And Then Came Paulette (18 page)

Monday morning.

Still feeling a little spaced out, Kim went down to make some coffee and take a shower. But the coffee was already made and there was someone in the shower. Twenty minutes before he had to leave, it was a bit tight. To save time he went back upstairs to fetch his clothes and his college bag and then came back down again. There was no noise coming from the bathroom anymore, he imagined Muriel was taking her time: drying her hair, looking at herself in the mirror and putting cream on her face. While he waited he poured himself a coffee and drank it standing by the stove. Ten minutes later Muriel emerged from her bedroom, dressed, made up, and with her hair done. Kim remained glued to the spot.

“What are you doing?”

“It's me should be asking you that. Have you seen the time? Haven't you had your shower yet?”

“I thought . . .”

“Get a move on. You'll be late.”

After mounting his bicycle, Kim hesitated. There was a light on in the main kitchen. Muriel was a bit ahead of him, so he made up his mind, rested his bike against the wall, and went in to let them know they were off to college. And just to make sure they understood, he added: Muriel and me, we're off. And he slammed the door. Marceline and Simone were left speechless.

Monday afternoon.

After two hours in the garden Marceline returned. Worried about leaving Simone alone for too long in charge of the baby. But everything was going fine. Simone was very organized; you'd have thought she'd been doing it all her life. Bottles, diapers, cuddles, bathing, she managed it all perfectly. Also, during the periods when the baby was asleep, she no longer watched TV; she didn't miss it at all. She had work to do. Knitting socks, bonnets and tops, in every conceivable color. Excellent. Reassured by all this, Marceline went back to her bedroom. To think about the situation, and worry of course. And then, just like that (because she should have done it long ago but hadn't had the time), she took her cello out of its case. To give it an airing. It certainly needed one. It also needed tuning, so she put that right. And of course that made her want to stretch her fingers. She played some notes and then, without thinking, a little piece. When she stopped, surprised and still a little moved, Simone put her head through the door. She was coming to give some news: the little one liked music! She had been crying for a while, kicking her little legs like crazy—she must have colic, the poor thing—and hey presto, at the first notes she'd stopped crying! As if by magic. You know what you have to do now, Marceline, she added jokingly.

Muriel dropped in to see them when she got back from college. She had thought a lot about it: if they wanted to keep the baby, that was all right by her. But she didn't want it herself. Period. Straight and
to the point, but there was a slight wavering. During the day they had all discussed what to do and what tactics to adopt. The only thing they could agree on was that she needed time. It remained to be seen if she would get used to the idea, change her mind or take to the baby. So they replied that it was all agreed. But that didn't stop her needing to register the birth at the town hall. Urgently. All right, the following morning before school they would take the baby in the car, since it had to be present too. Then they were going to have to find a name . . . She told them to pick one themselves. Fine, they would think and come up with some suggestions. No, she would rather they decided. They didn't want to give in—it felt important that she should be the one . . . But Simone was sick and tired having to call her the baby, the child, the little one, the little sweetie . . . so she butted in:

“How about Paulette?”

Vague expressions all around.

“Nice name, don't you think? What's the matter, don't you like it?”

Everyone took a sudden interest in the lines and curves on the tablecloth.

“How about you, Muriel, what do you think?”

Muriel shrugged and went out.

At the town hall they asked what name they should put down and Muriel replied:

Paulette. With Lucy, as her middle name.

It had been her mother's first name.

It came from the Latin and meant light, or lumière.

Thanks to Florence Sultan for her support, patience and that so attractive, slightly husky voice.

Also, of course, to Adeline Vanot, Christelle Pestana, Patricia Roussel, Virginie Ebat and Hélène Kloeckner.

The song quoted
here
is “Nuits de Chine,” lyrics by Ernest Dumont.

The song quoted
here
is “Arrêter les aiguilles,” lyrics by Paul Briollet/Paul Dalbret.

The website—Oldies Unite!—mentioned toward the end of the book (as created by Guy, Ferdinand, Marceline, Simone and Hortense) does exist. The site's French name is:
solidarvioc.com

Thanks to Étienne Kraeutler for acting as Webmaster and to Camille Constantine for her help with the graphic design and maintenance.

It is there to be consulted, added to, commented upon, and criticized (ouch! Do go easy, though . . .) As the name suggests, the site discusses solidarity between generations, between young and old.

Barbara Constantine was born in Nice, France, in 1955. She is a scriptwriter and ceramicist as well as a writer of novels for adults and young adults.
And Then Came Paulette
is her fourth, and the first to be translated into English.

Justin Phipps translates from French and Russian into English, most recently the crime novels of Xavier-Marie Bonnot.