Apocalypse Baby (20 page)

Vanessa pauses. She's spinning a bit of a yarn, of course. She has a right to, the Galtans have been spreading their own lies for long enough. She forgets to make it clear that she got pregnant immediately, and on purpose. François hadn't wanted to marry her. Because of his mother. So she presented him with a child. She was very young, she didn't know the ways of the world, she thought Galtan was a good catch. She's making it up about the park and the swimming pool. In fact she had the blues after Valentine was born. The child got in the way of her life. She'd left her with the grandmother. More and more often. She hadn't suspected anything. Jacqueline
was only too happy to take the child. She's just massaging the facts slightly, it's always pleasant to be a little economical with the truth if you can make yourself look a bit better.

‘And then I met someone. Just when I was least expecting it, that's life, I guess. This guy was good for nothing, he was a rich kid, but way off the rails, same age as me, face like an angel, and all he ever did was tinker with his Harley-Davidson and listen to Led Zeppelin. Face of an angel, character of a bastard. Classic.'

It had been the first time she'd really fallen for a man. She'd always had the advantage before. She had always slept for profit before, her mother had warned her that sex was only for pigs, and women got nothing out of it at all. On that point she had been wrong. Guillaume was a strictly cash payer. They were like in
Goodfellas
, when he went off somewhere he asked her how much she wanted and she showed him with her thumb and finger how thick the pile of notes should be. When he touched her it was like an electric shock. She'd walked out on François just like that. Without the least hesitation. She hadn't hurt him, she'd killed him. The morning she came back to pick up her things, she'd been missing for five days. She'd come home at dawn, high on coke. He was up, white-faced. If she'd snapped her fingers, he'd have opened his arms wide and taken her back at once. She was the love of his life, as she realized at that moment. She felt as if she was stabbing a sword into his heart. But it was inescapable. Love or be loved. And at that moment, she was in love. She thought it was the greatest thing in the world. And when François, still in shock, had asked her when she would come back to see Valentine, she'd said she'd telephone. She could see from his eyes that
he couldn't believe she wouldn't even give him some explanation. She'd packed her bag, she wanted to get out of the house before he collapsed. A bitch, yes, she's been a real bitch. But she paid for it later all right. Paid for what she'd done.

‘I'd have liked to take Valentine with me, but the way we lived, I couldn't. I wasn't thinking baby clothes. I wasn't yet twenty. I thought I had the right to my grand passion. But then when I tried to see Valentine again, I couldn't, they'd changed the locks and the concierge where the grandmother lived had been told not to let me in. People told me I should lodge a complaint. But I was living in one room, knee-deep in coke and stolen goods. How could I go to the cops?'

Guillaume had been in love with her, but he was incapable of fidelity. He always had to play the field. It made her ill. He liked making her cry, because those were the times he could see she was crazy about him. And then he'd comfort her, divinely. It quickly got to be a pattern. First I humiliate you, then I go off and cheat on you, than I come back and we make up. Coke and his prick, two addictions that went together. She'd never have left him, the dramas were part of their story. It was only by the amount it hurt that she knew how much she loved him. Pain and then relief. People who don't understand why some girls stay with a guy who hits them around don't know anything about women. It gets you behind your knees, deep in your guts, and you give in. You'd die for it. But then one day he hadn't come back. A bank hold-up. It was only at the trial that she found out that he too was married, with a kid, he hadn't said anything. His wife wasn't the kind to give way gracefully. Only one of them could have visiting rights.

‘I really did want to see my daughter again. I left Guillaume's place, I squatted with a girlfriend. François was expecting me to come crawling to him, begging to be taken back. But after what I'd experienced with Guillaume, I couldn't bear him to touch me. He took it very badly and since all he had left of me was the child… he just let his mother take charge. She'd been longing to anyway. Like a fool, I went round all the friends we'd had as a couple. Well, people I thought were my friends, I thought they'd help, talk to him, tell him I was perfectly capable, he could safely leave her with me. But they all testified against me. The whole lot of them. Not one of them refused to sign papers saying I was a nutcase, a threat, a nuisance, a drug addict and a thief. Anything the grandmother invented, they put their names to.'

She hadn't thought that leaving her daughter for three months would have had such lasting consequences. Valentine was just a baby, she didn't recognize anyone yet, and anyway she'd never breastfed her. Vanessa hadn't thought she was doing something really serious. But when she came back to see the people she knew when she was with François, they all avoided her, they were embarrassed. Galtan had some power in those days. He wrote a column in a newspaper. Enough for all of them to side with him, given the choice. The stronger party. And they did. Unanimously. They said horrible things about her, in black and white. They wrote, they signed, they photocopied their ID cards. They hadn't forgotten their own roots, oh no, or which way the wind was blowing. Even the ones she'd trusted. The lawyer she'd been allocated knew her case was lost in advance. Signed and sealed. And she had lost.
She could only see one good thing emerging from it: a girl her age was a lot more attractive to men without a kid round her neck.

‘I was entitled to one visit every fortnight, at the grandmother's house. It was like I was on probation. The old girl suggested right off that she could buy me a flat, in my name, somewhere a long way from Paris, making sure her name didn't show anywhere on the contract – and in exchange I'd give up any right to visit or to go to court. I didn't say yes at first. She put pressure on me every time I came to see Valentine. She'd be out, she'd forgotten to tell me. She'd keep Valentine up without a nap, to make sure she would grizzle all the time I was there. So I changed my mind. I got this flat, a fair size, eighty square metres, in the centre of Montpellier. That seemed far enough away for them to feel safe, I wouldn't bother them. I signed all these papers, that didn't have any legal force. Except that if ever one day I wanted to reopen the affair, there it would be, down in black and white, that in exchange for a flat, I'd agreed to disappear from my daughter's life. I know I could have gone back to the tribunal. I could have said I'd changed, that I'd been manipulated. But I never did it. They'd convinced me that it was the best thing for Valentine, and I ended up believing them.'

The old granny had loved the baby, you couldn't deny that. She couldn't stand it when Vanessa came to visit her. She'd had to fight to get a decent apartment, the old witch had wanted to fob her off with a bedsit in Marseille, getting on her high horse at the idea that Vanessa stood up for herself. So she'd decided to make the Galtans disappear from her life, she'd have a place of her own. She'd move town and change
her life. She could always have more children if she wanted to one day. She was still young, she saw her sisters having a kid every year, it wasn't anything special having kids. If babies were paid for by the kilo, the women in her family would be dining at the Ritz.

The detective listens, drinking her coffee, expressionless. Vanessa feels like hitting her, to make her show some reaction.

‘Well, I have to say, I'm over it all now. At first I thought I'd never be able to see a woman with her baby and not feel the pain. But no. The school run, taking them to the pool, birthday parties, coughs, colds, measles, homework, doing the laundry – women who need a child can't be getting what they want from a man.'

The detective's face still doesn't give anything away. Usually people take that kind of remark badly. You can call women bitches and whores and nobody will say a thing. But if you attack mothers, they get up on this soapbox and shake with anger. That's one good thing about lesbians, they don't play the shocked matron. The little detective, though, is looking at her with a sad expression. Vanessa knows she's talking too much. Like every time lately when she's had someone to talk to. A sort of verbal incontinence.

‘I spent less than six months away from Paris. I'd never lived in the provinces, but I realized right away I wasn't cut out for that. I sold the flat in the south. I invested the money. Until 13 September 2001. When the Twin Towers came down, within forty-eight hours I was at the bank selling all my shares. The banker was in despair. But I couldn't afford to find myself with nothing.'

She'd had the feeling, back then, that she had a small
fortune. But today, that's just a modest nest egg. Things panned out OK, though, for a new flat, another marriage. That's what guys are for, aren't they? No need to make a mystery out of that. A duplex in Joinville. She spent all the money she got from selling that one. She has had a lot of expenses, and never felt like taking a job. Her second husband wasn't the worst, but he paid for the others. He had a ready fist. When they quarrelled, it soon got nasty, he would end up clocking her one, aiming for her eye. She knew all the buttons to press to get him going. She'd cottoned on pretty quickly. It was the early days of the internet, and she kept all his emails. The ones where he apologized for hitting her. So when the divorce went through, bingo, she hit the jackpot. You could say she'd learned her lesson well.

After the second marriage, there had been Claude. She was back on coke, she had a serious habit. To get hold of the stuff without paying, she had continued to have a social life. New friends, in advertising, finance. That was how she'd met Claude, or rather he'd met her. He was over seventy and retired when she first got to know him. They came face to face at a charity event, and he fell for her. When she realized that he was coming on to her, she was irritated at first that a man of his age could imagine that a girl of her age… but Claude knew how to handle it. When she moved in with him, people called her a gold-digger. It was true that he'd won her over with presents. What's so bad about that? When an affair's over, what else do you have left? It was the first time she'd met someone like him. The Galtans were nouveaux riches, their money was the wealth of the cunning peasant who'd gambled at the right moment and then invested his earnings.
The grandmother might give herself all the airs she liked, she still had mud on her clogs. But Claude was another story. He didn't impress her by the money he spent going after her. It was his classiness that dazzled her. The first time she set foot in his house, she knew she'd stay there. Everything was so beautiful. He put her on a pedestal and never took her down. He could make anything he saw interesting. Even the ugly. He put her together again. And just for her to be there made him happy. Not proud. Happy.

He was patient with her. He knew her through and through. She didn't hide things from him. Sometimes when she turned to look at him, she was amazed to see how old he was, it gave her a shock, a moment of repulsion. But she didn't want to be anywhere else. Everyone looked at her askance, such a young girl with an old man, they knew what the attraction was all right. It was weird, certainly, to touch someone as old as that, his skin. Death was already at work on it. But she had to do it from time to time, and it could go on for hours, because he could hardly get it up, the sex was mostly in his head. She'd got used to it. Someone that age is still ‘a man' but really it's something else. A third sex, neither man nor woman. He liked her to undress in front of him. Of course she had been looking for a substitute father, she didn't see that as a problem, because she needed one, and he carried out the role perfectly. Claude had taught her things. He was very disdainful about other people. Their opinions mattered very little to him. She had told him about Valentine. She's often thought about Claude since the kid turned up again. She wished he could be there, so that she could ask his advice. With him she'd understood there could be love outside
passion, a stronger link than the kind made by compulsion. A peaceful understanding. Claude knew what she felt for Valentine, or rather what she didn't feel. He told her not to worry. That women had been having children they didn't care for afterwards since the world began. That to get sentimental over it was the kind of thing scullery-maids did. He said she was lucky, because there's nothing like having children to drive you crazy. One morning she'd woken up to find him lying still in bed beside her. Claude normally slept very little. He was never there in the morning. She would usually find him in his study. She'd jumped out of bed, horrified. She knew. His own children turned up the same day. When they realized that he had never secretly married her, or even left her anything in his will, they breathed sighs of relief. They sent her packing before the day was out. Two daughters and a son, three great stupid caterpillars. You should have seen them that day, going round the house, putting her things in cardboard boxes. They had arguments over every item. They had her out of the house in three hours. Watching them, she thought about what Claude had said about children. Three shameless grabbers, bustling about in his study, his cupboards. She knew he'd been right. That's family for you. And that's what people make this big fuss about.

She had never understood how he could have left her in that situation. He must have thought about it after all. Perhaps he thought she was cleverer than she was. She should have made sure of all the presents he'd given her, and any other objects she liked, before calling the doctor. She'd found herself on the pavement, without a credit card and with nowhere to go. Three cardboard boxes, one suitcase and one very good coat
she'd managed to snatch away from the heirs. If you're happy somewhere, you're only a temporary resident. You can be chucked out any time.