Too Close to the Edge (9 page)

For the entire morning, the house was invaded by flies and police. More and more of both kept arriving. There were people taking photos, measuring things, scouring every corner. It sounded like a swarm of bees was nearby: no individual noise, only a worrying murmur. In the garden, in the shade of the summer dining room, an inspector whose slight squint made him always seem to be talking to someone else was taking statements from Éliette, Étienne and Agnès.

Éliette had not batted an eyelid when Agnès appeared dressed in the men’s shirt she wore to bed. All three claimed to have spent the night at the house. In the morning, Éliette and Étienne had heard a noise in the kitchen. They came downstairs and found Paul in a state of extreme agitation. He threatened to shoot them. When Paul’s son and his friend arrived, there had been a brief altercation over a family quarrel, and Paul had fired on them before turning the gun on himself. No, they didn’t know why he had cut the phone lines, or how he had come by his head injury. Clearly he was aware of Serge’s intention to visit Éliette, and he had ambushed him. This moment of madness could be put down to the pain of the loss of his son.

The three bodies were carried out by the men in white and shoved into the back of an ambulance which drove off, its wheels narrowly avoiding the ditch. It was like any of the
countless petty stories that made it onto the front page of the local paper before being turned into fish-and-chip wrapping. The inspector with the wandering eye put his notepad away and sighed.

‘Gonna be another hot one today. Right then, we’ll need you to stick around in case we require anything else from you, but it all seems tragically straightforward to me.’

‘Inspector, we can’t stay here … It’s …’

‘I understand, Madame. For the time being, nothing is to be touched. A cleaning company will be along when we finish. In the meantime, go and stay with friends or check into a hotel, somewhere we can get hold of you if need be.’

‘In that case, we’ll be at the Relais de l’Empereur in Montélimar.’

‘Ah yes, I know it well. The food’s excellent!’

‘Well, you know …’

‘Of course, sorry. We’ll be in touch with you there.’

‘Would you be able to call us a taxi on your phone? Only my … car can only carry two people.’

‘Oh, the little Aixam! My dad’s got one … Yes, but I could give one of you a lift. Want to hop in, Monsieur?’

Étienne bit the inside of his cheek.

‘That would be great, thanks.’

Two gendarmes remained at the scene. Éliette and Agnès saw Étienne disappear inside the inspector’s car, holding himself upright, almost rigid.

‘Air con all right for you back there?’

‘Yes, fine.’

Étienne was suffocating in the back. The river they were
driving alongside was nothing but a trickle of green water snaking between white pebbles, draining away.

‘Always makes you feel guilty, sitting in a police car, doesn’t it?’

‘Not me, no. I’m just …’

‘Of course, of course, sorry. I forgot myself. So what’s the story with that black eye and the bump on the back of your head?’

‘There isn’t one. It was an accident. I fell off a ladder.’

‘Just what you needed! You’re not having much luck at the moment, are you?’

‘Apparently not.’

‘No, apparently not.’

They didn’t exchange another word until they reached the hotel, where the inspector dropped him off and told him not to worry about anything.

In the microcar, Agnès and Éliette had barely more to say to one another.

‘This car is a pile of crap.’

‘It’s a pile of crap.’

‘How are we going to get anywhere in this?’

‘We’ll get as far as the Relais de l’Empereur.’

‘And then what? Some adventure this is going to be.’

‘Don’t you think your father’s had enough adventures recently?’

‘Think he’s ripe for retirement like you, do you?’

‘Ripe for a bit of peace and quiet, I’d say.’

‘I don’t like you.’

‘I don’t hate you either.’

‘You’re making him old.’

‘He wasn’t expecting to meet me.’

‘I was.’

They said nothing more.

As in all the places where Napoleon had left a strand of hair, the Relais de l’Empereur was decorated with golden bees, wall hangings and furniture of uncertain age, and peopled with staff so practised at bending and scraping that an avant-garde choreographer would have applauded them. Agnès smirked when offered a room adjoining that of ‘her parents’.

‘That’ll be handy in case I have a nightmare, won’t it, Papa?’

‘You should go and have a shower. We’ll meet back down here in half an hour.’

Éliette was already showering in her room. Agnès was starting to get on her nerves, along with all the other children in the world. What exactly did they have against their parents? What made them want to spoil what little future they had left? There was Agnès with her double-edged remarks; Patrick, who had, in a sense, caused his father’s end and his mother’s breakdown; even Serge and his provocative love life; even Sylvie, even Marc, who took her for an imbecile, as if she was incapable of leading her own life! Why couldn’t they just leave their parents alone? Why were they still getting under their feet, just as they had when they were in nappies? She wouldn’t be surprised if the younger members of society couldn’t even pay towards their elders’ pensions. Sick and tired of this unscrupulous generation that let the grass grow
over the living corpses of their fathers and mothers.

There had been big scientific advances and it was now possible to live to a hundred. It was an old person’s world – they had made it after all, and if it didn’t suit the young, they could make one of their own. Marc and Sylvie were so far removed from her universe that it had not even crossed her mind to contact them. She had stopped being a mother in order to take a second chance at being a woman, barely living in the present moment. They no longer belonged with her. She would call them later. Recent events had provided an excellent excuse to put them off visiting. Afterwards, she would set things straight with Agnès. There was no way she was going to pass on the opportunity of the new life opening up to her like a long-awaited past. She returned to the bedroom with a towel wrapped around her hair.

‘Étienne, I’m going to put the house on the market.’

‘I understand.’

‘Would you … would you like to live with me?’

Étienne propped himself up on his elbow and blinked madly.

‘Excuse me?’

‘I’m not asking you to love me, just to be with me. I know there’s something between us – I don’t know what it is, but it’s enough. You’re at your wits’ end; you can lean on me. We could be happy together, living in peace.’

‘Éliette! We’ve known each other a matter of days and I’ve brought you nothing but trouble.’

‘Exactly. That needs to change. You can’t carry on living like this. Admit you’re tempted?’

‘I am, but it’s impossible. There’s the case, there’s Agnès …’

‘Forget all that! You have a right to be happy!’

‘I’d love to, honestly, Éliette, but I can’t. I have to see this through.’

‘Through to what? Prison? Death? Do you think that’s what Agnès wants? I’ve a bit put away. If you want we can leave tomorrow. We can give Agnès some money. She’s young …’

‘Éliette, please … I need to think. My head hurts.’

It was true. His brain was being jolted inside his skull like the clapper in a bell. Agnès, Éliette,
ding-dong
! Left to his own devices, he probably would have gone to the police station and told the bog-eyed inspector everything just to get it over with. The slightest thought unleashed a wave of pain inside him, spreading from the tips of his toes to the top of his head.

‘Knock, knock. Can I come in? … Blimey, why the long faces? Trouble in paradise?’

Éliette shrugged and disappeared into the bathroom. Agnès stifled a giggle.

‘Wipe your nose – it’s covered in coke.’

‘Oh, sorry! Right, well, I’ve got the munchies. See you downstairs.’

Three o’clock in the afternoon. Montélimar was booming like a burst drum. A dreary pizzeria provided a place to sit, stale pizza and dry pasta. At the end of this dismal meal washed down with vinegary wine, Étienne, as if playing
the tourist, had the absurd idea of asking what there was to see in the town. After several moments scratching his head with its shiny black mop, the sad Mickey Mouse-faced waiter suggested the Château des Adhémar. He had never been there himself, despite being a native of the town, but had heard it was worth a look. The view from up there was supposed to be amazing.

It was a painful slog up to these ruins, which had been spruced up by generous donors. The sun was not even out; it was just muggy. Agnès moaned at every step, like a child being dragged around beauty spots during the summer holidays.

‘Where are you taking us? … These alleys stink of dog shit … My feet hurt … I need to pee … I’ve got indigestion.’

All three were suffering from heartburn, but they still made it to the foot of a pile of yellow stones. Your twenty-franc fee bought access to the castle’s sad, empty keep and a few metres of rampart.

‘Amazing view? Yeah, right! I get a better view every morning washing my arse. It’s an utter hole!’

‘Agnès!’

‘What? Am I wrong? The whole town’s like a cemetery. It’s like a model someone forgot to finish.’

Below the fortifications, an old woman bent like the arch of the castle’s portal was walking a dog whose hind legs were mounted on wheels.

‘Let’s get out of here, Étienne. There can’t be many places worse than this.’

The wind had picked up. It blew under the Roman roof
tiles, playing a monotonous chant as irritating as the songs of the Peruvian bands at Châtelet métro station. They would have liked to shoo it away.

‘Come on. Let’s go before you end up looking like that mutt.’

‘I think your father’s capable of making his own decisions.’

‘Fuck off! He’s not your lapdog.’

Leaving … it was all Étienne had done, his entire life. He envied the stone – or molasse, as it was known here – crumbling where it stood. Swallows punctuated the space between passing clouds like commas. A bell was ringing somewhere in the sky. Éliette leant out to listen.

‘A wedding …?’

Closer to the edge, Agnès replied, ‘No, a funeral. Screw this, I’m off.’

She left them leaning out over the parapet. They watched as the red of her hair bounded down the dark alleyways like a glowing fag end.

Back at the hotel, Éliette called her children. Their voices sounded unreal, like those of air hostesses. Without going into detail, she informed them of the deaths of Paul and Serge. Given the circumstances, they probably shouldn’t come. This was actually for the best all round because, as expected, Justine’s measles had passed on to her brother; as for Marc, a meeting had come up which he couldn’t get out of, and he would have had to cancel anyway. Although, if she wanted to come and stay with either of them … No, she would rather rest, perhaps even go and stay with friends near Marseille, clear her head, she didn’t know, it was all so … She
would let them know. They were thinking of her, of course, and she of them. These things happened. Speak soon.

As she hung up the phone, she felt a great weight lift off her. She had bought herself some time. It might only have been worth a few coins in a begging bowl, but at least it was something, like a cigarette and a glass of rum.

Étienne was sleeping, or pretending to sleep with an arm over his face and his legs crossed. While he was at her house, part of the furniture like an insect trapped in cut resin, anything was possible. But now, in the middle of this boundless freedom, she wasn’t so sure. She felt like a young bride on her wedding night. She hardly recognised this man who had shut himself away in a semblance of sleep. Through the wall, a fuzzy noise was coming from Agnès’s TV.

‘Étienne, are you asleep?’

‘No.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know. I’m happy here, now.’

‘Let’s leave, Étienne. We’ll go wherever you want, Morocco …’

‘I was inside for a year there, there’s no way I want to go back. Why are the pair of you so fixated on making me leave?’

‘It’s not the same with your daughter.’

‘Listen, Éliette. I abandoned my daughter when she was a year old. I owe her. I can’t have done all of this for nothing! I want to do something good for once in my life, for her. You can’t imagine what it’s like to have never had a chance in life. I want to give her that. And then, yes, we can do whatever
you want. I like you a lot, Éliette, I really do.’

‘Well then, leave those filthy drugs with her and let’s be happy! You’ll not want for anything, you—’

The telephone rang. The inspector’s voice on the line was as disconcerting as his cross-eyed gaze, but he had only good news to impart: everything had been put back in its proper place at her home and the case would soon be closed. There was no doubt over what had happened: a moment of madness that had ended in tragedy, and which they would do their best to keep out of the local papers. A cleaning company would be sent in to sort everything out the next morning, and her phone line would be reconnected as soon as possible.

Speaking of which, had she by any chance thought of any reason why Monsieur Jaubert had cut the line? … No, never mind. Ah, one other thing: they had found a rope and a pair of blood-soaked trousers in the dustbin, ring any bells? … No. Not to worry, they could talk about all that when they came to sign their statements the next morning. A formality. With that, he wished her a good evening and advised her to try the Relais de l’Empereur’s excellent
côte de boeuf
.

Éliette could not decide whether to tell Étienne about the inspector’s discovery. It was silly of them not to have told the truth, but when they had discussed doing so before she went to the police station, Étienne had been categorically against it. They would have asked why Paul had singled him out, and he was anxious to avoid having the spotlight turned on him, given his past. How could they have been so stupid? He had reacted as if he was guilty of something, out of habit, no doubt. By doing his best to stay out of it, he had achieved the
exact opposite. Tomorrow, the police would be bound to find this omission suspicious.

‘So?’

‘Everything’s fine.’

‘It doesn’t look fine.’

‘It is. But they found your trousers and the rope in the bin.’

‘Shit!’

‘We’ll have to tell the truth when we go tomorrow. Just tell them you were in shock. You haven’t done anything wrong – you saved me from being raped!’

‘You don’t know what they’re like. Anyone who’s done time is guilty in their eyes. I can see him coming at me with his wonky eye, asking “Why this?” and “Why that?” What if they find my fingerprints on the car? That fucker’s sniffed me out like a dog. I’ll get five years, at least!’

‘You’re behaving like a child. Trust me, for goodness’ sake! It can’t go on like this. You’re innocent. You saved me!’

‘I don’t want to go back there, Éliette. I can’t face it!’

‘Then you have to do as I say, darling. Enough of all this, enough of being scared!’

Étienne lit a cigarette. It tasted like dust.

‘But what about the briefcase? … And Agnès?’

‘I’ll talk to her. I’ll see to everything. You have a rest.’

‘No, I should tell her. But yes, I agree with everything else. Let’s do that.’

When Étienne had closed the door behind him, Éliette let her head fall back on the pillows, a faint smile on her lips. Cronus was devouring his children.

The section of McDonald’s drinking straw and the razor blade lay across one another on the still powdery surface of the pocket mirror. Agnès ran her finger over it and rubbed the remnants into her gums. There was almost nothing left of what she had taken with her to the coast. The local anaesthetic did not produce the desired effect. It would have had to reach her heart for that, a heart as crumpled as Éliette’s neck.

She grabbed the remote and cut off the dull stream of local news.

‘What the fuck am I even doing here?’

Without admitting it to herself, she had spent almost the past two hours listening out for noises from the adjoining room. She had heard murmuring, then a phone ringing, and then nothing. It was the silence that was driving her mad. They were fucking, she was sure they were fucking. At that age, you didn’t cry out or moan; you did it on the quiet, so Death didn’t hear you.

‘Idiot! I’m such a fucking idiot!’

Agnès had never been able to lay into anyone but herself. It was handy always to have your victim within arm’s reach. She must have got this from her father. Him, in there! … The years had kept them apart, and now a miserable wall of brick and plaster stood between them. The old slag had won, with her wrinkles, her stupid little car, her horrible house and a future built on bus passes. It was quite funny when you thought about it. The pair of them could snuff it under a heap of cross-stitched cushions for all she cared! Let him suffocate while he pounded away at her ancient, hairless pussy.

She, on the other hand, had her whole life ahead of her,
though it hardly looked like a happily ever after! She would fetch the damned case and get as far away from her shitty past as she possibly could. Her mother had died of an overdose when she was thirteen, and these days her father could barely keep his head above water. So let him die, let him suffer! Life had cheated her from the word go, made her think she’d be left with only the crumbs. Oh, no! She was going to gorge on it, and feed her leftovers to everyone at her feet. Bastard! Piece of shit! Father, why have you forsaken me? …

She spat out the nail of her right index finger at the same time as her ‘yes’ in reply to the tentative knocks at her door. Étienne’s face looked like a mop that had not been wrung out properly.

‘All right?’

‘Better than you, by the looks of it.’

‘We’re going down for dinner.’

‘I’m not hungry. Unless they have snails. I can’t eat anything but snails.’

‘Agnès … We’ve got a bit of a problem with the police. They found … Anyway, the point is, it’s nothing to do with you. Tomorrow Éliette’s going to give you some money and—’