Happy People Read and Drink Coffee (6 page)

“Just my luck to run into a crazy Frenchwoman.”

I got myself onto all fours to stand up. I could hear Edward's bitter laughter. I ran to my house and double-locked the door to barricade myself in. Then I took refuge in my bed.

In spite of the blankets and my sweaters, I was shivering. I squeezed my wedding ring tightly. It was pitch black. I was afraid. I was sobbing so hard I could barely breathe. I curled up in a ball. My back ached because I was trying to curl up tightly to fight the shivers. I bit my pillow to stop myself from screaming.

I drifted in and out of sleep. The electricity didn't miraculously come back on during the night. I turned to the only person who could help me, even if it was only by phone.

“Shit, some people are asleep,” Felix shouted. It was the second time I'd called him in the past 24 hours.

“I'm sorry,” I said and started to cry again.

“What's happened?”

“I'm cold, I'm in the dark.”

“What?”

“I haven't had any electricity since yesterday afternoon.”

“And you couldn't find anyone to help you?”

“I went to my neighbor's, but I didn't dare disturb him.”

“Why not?”

“I'm thinking he might be a serial killer.”

“Have you been smoking sheep's wool?”

“I don't have any electricity, help me.”

“Did you check to see if a fuse blew?”

“No.”

“Go and see.”

I listened to Felix. My cell phone still glued to my ear, I went and reset the fuse box. All the lights and the appliances came on.

“Well?” Felix asked.

“It worked, thank you.”

“You're sure you're OK?”

“Yes, go back to sleep. I'm really sorry.”

I hung up right away. I slumped down on the ground. I was definitely incapable of solving the smallest problem without someone's help; my parents were right. I felt like slapping myself.

4

I'd forgotten what it felt like to listen to music that was so loud my eardrums nearly burst. I'd hesitated a long time before turning on the hi-fi, remembering there was a time when I did it without thinking. I kept glancing at it, hesitating, pacing up and down all around it.

The incident of the fuse box had shaken up my routine. I forced myself to go out more often. I went for little walks on the beach. I tried not to drag myself around in my pajamas all day long. I did everything to get back to the world of the living and stop wallowing in paranoid delusions. One morning, I surprised myself when I felt less despondent when I woke up; I'd felt like hearing music and I'd listened to some. Of course I cried; my euphoria hadn't lasted.

The next day, I put the music on again. Then I couldn't help but move along to it in time. I was getting back in touch with old habits. I danced like a madwoman all alone in my living room. The only difference in Mulranny was that I didn't need earphones; I danced to my heart's content, the bass pounding.

“
The dog days are over, the dog days are done. Can you hear the horses? 'Cause here they come
.” I shared the stage with Florence and the Machine. I knew this song by heart; I never missed a beat. I twisted and turned. A fine layer of sweat covered my skin, I flung my ponytail all over the place and my cheeks were bright red, of course. Suddenly, one sound seemed out of place. I turned down the volume but still heard the same racket. I walked over to the door with the remote still in my hand. The door was shaking. I counted to three before opening it.

“Hello, Edward. What can I do for you?” I asked with my sweetest smile.

“Turn down your damned music!”

“Don't you like English rock? They're your compatriots . . .”

He banged on the doorframe.

“I'm not English.”

“That's obvious. You don't have their famous stiff upper lip.”

I continued smiling brightly. He clenched and unclenched his fists, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

“You're asking for it from me,” he said in his hoarse voice.

“Not at all. You're actually the opposite of what I'd ask for.”

“Be careful.”

“Ooh, I'm scared.”

He pointed a finger at me and clenched his teeth.

“I'm just asking you to turn it down. It's making my darkroom vibrate and it's disturbing me.”

I burst out laughing.

“So you're really a photographer?”

“What business is that of yours?”

“None at all. But you must be really bad at it.”

If I were a man, he would have hit me.

“Photography is an art,” I continued, “which requires a minimum of sensitivity. But you have absolutely none. So my conclusion is that you weren't made for that profession. Well, listen, it's been awfully nice talking to you . . . No, I'm kidding, so excuse me, I have better things to do.”

I gave him a look of defiance, pointed the remote at the hi-fi, and turned it up as loud as it would go. “
Happiness hit her like a bullet in the head. Struck from a great height by someone who should know better than that. The dog days are over, the dog days are done
,” I howled, then writhed about in front of him before slamming the door in his face.

I felt elated as I danced, singing at the top of my lungs. It felt so good to have shut him up! I really wanted to keep the game going and finish what I'd started; I decided I was going to ruin his whole day. He was obviously the kind of guy who would go and have a drink to calm down. So I picked up my keys and headed to the pub.

Unlike the first time, I went into the pub in a civilized manner. I greeted everyone with a wave of the hand and added a smile. I ordered a glass of red wine and paid for my drink right away, then sat down at a respectable distance from my neighbor.

He was scowling even more than usual; I must have really got on his nerves. He was fiddling with his lighter, his jaw clenched. He drank his first beer all at once, then ordered another with a nod of the head. He stared at me. I raised my glass to him and took a sip. It was all I could do not to spit it out. The wine, if you could really call it that, was undrinkable. A knowledgeable wine merchant would have sooner recommended a cheap local wine in a plastic bottle. What was I thinking? That I'd be served a good vintage wine in this godforsaken Irish hole where no one drank anything but Guinness and whisky? Still, it didn't stop me looking defiantly at Edward.

This little game lasted a good half an hour. I finally won when he stood up and headed for the door. I'd just won a battle; I had accomplished something that day.

I waited a few minutes before leaving. Night had fallen; I pulled up the collar of my coat. It was the end of October and you could feel the first signs of winter coming on.

“Just as I thought,” a hoarse voice said.

Edward was waiting for me next to my car. He was alarmingly quiet.

“I thought you'd gone home. Don't you have any pictures to develop?”

“You made me ruin a whole roll of film today, so don't talk to me about my work. You probably don't even know what it means to work.”

Without giving me a chance to reply, he kept talking.

“I don't need to know you to see that you do nothing all day long. Don't you have any family or friends who want you to get back?”

Fear made me stammer; he was back in control.

“No, obviously not! Who'd want anything to do with you? There's nothing interesting about you. You must have had a guy, but I bet he died of boredom . . .”

My hand flew up by itself. I hit him so hard that his head fell to the side. He rubbed his cheek and smirked.

“So I've hit a nerve?”

I was breathing more quickly; tears came to my eyes.

“I see. He didn't want anything to do with you any more. He was right to dump you.”

He was blocking my car.

“Get out of my way,” I said.

He grabbed my arm to hold me back and stared straight into my eyes.

“Don't ever do that again. And get yourself a ticket home.”

He angrily let go of me and disappeared into the night. I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand. I was shaking so hard that I dropped my keys. I was still desperately trying to open my car door when Edward sped away. Without actually being a murderer, that man was dangerous.

I was sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room. A dim light filled the room. The first bottle of wine was almost finished. Before putting out my cigarette, I used what was left of it to light the next one. I finally picked up my phone.

“Felix, it's me.”

“What's new in the land of sheep?”

“I can't stand it any more; I've had enough.”

“What are you saying?”

“I've tried, I promise, I've forced myself but it's not working.”

“It will get better,” he said softly.

“No! It will never get better; there's nothing left, nothing at all.”

“It's normal that you feel bad around now. Clara's birthday brings up too many memories.”

“You'll go and see her tomorrow?”

“Yes, I'm taking care of her . . . Come home.”

“Good night.”

I staggered into the kitchen. I gave up on the wine. I drowned some orange juice in rum, a glass in one hand, the bottle in the other, and continued my breakdown. I drank, smoked, and cried until dawn.

It was daybreak when my insides started to turn. I ran up to the bathroom without caring what I knocked over. My body was wracked with spasms, each more violent than the next. After vomiting for what felt like hours, I dragged myself into the shower without even bothering to undress. I sat down under the water, my knees bent, rocking back and forth and wailing. The hot water grew warm, then cool then icy cold.

My soaking wet things sat on the bathroom tiles. My clean, dry clothes didn't make me feel any better, not even Colin's sweatshirt. I was suffocating. I put the hood up and went out just as storm clouds were rolling in.

My legs managed to get me to the beach. Lying on the shore, I stared at the raging sea; the rain hammered against my face; the wind and rain stung me. I wanted to go to sleep, forever, it didn't matter where. My place was with Colin and Clara; I'd found a good spot to join them. I was lost in a state between dream and reality. Little by little, I stopped thinking. My arms and legs grew heavy with cold; I sank deeper and deeper. It was getting darker and darker. The storm helped me to drift away.

A dog barked close by. I could feel him sniffing me, nuzzling against me to make me react. As soon as he heard a whistle, he ran off. I would be able to end my journey.

“What are you doing here?”

I recognized Edward's hoarse voice and fear ran through me. I tried to huddle up in a ball, closed my eyes as tightly as I could, and put one hand on my head to protect myself.

“Leave me the hell alone!” I muttered. I could feel his hands on me, like an electric shock. I fought, kicking and beating him with my fists.

“Let go of me!”

I managed to break free. I tried to stand up but I was just too weak. I was about to fall when the ground gave way. I was trapped in Edward's arms.

“Be quiet and let me help you.”

I couldn't fight any more. I instinctively put my arms around his neck. His body protected me from the raging wind. The rain stopped; we were inside somewhere. Without putting me down, he went up some stairs. He pushed the door open with his shoulder, then went into the room and put me down on a bed. My head was down and I was hunched over. Without looking directly at him, I saw him throw his jacket into a corner of the room. He disappeared for a few minutes before coming back, one towel around his neck and the other in his hand. He kneeled down in front of me and started drying my forehead and cheeks. He had large hands. He pulled my hood back and untied my hair.

“Take off your sweater.”

“No,” I replied, shaking my head, my voice breaking.

“You have no choice; if you don't get out of those clothes, you'll get sick.”

“I can't.”

I was shivering harder and harder. He leaned down and took off my boots and socks.

“Stand up.”

I held on to the bed to steady myself. Edward took Colin's sweatshirt off me. I lost my balance; he caught me by the waist and held me against him for a few seconds before letting me go. He unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them down. He held me up so I could take them off. His hands brushed against my back when he took off my T-shirt. A fit of modesty made me cross my arms over my chest. He went to rifle through a closet and came back with a shirt, then helped me put it on. Memories rose up at the same time as my tears. Edward closed all the buttons and slipped my wedding ring inside the shirt.

“Lie down.”

I stretched out on the bed and he pulled the duvet over me. He pushed the hair off my face. I sensed him moving away. I was breathing through my sobs and crying even harder. I opened my eyes and looked at him for the first time. He wiped his face with his hand and went out. I took my wedding ring from under the shirt and held it tightly. I curled up in a fetal position and buried my head in the pillow. Then I finally sank into a deep sleep.

I didn't want to get up, yet my senses were awake. My eyes were twitching. The walls of my bedroom weren't gray, they were white. I reached out to switch on my bedside lamp but there was nothing there. I jumped up, sat down on the bed and found I had a blinding headache. I massaged my temples and in a flash, remembered what had happened the day before. But as for what had happened during the night, that was a complete blank.

I took my first steps hesitantly. I pressed my ear against the door before opening it. The hallway was silent. Maybe I could clear off before Edward noticed. I walked to the stairs on tiptoe, trying to be as quiet as possible. I heard someone clearing his throat, which stopped me in my tracks. I froze. Edward was standing behind me. I took a deep breath before turning around to face at him. He looked me up and down with an inscrutable expression. I realized I was wearing nothing but his shirt. I started pulling it down to try to cover my legs.

“Your clothes are in the bathroom. They should be dry.”

“Where's the bathroom?”

“Second door at the end of the hallway; don't go into the room next to it.”

He rushed down the stairs before I had a chance to say anything at all. He had aroused my curiosity by for-bidding me to go into one of the rooms. But I wasn't about to tempt fate. I went to find my clothes. This is a real bachelor's bathroom, I thought as I went inside. Towels rolled up in a ball, some shower gel, a toothbrush, and a mirror in which you could hardly see a thing. My clothes were hanging on a heated towel rail and were dry. I took off the shirt and felt greatly relived. I held it without knowing exactly what to do with it. I spotted a basket with dirty clothes. It was bad enough I'd slept in his bed, I didn't need to see his dirty boxer shorts from the day before. I found a clothes hanger, perfect. I automatically splashed water on my face, which felt wonderful; I had the impression that I was thinking more clearly. I used the sleeve of my sweatshirt to dry myself. I was ready to face Edward, and perhaps to answer his questions.