And Then Came Paulette (3 page)

Saturday, Mireille had prepared some sandwiches for the kids' lunch. That evening it was the big hunters' dinner. She had taken on four extra staff members: Muriel and Louise to do the waitressing and two hands in the kitchen, all of them students. It was cheaper than using qualified staff. The drawback was they'd never worked in catering before, so everything had to be spelled out and that wasted time. The atmosphere was rather tense. Roland bustled around all over the place, barking like a yappy little dog, and losing his temper, something he apparently inherited from his mother. The two boys in the kitchen found him quite a handful, so they took breaks whenever they could. Kim, the sweeter one, explained to the girls that they did this so they wouldn't lose it with him. Muriel and Louise joined them outside for a smoke and a laugh. They were lucky working in the dining room: it was less stressful there. The owner, Mireille, kept a close eye on them, which was a pain, but she was nice, so it was all right.

Ludo and Little Lu stayed upstairs in the apartment the whole morning. They played together, and then did some homework, as Mireille had asked them. About midday they started to feel hungry and they raced downstairs to see who could reach the kitchen first. Ludo won, of course. He was older. Seeing his father laboring at the stove, cheeks on fire and sweat trickling down his neck, Ludo stifled his cries of triumph. And Little Lu, coming down behind him, his bitter complaints. But it was too late. The racket they made had already had an impact. His eyes bulging, Roland turned and yelled: “Get out of here! Don't disturb me!” In a panic they fled, racing out through the main dining room. Mireille managed to stop them. She could see Little Lu was about to cry, but she was in a hurry, so she pretended she hadn't. She handed them their sandwiches, reeling off a list of instructions. First go outside and eat, so you don't make a mess and get crumbs everywhere—careful, for goodness sake! Yes, Papa was a bit stressed, but they must understand that these big dinners always made him like that. There was pressure; he had a lot going on. So today, they must be good and manage on their own, just like grown-ups. And the weather was nice; it wasn't raining anymore. That was lucky, they should make the most of it and play outside all afternoon. Did they understand? Together they nodded and said: “Yes, Maman.” She handed them their coats, opened the door, and told them to go outside, now, please.

They ate their sandwiches on the steps without speaking. Then they thought about what game to play: Hopscotch, Tig, or What's the Time, Mr. Wolf? But to be honest they weren't that keen on any of them. So they went to fetch their bikes from the garage. They were only allowed to ride them in the backyard behind the restaurant, so it wasn't much fun. Their parents always told them not to go on the road, because they were still too little and cars were dangerous. Ludo agreed that in Little Lu's case that was true. He was still a baby: he'd just started at
primary school and only rode a trike. But Ludo was in second grade and had his cool mountain bike, so it was really stupid. All the same they did race around in circles for a quarter of an hour, before they stopped. And started to get seriously bored.

But not for long. It was Ludo who had the idea. He went to look for some string in the garage. He tied one end to the saddlebag on his bike and the other to the handlebars on Little Lu's tricycle. And leaning forward, with one foot on the pedal, he waited for the right moment to go.

Half an hour later they had only managed one mile, and they were already tired.

It was all right at the beginning. Little Lu helped Ludo a bit. But after a while he just let himself be pulled along, without pedaling at all. He kept looking behind to keep an eye on the road. It was his job to give the warning when he heard a car coming. He was very conscientious about this. Ludo, of course, was responsible for the traffic ahead. When something came, they quickly parked by the side of the road, laid their bikes in the long grass and hid in the ditch until the car had gone past. They did that to prevent anyone from recognizing them and telling their parents. But all the stopping took time. Also it was Saturday, market day, and there was quite a lot of traffic.

After the bend Little Lu couldn't see the road any longer, but he still heard something and shouted: “Car coming!” They crouched down in the ditch, craning their necks to watch the vehicle go by. But this time it wasn't a car, it was the lady who sold vegetables and honey at the market. They didn't know anyone else who went around with a donkey cart.

She stopped by them. Berthe, her dog, came over and had a sniff.

“You looking for snails, kids?”

“No, just having a rest.”

“That's nice. Where are you off to?”

“To see Ferdinand, our papi.”

“He's going to get a bit of a surprise, isn't he? You know you've still got a mile to go.”

“That's OK.”

“Do you want a ride in the cart?”

Of course they did. She went up to the donkey.

“Now then Cornelius, my dear, will you take these two youngsters to their papi's house?”

Little Lu and Ludo laughed with embarrassment. Marceline whispered: “We can't be sure he'll agree, you know.” She felt in her pocket and slipped them each a piece of carrot. They held out their hands. The donkey delicately took the bits, and munched them while nodding his head.

“Oh, I'm so glad you said yes. Thank you, Cornelius, my dear.”

The children stared at one another, both taken in. They hadn't realized donkeys could understand words so well.

Ferdinand on the telephone: “Hello, is that Mireille? Don't suppose you've lost anything today, have you? No, it's not a riddle. Right, I'll explain. Ludovic and Lucien have just turned up at the farm with their bikes. They're fine, I was thinking I'd make them some crêpes for tea.”

He held the receiver away from his ear as she gave a shout. Then:

“Yep, that's it, on their bikes . . .”

“My neighbor, Madame Marceline, found them up the road on her way back from market.”

“Just a bit tired.”

“Of course I told them off. They've promised me they won't do it again.”

“I can bring them back after tea, but . . .”

“These dinners finish late, don't they?”

“One in the morning . . .”

“Two o'clock? You poor things, you're going to be tired.”

“If I were you, I'd . . .”

“But it's natural to be stressed, Mireille. I understand.”

“You're right, I think it's better too.”

“OK, Mireille.”

“Don't worry, we'll manage.”

“See you tomorrow then.”

“Yes, after lunch.”

“Night.”

He hung up and, gamboling like lambs, the two boys threw their arms around his neck. Little Chamalo was scared and went off to hide under the bed. It took them ages (and most of the leftover roast chicken) to make him come out.

Ferdinand had to change the menu for supper. Unanimously they voted for spaghetti.

The children shared the bed in the room next to his. In the past it had been Henriette's room. But Ferdinand had changed everything since then: the bedding, the wallpaper, even the decoration. Roland loved his mother's collection of china ornaments, so Ferdinand gave them to him. In their place he put Ludovic and Lucien's work since they started preschool: drawings, paintings, pasta necklaces, playdough sculptures and toilet paper rolls with Santa Claus heads.

It was much nicer like that.

He left the adjoining door ajar, in case the boys woke during the night.

Worn out by all the cycling, Ludo was the first to go to sleep. Beside him Little Lu still had his eyes wide open. He clutched little Chamalo close to him. Eventually he nudged his brother in the ribs and speaking in what he thought was a whisper, asked:

“You asleep?”

“Mm.”

“You know, Ludo, I'm pretty sure I don't love Papa anymore. How about you?”

“Yep, me too.”

“That right?”

There was silence and then Ludo went on:

“He's a moron.”

“Is that a swear word?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, right.”

Little Lu was delighted.

“What's it mean then?”

“He's an idiot.”

“In that case yeah, Papa's a big, fat moron!”

They dived under the blanket to stifle their laughter. And little Chamalo seized the chance to flee.

From his room Ferdinand had heard every word, but hesitated to intervene.

On the one hand he felt he should. On the other hand . . .

He wasn't supposed to have heard, so he smiled. Told himself that children these days were very sassy. He no longer remembered what he had thought at that age—if he could it would be interesting to compare the two. He tried, but nothing came back. Little Chamalo curled up against him and eventually went off to sleep, purring in his ear. Not really what you need when you're trying to think.

The organizers of the dinner had produced a list of guests willing to stay sober. These designated drivers would take their friends or partners home at the end of the evening when they were completely drunk. But, as always, there were a few unable to hold out. Two drivers down already. Mireille had spotted them. Almost two in the morning, the evening was far from over and her feet really hurt. She thought about the moment when, due to a shortage of staff, she would have to take them home herself. Not a thrilling prospect. There was always the risk of finding herself with a guy who, inhibitions gone after all that alcohol, would try and kiss her, grope her breasts with one hand, the other on his fly. Or the sort who'd vomit over the car seats. No she wasn't excited by the idea. She looked at Roland. He didn't excite her much either. Or at all in fact. He'd finished working in the kitchen an hour ago and had sat straight down at one of the tables. He was drinking a lot and laughing loudly. Everything she hated. In her eyes it was common and inappropriate for the owner of a restaurant to mingle with the customers. In fact she found it difficult to stand anything he
did. Particularly since he'd put on weight. At first she'd thought it was just a passing phase and she would get over her disgust. But that paunch of his just kept on growing. She'd had a belly like that herself just before she had Ludovic. Or was it Lucien? Both times it was just the same. She hated to see herself so deformed. Not her thing at all. She lost her desire and her libido. For months. And even afterward, it had never come back like before.

It amazed her that she could still feel so jealous. Reminded her of the days when she was still in love. It had been her idea to hire the boys, not girls, to help Roland in the kitchen. To avoid putting temptation his way. You never knew. There's not much space in a kitchen: you're can't help touching people. It's noisy too, you need to have eye contact, and that's bound to create a bond. Also there's the atmosphere, the heat of the ovens, the teamwork; adrenaline flows. Anything can happen. The head chef going off with the young commis chef at the end of the evening—it's not just in books or in the movies. No wonder she freaked out. The same thing had happened to her, nine years previously. She had been temping one evening in a restaurant where Roland worked.

Mireille knew how these things went. She had tried it herself.

Still, she had no regrets about having hired the two girls for the waitressing. They were both great. Students at the nursing college. That should teach them to be organized and stay calm in any situation. That wandering hand incident, well done! It had happened to Louise, but Muriel, the cooler one, had gone to sort it out. She stood right in front of the guy, slapped him one in the face and with a smile asked if the service was satisfactory, and whether there was anything else Monsieur required. The people around him clapped and the evening went off without any further hitches. Ace.

Mireille was bored. She went to the kitchen to check if the two hands had cleared up and were starting on the dishes. That way there
would be less left for her to do on the Sunday morning. She pushed open the door. Kim and Adrien were sitting on crates draining the wine from the customers' glasses. They must have been at it for a while: they were doubled up with laughter. When they caught sight of her they didn't bat an eyelid and asked her to join them. Her first instinct was to give them a piece of her mind. But it was two in the morning. Fifteen hours working nonstop, so . . .

She went back into the dining room, gestured to the girls to join her in the kitchen, took a bottle of champagne from the fridge and popped the cork.

“Come on, it's late and it's raining, I'm going to take you all home. Thank you, you've really worked hard today.”

They raised their glasses.

“Cheers!”

The boys laughter and glee soon gave way to an impromptu belching contest.

Alcohol was like that; it made you stupid. At least that's what the three women were thinking. But they hadn't started drinking yet.

The storm began at about two in the morning. Violent winds, sheets of rain. Breathtaking. Inside her little house, Marceline hadn't slept. She spent the night moving furniture, putting buckets and bowls under the leaks and running out to empty them. Exhausting.

Now she was going to inspect the damage in the light of day. She took the ladder from under the hen shelter and dragged it to the house, rested it against the wall, stepped back to check if it was in the right place, then adjusted it several times. Seven inches more to the right, four to the left, reassuring herself it was stable. All the while floundering in the mud. As she put her foot on the first rung, she told herself that wearing a skirt wasn't very practical. She went back inside, took a pair of pants from the shelf, only to discover that all her clothes were soaking wet. There was a leak she hadn't spotted, right over the cupboard.

Standing in front of the ladder she hesitated. Humming nervously as she plucked up courage. She climbed one rung, then another, stopped to get her breath back and tried not to look down at the
ground. She was still only halfway up and already her legs had gone wobbly. She was feeling giddy. She looked up and saw the clouds gathering. Soon it would rain again. She climbed without stopping. Her eyes tight shut. When she reached the top she opened them again and saw the state of the roof.

Cold rain, like stair rods. Marceline had put on her raincoat and stuffed the pockets with all the plastic bags she could find. She went back up the ladder. No hesitation this time. Desperately she tried to seal the gaps between the tiles with rolled-up bags. She knew how feeble these repairs were, but for the moment she had no other solution.

Totally focused on rescuing her house, she didn't hear the dog bark or the children call out:

“Madame! Madame Marceline!”

Ludo and Little Lu shouted as loud as they could. A little further away Ferdinand had stopped to look at the roof and was sadly noting the extent of the damage. The dog came over to him, rubbed against his legs and placed her head under his hand for a pat. Up above, Marceline had run out of plastic bags, so she started to come down. Finally she saw the children at the foot of the ladder, their faces craning up at her, streaming with rain. They laughed and danced in the puddles, two little imps wearing oilskin coats that were far too big for them.

“We've got some carrots for lovely Cornelius and some apples too.”

She didn't dare look at Ferdinand. Not so much because of the vertigo. But to avoid the look of dismay on his face.

Just as well it was now raining even harder, she decided. No one would see her tears or hear her sobs.

Under his shelter Cornelius took the carrots and apples offered by the children and ate them while nodding his head.

“Are you pleased to see us, Cornelius? You do like carrots, don't you? And apples too? Can we have another ride in the cart sometime?”

Little Lu was so proud. He could prove to Ferdinand that the donkey understood everything.

“See! You thought we were making it up.”

Ludo nodded and gave the two old people a knowing look. It was like with Father Christmas. He was pretending, for the sake of his little brother. That was the privilege of being the older one. Or the disadvantage.

Ferdinand helped Marceline put a tarpaulin over the roof. When they'd finished he told her she needed to call the roofer and ask him to come immediately. She looked away. He didn't insist. After a while he added that if in the meantime she wanted to store her things at his place, that wouldn't be a problem. She thought it over, went into the house, and came out again a few minutes later, carrying something bulky in her arms, swaddled in a blanket. Holding it like a baby, she laid the delicate object in the back of the car. The children were curious. A cello, she told them. It was fragile and didn't like the damp. If it stayed under the leaks for too long it could catch a cold just like a human being. So she asked them to look after her cello while the work on her house was completed.