Too Close to the Edge (6 page)

‘Do you have a cold?’

‘It doesn’t take much – a shower, a bit of a breeze and that’s it! So, Étienne. What shall we do?’

‘Éliette, would we be outstaying our welcome if …?’

‘Not at all. As I said, my children don’t arrive until Friday, so it’s no problem.’

‘Thank you, Éliette. But we’ll take care of the shopping and cooking. Agreed?’

‘Agreed. We can sort that out tomorrow. We’ve got everything we need for tonight. Oh, looks like we’ve got a visitor …’

The police van parked in front of the gate. Two gendarmes got out. They were red-faced, with rings of sweat under the arms of their shirts. Éliette went to greet them.

‘Bonjour, Messieurs.’

‘Bonjour, Madame Vélard … Monsieur, Mademoiselle.’

Étienne and Agnès barely nodded.

‘Have you come from the Jauberts’?’

‘Yes. What a tragedy. No matter how many times you see these things happen, it’s still a shock. And it makes you wonder what gets into these kids the minute they have a steering wheel in their hands. Twice we’d arrested Patrick! … Though it’s a bit different this time. Anyway, since we were just down the road and we know you like riding about in your
little car on the back roads, we wondered if by any chance you might have come across anybody on foot who might have seemed a bit … strange?’

‘No. I went to Montélimar yesterday and then …’

As she replayed the previous day’s events, she instinctively turned to Étienne before going on.

‘… and then I came home again. I didn’t notice anything strange.’

‘Just asking on the off-chance. And Monsieur, Madame, you didn’t see anything either?’

‘We arrived on the train this morning.’

Étienne’s reply rolled straight off the tongue, as if he had learnt the line by heart. Éliette was somewhat taken aback.

‘Well then … We won’t keep you.’

‘Is it to do with the other car?’

‘Yes, Madame Vélard. We’ve identified the owner. His vehicle was stolen around midday yesterday from the car park at Montélimar station. The fuel tank was empty. The thief must have panicked. Stupid. Right, we’re off. Goodbye, Madame Vélard, Monsieur, Madame.’

Even after they had gone, a blue stain seemed to linger where they had stood. Étienne lay with his arm across his face and his head thrown back. Agnès was rolling pebbles through her fingers and Éliette was desperately trying to find the key to escape the heavy silence. The light was tinted copper and the house’s stonework was blushing pink. Agnès got up suddenly.

‘I’m going to do the washing up. I need to move.’

She disappeared, swallowed up in the shadows of the doorway.

‘Éliette, why didn’t you tell the gendarmes how we met?’

‘Because … because it’s beside the point! You had an argument with your girlfriend and she left you in the middle of nowhere, isn’t that right?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘And the reason you told them you’d arrived on the train this morning was to avoid having to go into details like that.’

‘Exactly. Why complicate things?’

‘In the past, I always had to be in control, to understand and check everything. I couldn’t feel at ease without answers and solutions. But since Charles died, I’ve tended to let things come and go as they please.’

‘Did you love your husband very much?’

‘Yes. The way we felt about one another was never in doubt. But … how can I put it? It’s as if that was another life. I think of it now as if it belonged to someone else. I’ve changed. I don’t know if the life I had with him would suit me nowadays.’

Éliette got to her feet and began pulling up a few weeds around a scrawny rose bush. Étienne watched her through half-closed eyes. She was like a ripe fruit whose sugar was turning to honey. Certain people, like certain plants, flowered several times in one season. Others would never bear a single fruit: no sooner had they blossomed than they were already wilting. Étienne thought of himself as akin to an avocado stone: you kept its bottom wet in a mustard jar and it sprouted
one measly stem, busting its guts to produce a single flower as pathetic as a flag at half mast. So much must come down to the soil the plant was grown in, the amount of water and sun it got. Above all, it rested on the great gardener on high knowing what he was doing …

‘You’ve got green fingers then?’

‘Let’s just say I try.’

‘Unlike me; I’ve managed to kill fake flowers before.’

‘That’s quite a feat!’

‘I know. I’m quite proud of myself.’

Through the open kitchen window they could hear Agnès singing Gainsbourg:
‘Inceste de citron, papa, papa …’

Agnès’s sniffle did not appear to have cleared up, but strangely it had given her a burst of boundless energy. She had done the cooking and laid the table; now she was like a moth fluttering around the flickering light of the candles. All that was left of the daylight was a trace of purple at the bottom of the sky, with the rolling mountains starkly outlined against it. As at lunchtime, the conversation covered all kinds of topics, but everyone made a conscious effort to avoid talking about themselves. Hiding behind tales of other people’s adventures was like swanning about at a masked ball. They had already polished off two bottles of rosé and Étienne was opening a third when a headlight swept like a brushstroke over the line of poplars at the entrance to the drive.

‘That must be Serge and his friend. I rang earlier to see how they were. I told them to pop in for a drink, depending on how things were at home.’

The two young men appeared, their pale clothes almost phosphorescent against the dark mouth of the garden gate. Éliette did the introductions. Agnès made yet another excuse to slip inside the house, this time in order to fetch glasses. Éliette noticed that these comings and goings seemed to be getting on Étienne’s nerves. Serge’s face was drawn; Zep never took his eyes off him.

‘So, how is everything?’

‘Not great. Things are OK with Maman, but Papa’s not speaking to me. My uncle and aunt came down from Aubenas this afternoon. They’re staying a few days. I took the opportunity to get on with some of the formalities, going to the undertakers’ and so on. Any excuse to get out of the house. The funeral’s on Friday.’

‘OK. I’ll go and see them tomorrow. Try not to blame your father. He’s having a hard time. It might not look like it, but he’s more fragile than your mother.’

‘I don’t blame him. It just hurts, that’s all. You saw how he was this morning when I tried to help him …’

‘He was drunk.’

‘It’s almost worse when he’s sober. It’s as if he thinks I’m the one who killed Patrick. I’m hurting too, even though Patrick and I didn’t get on. I saw him two months ago in Grenoble; he wanted me to sign something. We had a row. You don’t know at the time you’re never going to see someone again; it’s only afterwards …’

Serge had tears in his eyes. Zep placed a hand on his shoulder. Étienne stood up, uncomfortable, made his excuses and went into the house.

Agnès was sitting on the bed tidying away her little kit: mirror, straw, razor blade.

‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough tonight?’

‘This is the last one! You’re so fucking tight! God, it’s good though. What’s your problem?’

‘Nothing. I’m sick of hearing about that accident.’

‘Chill out. Nothing’s gonna happen. And anyway, Éliette
has the hots for you, big time. I wouldn’t mind having her as a stepmother. By the way, where am I sleeping tonight?’

‘Don’t know, don’t care.’

‘Thanks very much! OK, I’ll stop pissing around. I think I’ve got an idea, a client.’

‘Who’s that then?’

‘A guy who works in the movies. I’ve sold to him before; there’s never been a problem.’

‘Nothing to do with Théo?’

‘No, different network. Only thing is, if we want to get rid of the whole lot at once, we can’t be too greedy.’

‘And where is this guy?’

‘Down on the Côte d’Azur at the moment, I think. I’d have to make a phone call.’

‘I don’t know … We don’t want to rush things.’

‘Rush things?! Do you have any idea of the shit you’ve got us into in the last twenty-four hours? D’you really think we have a choice? We’re not on our holidays at Auntie Éliette’s, dearest Daddykins. We’ve got two days at most before we need to get the hell out of here, as far away as we can get, because let me tell you, Théo’s not going to let two kilos of good coke go without a fight, especially not to you. Don’t forget you already pinched his woman – that would be me!’

‘He didn’t give a shit about you. That’s why he gave the job to me!’

‘How stupid are you? Do you really think you’d have got it if I hadn’t made him give it to you?’

‘You promised me you wouldn’t see him again!’

‘Oh, calm down … You didn’t have two coins to rub together … Anyway, don’t worry, nothing happened. So what do you think?’

Agnès was right. They had to make a move, try something. There was no use pretending, and yet …

The sound of Éliette’s voice calling from the garden made him jump. He leant out of the window.

‘Étienne, when you come down, would you mind bringing the telescope with you? It’s in my room, next to the wardrobe.’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’

‘There’s a magnificent sky tonight and Zep’s a bit of an astronomer!’

‘Righty-ho. On my way.’

How dumb the stars looked, as dull as the streetlights lining the motorway. Agnès was lying on her back, knees bent, thighs bared, smoking a cigarette. The white triangle of her knickers was curved like a scallop shell.

‘Well?’

‘OK. But be careful.’

Agnès joined the other four in the garden a quarter of an hour later. They were drinking wine and staring up at the stars. Zep was pointing up at the sky, reeling off clever-sounding names that his accent made sound even more exotic. They took turns pressing their eye to the telescope and exclaiming, ‘What a view!’ All except Étienne, who passed on his go, preferring to keep a suitable distance between himself and the stars looking down on him in scorn.

‘I prefer the bit in between, the darkness. The part you can’t see.’

They all stopped talking after that. They let space seep inside them; the sky was reflected on earth. Serge and Zep had their arms round each other’s necks; Agnès was lying on the grass, arms outstretched, Éliette on one of the loungers with her hands behind her head; and Étienne sat perched on the bench, chin in his hands, elbows on his knees. There was no movement, only a twinkling like an aura around each of them. They had become a kind of constellation, in a scenario brought about by what we call chance, for want of a better word. It lasted for a split second, or an hour … Serge and Zep whispered a few words in each other’s ears and stood up.

‘Éliette, it’s getting late. We should head back up there.’

‘Up there? Oh, yes! Come back whenever you want.’

‘Thanks, Éliette. It’s so nice to be able to … just be ourselves. Good night. Good night, Étienne. Lovely to meet you. Good night, Agnès.’

The three left behind watched the other two dissolving into the night, the same way they had come. Agnès stretched her limbs.

‘Mmm! It’s so pretty. You can see angels all over the place tonight … Éliette, where am I sleeping?’

‘Wherever you want, love. The room next to your father’s.’

‘It’s love, now, is it?’

‘Oh, sorry, I …’

‘It’s fine. Love is all around. Good night!’

Neither Éliette nor Étienne knew how to take their leave. Perhaps they did not wish to. They both watched the light come on at Agnès’s window. Earlier, Zep had explained to them how stars were dying and being born all the time. The sky was sparkling. The light bulb in the bedroom went out, but its image stayed imprinted on their retinas for a long time afterwards. All his life, Étienne had been in bars at closing time, among the last ones standing at the end of the party. He liked being around people who refused to accept it was over, who fought a losing battle against the inevitable.

‘Éliette, how about a game of “Say what you’re thinking”?’

‘How does it work?’

‘You don’t think about it. You just say the first thing that comes into your head.’

‘OK. Do we take it in turns?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right then. Say what you’re thinking.’

‘I’m thinking it’s too soon for everything.’

‘I’m thinking we ought to get several lives.’

‘I’m thinking my death will serve no purpose and that’s a missed opportunity on God’s part.’

‘I’m thinking I don’t want to make up my mind whether I’m too hot or too cold.’

‘I’m thinking my family has a lot of dirty linen to air and it’s getting out of hand.’

‘I’m not thinking about my family, but I’ve got a big pile of dirty linen too.’

‘I’m thinking that if I hadn’t had a daughter, I wouldn’t necessarily have had a dog.’

‘I’m thinking we don’t have to do anything, but everything is important.’

‘I’m thinking no one is ever happy and that’s our only source of satisfaction.’

‘I’m thinking everyone else is better than me.’

‘I’m thinking we shouldn’t want to please everyone.’

‘I’m thinking everyone else lies except me, and it’s not a nice thought.’

‘I’m thinking of all the times a lie has helped me to tell an unexpected truth.’

‘I’m thinking of a quote of De Gaulle’s: “I’ve spent a lot of time pretending, and usually it has worked.”’

‘I’m thinking we should have been warned the world was ending.’

‘I’m thinking I’m dreading the sun rising in a few hours.’

‘I’m thinking tomorrow is not another day.’

‘I’m thinking by going too far you get back to where you started.’

Their fingers had become entwined; it wasn’t a game any more.

Éliette had not taken in a word of the news, despite the fact the radio was droning in her ear. They could have told her the world had ended and still she would have carried on sipping her tea, staring into space, lost in thought. A fly was keeping her company, buzzing from one jar of jam to another, totally absorbed in its essential function: eating and washing its sticky feet in the tiny pool of tea beside the teapot. Éliette felt in perfect harmony with the fly. The minimalism of its existence suited her down to the ground. To aspire to more than eating jam and washing one’s feet in tea seemed unnecessary. It had pretty eyes as well, this fly, and wings for which Éliette would have gladly swapped her feet. Agnès wafted into the kitchen wearing only her large men’s shirt. She mumbled a hello as she sailed past without a glance in Éliette’s direction. She sat down and poured herself a tea with such delicacy that she chipped the cup.

‘Morning, Agnès. Sleep all right?’

‘No. It’s too quiet here; it keeps me awake. What about you two?’

‘I slept very well. As for Étienne, you’ll have to ask him yourself. I think he slept on the sofa in the living room. I heard snoring.’

‘Oh!’

With her mass of wild red hair and big black eye she looked like a clown who had messed up his act.

‘Shall I do you some toast?’

‘Er …. OK.’

‘It’s always like this the first few nights when city people come to stay. The silence gets to them. But they get used to it.’

‘You need time for that.’

‘For what?’

‘To get used to it. I’ve never had time to get used to anything. Just as well – I don’t like habits. Why did he sleep in the lounge?’

‘I don’t know. He was still in the garden when I went up to bed. He was asleep on one of the loungers.’

‘Pissed?’

‘No, just tired, I think. Here’s your toast.’

‘Thanks. He’s always tired. Some people have dogs for companions; he’s got his tiredness. I’m heading off today; I’ll be back tomorrow night.’

‘Oh! OK then.’

‘I can’t stay in one place. Gotta keep moving. I’ve got mates on the Côte. I’ll visit them and then head back up.’

‘Right, well, if you like …’

‘Can we borrow the limo? Étienne has some shopping to do. He’ll drop me off at the station.’

‘Yes, fine.’

‘It’ll give the two of you some space.’

‘Honestly, you’re no trouble, Agnès.’

‘I know. But we should all be playing with friends our own age. I’ll go and wake him up. My train’s at eleven.’

Étienne was curled up on the sofa with Éliette’s cardigan thrown over his shoulders. Certain pre-Columbian mummies had adopted the same foetal position for their last journey.

‘Étienne! … Étienne!’

Agnès’s face appeared just at the point in his dream when he was finishing setting up a cycle race.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’

‘I could ask you the same question. Why aren’t you in your room?’

‘I fell asleep in the garden. In the middle of the night I got cold and came and flopped down here.’

‘I thought you were in with Éliette.’

‘And what if I was?’

‘Nothing. My train’s at eleven. Éliette’s lending us her wheels. I’m going to see my mate in La Ciotat. I’ll be back tomorrow night.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘The buyer I told you about last night. He’s up for it, but he needs to try it.’

‘And then what?’

‘How should I know? We’ll see what happens. So are you gonna let me do my thing, or what?’

‘Yes. I think I might have a shower and get changed. You’ve got a face like a slapped arse.’

‘I just want to get out of here.’

It was the first time the Aixam had left without her. Éliette watched the little cream car disappear at the end of the road and, for want of anything else to do, decided to sort out her paperwork. It felt strange to be alone in the house again. The ‘strangeness’ came from already missing him. Étienne had not been gone five minutes and she was already eagerly awaiting his return. Being alone felt different now. Less serene, perhaps, but how delicious it was to be filled with uncertainty: ‘Is he coming back?’ Waiting for someone, having someone waiting for you … No, nothing had happened besides their two hands pressed together between the sunloungers. Étienne had fallen asleep and she had left him in the care of the star-studded sky. It was important not to make any hasty moves. You didn’t wake a sleepwalker standing on the edge of a roof. Agnès’s departure this morning had not come as a surprise but seemed perfectly natural. She too must have felt that this Wednesday and Thursday were for them … only them. When she opened her eyes again, Éliette realised she had just torn her EDF bill into a thousand pieces of confetti.

Throughout the journey, Agnès had not stopped complaining about how fucking slow the piece of shit toy car was.

‘I feel like I’m in a wheelchair. Put your foot down, damn it!’

‘My foot’s touching the floor!’

For the second time in Étienne’s life, he found himself at Montélimar station. It was no worse than any other station, but he had no wish to hang around there. Agnès got out,
slammed the door rather violently and went round to give her father a kiss through the open window.

‘Don’t do anything stupid, Étienne.’

‘It’s me who should be worried!’

‘No. I’m going to do a deal: it’s clear, straightforward; it’s a certain amount per gram. As for you … you’re putty in Éliette’s hands.’

‘What are you on about?’

‘Watch out, Daddykins. The most dangerous thing about danger is that it comes where you least expect it.’

‘Well, aren’t you the philosopher.’

‘I’m a wise old woman – older, even, than Éliette. I’ll call you tonight.’

As she ran off into the station, bag slung over her shoulder, Étienne realised he had never seen her on the beach with a bucket and spade. One day they would go on holiday together. One day …

Éliette had given up poring over paperwork and gone back to the Colette biography. She read the first line of the fourth chapter for the tenth time, and still took nothing in. Nothing can fill the gap of waiting, other than a swift blow to the head. She had reached the point of wondering whether to cut her toenails or fingernails when the sound of an engine swept away all such noble thoughts. It wasn’t the Aixam, but Paul’s diesel engine. She let out a curse that was absorbed into the hush of the house.

‘Hello, Paul!’

‘Hi … Éliette. Gonna be a hot one.’

His speech was slurred, his step unsteady. His car was parked at an angle across the drive, its nose pointing into the ditch.

‘Not disturbing you, am I?’

‘Of course not. Fancy a coffee?’

‘Not really the drink for this time of day, but if you like …’

‘A pastis then?’

‘I wouldn’t say no.’

In the kitchen he instinctively sat at the table and took up the same position as he had the day before, elbows on the oilcloth, shoulders hunched.

‘How’s Rose?’

‘All right. She’s wilting.’

This unusual attempt at humour caught Éliette off guard.

‘What about you?’

‘Oh, just wonderful! One of my lads has just got himself killed and the other’s about to marry a Kraut. May as well get the wedding and funeral done in one go!’

‘You shouldn’t be so hard on Serge. He’s different, so what? He’s hurting too. He loved his brother and he loves you.’

‘Too much love, that’s his problem! You can’t go around loving everybody.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because … Oh, I don’t know. Because it all becomes a mess, one big orgy! There are men and there are women, and it’s complicated enough as it is!’

He downed his pastis in one, ran a hand across his face and looked at his palm as though trying to find his reflection in a mirror.

‘You can’t have it all, is all I’m saying!’ he continued.

‘Why? It’s not a crime! Serge is gay and you’ve known that for years. He and his boyfriend love each other. Where’s the harm in that?’

‘Well, let me tell you, if I feel like doing … with anyone I like, I … It’s a bloody joke! It’s not right!’

Paul had stood up. He had gripped the edge of the sink with both hands and was tugging on it as if he wanted to rip it out. He was sweating heavily and his ears were as red as a tobacconist’s shop sign. He looked to Éliette like a wild boar being chased.

‘So you understand everything, do you? Everything’s normal to you, is it? And what if I told you I’ve wanted you for years? What would you say to that, eh? What would you say?’ he asked insistently.

He was now standing close behind her, his rough hands clamped around her shoulders.

‘You’re hurting me, Paul. It’s the alcohol talking, and the pain you’re in. You should go home.’

‘I’m not pissed. I could drink a whole tank of pastis and I still wouldn’t be drunk. Why shouldn’t I get to do what I want, the way everyone else does? I want you! You have no idea how much I want you!’

Trapped in his gnarly arms, Éliette could do nothing but squirm in her chair, saying over and over again, ‘That’s enough, Paul. You’re hurting me!’

But the harder she fought back, the tighter he gripped. His stubble scratched her cheek. Stale sweat and the taste of aniseed made her retch. They fell to the floor together. Paul’s left hand clasped Éliette’s face, while his right hand groped under her dress. His fingers were like tools, hard and coarse. His breath whooshed in her ear like a pressure hose. The more Éliette squirmed, the more Paul bore down on her, a ton of long-suppressed desire. He was on the verge of penetrating her when a noise rang out like a gong.

Paul let out a groan and fell onto his side, clutching his head. Étienne was standing above them with a cast-iron casserole dish in his hand.

‘Don’t just lie there, Éliette. Run.’

‘Is he …?’

‘No, just stunned. Get out of here.’

Éliette limped out of the kitchen.

Étienne pulled up a chair and placed the casserole dish on his lap. Paul was moaning and wriggling on the ground like a big flaccid worm. Blood was trickling from his ear. He stammered, ‘I didn’t do anything! … I didn’t do anything!’ Étienne kicked him in the side.

‘Get out.’

Paul propped himself up on his elbow and stared at Étienne, red-eyed.

‘Bastard!’

‘Get out, before I do your face in.’

Paul got up on all fours and ran his hand across his blotchy face. He coughed, spat, and eventually got to his feet.

‘You ain’t seen the last of me …’

‘I’m telling you, fuck off or you’re gonna get it!’

‘This isn’t over … No way …’

Paul glared at Étienne, his blue eyes washed out by pastis, and left, cackling like the witch in a bad dream.

Éliette had retreated to the living-room sofa where she lay huddled, clutching her knees to her chest. She wasn’t crying but was shivering uncontrollably. Étienne sat in an armchair facing her. He was incredibly pale.

‘It’s OK. He’s gone.’

Éliette could not unclench her teeth. Her heart was beating like a banging shutter.

‘What can I do to help?’

Éliette raised her eyebrows, but couldn’t produce a sound. She felt a wave of nausea rising in her stomach. She just made it to the toilet in time to throw up her breakfast. It took a good half-hour in the shower to scrub off the smell of Paul which had seeped into her skin. She got changed and threw her soiled clothes into the bin. Étienne was waiting in the garden, smoking a cigarette.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes, I think so. It’s just … unbelievable! Thirty years we’ve known each other … I don’t know what got into him … I would never have imagined he was capable of … I don’t know what to do, Étienne. I just don’t know …’

‘He was drunk. Maybe he’ll apologise when he’s sobered up.’

‘Maybe. But I won’t ever forget what’s happened. Things can’t go back to the way they were. What on earth’s been going on the last two days? I don’t have a clue any more! It’s
as if the whole world’s gone mad, me included!’

‘That’s life, Éliette, that’s all. You think you’re safe, like when you’re on the motorway; it’s a bit boring, you lose concentration and then … a loose bit of gravel, an insect, and whoops! You’ve lost control, spun round, and find yourself facing the wrong way. But hey, if you’re not dead, you’ll still end up somewhere! I bought some tomatoes and lamb chops. Do you fancy some food?’

‘I’m not all that hungry.’

‘Leave it to me, I’ll sort it out. You have nothing to be afraid of now. I’m here, and I’m glad I am.’

He looked like a kid with his black eye and his cowlick, but Éliette felt safe with him. She took the hand he held out to her, and pressed it against her cheek. He smelt of fresh bread.

The microcar carried them along the winding, practically empty roads that criss-crossed the region for the whole afternoon. They dipped their feet in the emerald-green pools of the Escoutay and lay on the warm flat stones beside the river. From time to time a fluffy little cloud drifted across the sky above them and they would watch until it thinned and disappeared as if by magic. The babbling water mingled with birdsong like an advert for paradise, a bucolic, pastel-painted scene extolling the virtues of the afterlife. They stopped off in Alba where, after wandering down unevenly paved alleys that seemed to be populated only with cats, they enjoyed an ice-cold drink at a café under the plane trees in the square. A pair of pensioners were getting some air, sitting in their front garden. Side by side in their deckchairs, they didn’t say
a word to one another, looking straight ahead at a future that already belonged to the past.

‘It’s fascinating how still they are, isn’t it? It’s as if they’ve been there for ever.’

‘They probably have. Look at their hands and feet – they’re like roots!’

‘It would be nice to live like a pot plant.’

‘What’s stopping you?’

‘I don’t know. I always feel like there’s someone prodding me on, as if I’m shuffling along in a queue.’

‘Why not leave the queue, Étienne?’

‘I’ve tried, but I’m scared shitless of breaking ranks. Fact is I’m just an average Joe.’