Rose. Let’s go outside and get some fresh air while we talk. It’ll do you good. You too, Paul. You can’t stay sitting at that table for ever. You’ve got to keep going.’
Serge leant towards his father to help him up. Without moving, Paul said under his breath, ‘Don’t you touch me.’
Serge held out his hand.
‘Papa …’
‘I said don’t put your dirty queer hands on me!’
The slap aimed at his son met empty space. Carried by the momentum, Paul toppled over and fell onto the tiled floor. Rose was open-mouthed, frozen but for her chest which rose in quick shallow breaths, as if hiccuping. Serge and Zep knelt down beside the father.
‘He’s fine, he’s snoring. He’s pissed out of his head. Let’s put him to bed.’
Éliette and Rose watched the two boys lift Paul’s body and haul it up the stairs.
‘Come on, Rose. Let’s have a walk; it’ll calm us down.’
‘Yes … Why did Paul say that?’
‘Say what?’
‘“Your dirty queer hands”.’
‘He’s had too much to drink; he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Come on – show me how your geraniums are getting on.’
Agnès emerged from the kitchen carrying a bottle of pastis, a jug of water and two glasses on a tray.
‘Agnès, you’re going too far.’
‘Why? She’s cool, she won’t mind. Anyway, I feel like a drink. If we weren’t in the shit, I could imagine we were on holiday. OK, so when Théo’s contact gave you the package, you got straight back on the train to Paris?’
‘Yeah. But I’d been mulling it over since the day before. Six months back, when I finished my time in Morocco, I had so many good intentions. But you have no idea how hard it is to get used to life on the outside. I’m gonna be forty-five …’
‘But you’d have made ten thousand for a return train journey!’
‘What the fuck did I care about ten thousand when I had that whole package under my seat! I kept thinking about Théo’s face when he chucked me the five thousand upfront. Small change. All my life I’ve had nothing but small change from guys like Théo. You reach a point you can’t take any more. The train stopped at Montélimar, and I got off.’
‘You’re crazy, my poor papa.’
‘Don’t call me Papa. It’s ridiculous.’
‘OK. So then what? How did you end up here?’
‘I panicked a bit once I was on the platform. Everything was going too fast. I couldn’t hang around; I stood out like a sore thumb. I went into the car park and stole a car. Once I got behind the wheel, I calmed down. I headed out of town on back roads without much idea where I was going. I stopped in the middle of nowhere to stretch my legs and think things over. But I didn’t regret it for a second! I found a little green meadow with clumps of white flowers. I lay on my back and watched the clouds drift past. It made me think of summer camp. I was eight years old in Le Chambon-sur-Lignon, one of the few good times in my life. The weather was always fine, even when it rained. It smelt clean; we were always hungry. We built tree houses. I thought to myself: if there’s one safe place for the two of us in this shitty world, then that’s it. I was picturing a little chalet in the forest, you coming to join me there …’
‘I’d have preferred the Caribbean.’
‘I got back in the car and drove along this incredible little road that wound up the mountain … Just my luck, I ran out of petrol halfway up. Couldn’t leave the thing there, so I got out, started pushing and … this guy comes roaring round the bend. It was so fast, I didn’t see it happen. I just heard the screech of brakes, the crack of broken branches, the crunch of metal, and then nothing. I ran down into the ravine. The guy was dead. He was young … What was I supposed to do? … I went back up to the car, wiped everything down, the steering wheel, the seat, the door … My head was on fire: anyone could turn up at any minute … I grabbed the briefcase and legged it through the woods.’
‘No way! You just dumped everything?’
‘You’re a magnet for trouble, aren’t you?’
‘Want to know the best part?’
‘What?’
‘The neighbours’ son, the one who’s just been killed in a car crash …’
‘Yeah? … No! You mean he’s …’
‘I’m almost certain. She was telling me how the accident happened last night.’
‘Now that’s the icing on the cake! Do excuse me, I think I’ll serve myself another!’
Father and daughter locked eyes for a moment and burst out laughing. They were still in fits when Éliette’s Aixam came bouncing up the dirt track.
‘Looks like everyone’s in a better mood. Have you made up?’
‘Yes, Éliette, everything’s fine. I hope you’ll forgive us for the scene we made.’
‘Let’s put it behind us. I could do with a drink myself, actually.’
‘I’ll go. I’ll fetch some ice as well.’
As Agnès was getting up, Éliette settled herself on the bench opposite Étienne. She closed her eyes for a second and a firework display went off inside her head, images flying around like meteors: Paul sitting at the kitchen table, Étienne changing the wheel, Rose’s slipper in the mirror, Serge squeezing Zep’s hand, Agnès hitting her father with her bag, Étienne doing the washing up …
‘It’s all a bit much, isn’t it?’
‘It is, rather. I’d been moaning that my life had become a bit monotonous of late. I can’t complain about that any more!’
‘Things have been a bit crazy for me lately too. I’d like the whole merry-go-round to stop. But we won’t be under your feet for too long. Agnès lives in Lyons. I called her last night to come and get me. Unfortunately she had a little scrape in the car, hence the black eye and terrible mood. She was halfway here when it happened, so she had to get a train and then a taxi.’
‘So long as there are no more fisticuffs in my garden, you’re no trouble at all. In fact I don’t know how I’d feel about being on my own at the moment.’
Agnès brought cold water and ice cubes.
‘Y’know, Éliette – is it all right if I call you Éliette?’
‘Yes.’
‘There’s a barbecue there, and sausages in the fridge. Do you think we could …?’
‘Agnès! You’re overstepping the mark.’
‘No, she’s right.’
‘Great! I’ll sort it. I love making a fire!’
All tension disappeared once the barbecue was lit. They laughed easily and talked about everything and nothing, making the most of this momentary bright spell in the knowledge it was a temporary reprieve. Corroded by a sort of rust as they may have been, Agnès’s twenty years added a spark to the conversation. Éliette watched in wonder. Agnès was nothing like she or even her daughter had been at twenty. She was both more mature and more carefree. She occasionally used a word or expression that Éliette didn’t understand and Étienne would step in to translate for her. Éliette found Agnès’s relationship with her father fascinating. Sylvie would never have spoken so freely to Charles, even though they were considered an open family. Some of the dubious situations father and daughter talked about planted a seed of doubt in her mind as to the true nature of their relationship to one another. And yet she found nothing distasteful about their stories, to the extent that she too began sharing things she had not told anyone in years. She was swooping into an unknown world and landing gently – aided, no doubt, by the nice cool rosé. And why not? There were so many other worlds … Paul and Rose’s, Serge and Zep’s, Sylvie’s, Marc’s … an infinite galaxy that could never be explored in a lifetime. It was as good as closing her eyes while being whirled around on a carousel.
‘Are you all right, Éliette?’
‘Yes. But I’m going to have a shower and get changed. I’m too hot in these clothes.’
Once Éliette had left the table, Agnès lay down on Étienne’s side of the bench and rested her head on his thigh.
‘What now?’
‘Haven’t got a clue. As long as we’re here, nothing’s going to happen. Are you sure you weren’t followed?’
‘Yes. Théo came round before you called. He could knock me around all he liked, I didn’t know anything. Then you rang. I got the student across the hall to bring my bags down – you know, the one who’s got a thing for me. I told him to take a taxi and wait for me at Gare de Lyon. I strolled out of the building a quarter of an hour later and took the métro.’
‘I told Éliette you lived in Lyons, to explain why you’re here. I said I called you last night to ask you to pick me up. Only, you had an accident somewhere between Vienne and Valence, which is how you got your shiner. Later on you need to pretend to call the garage where your car is, and then tell us it won’t be ready until Thursday. As far as I can make out, her kids don’t get here until Friday. That gives us two days’ grace.’
‘Right. Only trouble is I’ve never set foot in Lyons. Not that that makes much difference. Have you got cash?’
‘A thousand, tops. Plus the briefcase.’
‘Your two kilos of coke aren’t worth shit around here. Who are you going to sell it to – the goats? The yokels?’
‘I know! But we’ll find a solution. We just need time to think. I need to stop for breath.’
‘Poor Papa, you really know how to land yourself in the shit. To think I didn’t even know you existed a month ago!’
‘Please, can we not talk about that?’
‘But it’s not your fault! Stop with the guilt. How were you to know the girl you were about to cop off with was your daughter? Everyone calls me Lol at Théo’s place, and I was only a year old when you left. If you hadn’t found the photo of Maman, you’d still be none the wiser. I might have got pregnant and given birth to a hideous monster! Bleurghhh!’
‘Please, Agnès. It’s not funny.’
‘Fine! Whatever. So, this coke, have you tried it?’
‘No.’
‘Well, you should.’
‘Now don’t start poking your nose …’
‘Hang on a minute! You don’t know how to be cool. The only person who can find you a buyer is me. So I want to know what it is I’m selling, OK? And I’ll also need a sample. You don’t just deal two kilos like that.’
‘OK. The briefcase is upstairs, in the room I slept in. But just a sample!’
Birds were dabbling in the blue sky, the air hummed with the chirping of crickets, and plant smells mingled with wisps of smoke from the dying embers of the barbecue. Étienne was wondering what it would take to become a Trappist monk. Faith? Couldn’t be that difficult. He had believed in a lot of things in his time, so why not a little guy nailed to a wooden cross? The truth was that freedom had never done him any good. Being locked up for the last few years had given him more of a taste for being inside than out. That was what he liked about this walled garden. We can only truly escape from within.
He would never have got mixed up in a crazy scheme like this if he hadn’t found Agnès again. How had he landed up at Théo’s place? … Through a friend of a friend of a friend, most likely. Since getting out of prison, he had been knocking about around Paris. There was a big crowd that evening. The mirrors were covered in trails of powder. Tequila, beer, spliffs, wild Parisian nights. He didn’t find it fun any more. He was there because he had to be somewhere after all. The girl with red hair had got up from Théo’s lap and come to sit next to him.
‘You look as bored shitless as I am.’
‘Yep.’
‘Shall we get out of here?’
‘And go where?’
‘Your place!’
‘I’m in a hotel. Not a good one.’
‘I don’t give a shit.’
They made love all night and they did it well, very tenderly, pausing now and again for a line of coke or a drink. It was the first
good thing to happen to him in months. He slept for the whole of the next day and she came back in the evening. They had dinner together at a little place near the hotel in the eighteenth arrondissement, and they picked up where they had left off the night before. It was like a fairy tale for little kids. In the morning, on his way to have a piss, he had used Lol’s bag to shoot up. Among the objects that fell out of it were a photo of a woman he had known all too well and an identity card in the name of Agnès Doilet. He couldn’t help letting out a cry, at which point the girl turned over in bed and opened one eye.
‘What’s going on?’
Étienne threw the identity card and photo onto the bed.
‘What about it?’
‘I’m your father, Agnès! I’m your father!’
*
Éliette had decided to be bold, and she did not regret it. The jeans and T-shirt she had bought the day before made her look ten years younger. She smiled blissfully into the mirror as though touched by a fairy’s wand. On her own, she would never have taken these clothes out of their packaging. As a little girl, whenever she was given something new to wear, she would find an excuse to go straight out and show it off. But that was back on the busy streets of Paris … What was the point in doing the same here? Today, though, she had an audience in the form of Étienne, and Agnès, whom she bumped into as she went from her bedroom into the corridor.
‘Oh, Éliette, I wanted to ask: you don’t have a set of kitchen scales, do you?’
‘Kitchen scales?’
‘Yes, I have some letters to post and I need to weigh them.’
‘Um … yes, I must do. Have a look on top of the kitchen cupboards.’
‘Thanks. Ooh, love the T-shirt. The colour’s great on you.’
Étienne had got out two sunloungers. He was stretched out on one of them with his head in the shade and his feet in the sun. He appeared to be asleep. Éliette sat down beside him. The heat trapped inside the garden walls made the air hum. She closed her eyes and every sound and smell became magnified. It was like dissolving in a kind of bouillon.
‘Your house is lovely. It’s like you.’
Too Close to the Edge Page 4
