“What are you, deaf or daft? ” said Thierry. “We’re on a bloody schedule, in case you forgot. And check the levels before you start. Those boards are oak, not half-inch pinewood.”
“Is that the way you talk to Vianne ? ”
Roux’s accent comes and goes with his moods. Today it was almost exotic, a burr oflazy gutturals. Thierry, with his Parisian twang, can barely understand a word.
“What? ”
Roux made his voice insolently slow. “I said, do you talk to Vianne like that? ”
I saw Thierry’s face darken a little. “Yanne is the person I’m doing this for.”
“Now I can see what she sees in you.”
Thierry gave an unpleasant laugh. “I’ll ask her about it tonight, shall I? As it happens, I’m seeing her then. I’m thinking of asking her out for a meal. Somewhere that doesn’t serve pizza by the slice.”
And at that he set off up the street, leaving Roux to make an obscene gesture at his retreating back. Quickly I ducked round the side of the van, feeling foolish, but not wanting either of them to know I was there. Thierry passed by within six feet, features compressed between anger, dislike, and a kind of spiteful satisfaction. It made him look older, a stranger somehow; and for a moment I felt like a child caught looking through a forbidden door. Then he was gone, and Roux was alone.
I watched him for a few minutes more. Unobserved, people tend to show unexpected aspects of themselves—I’d seen that already in Thierry as he strode past me up the street. But Roux sat down on the side of the curb and stayed there, not moving, eyes on the ground, looking more tired than anything else, although it’s hard to tell with Roux.
I ought to go back to the shop, I thought. Anouk would be home in less than an hour, Rosette would need her afternoon snack, and if Thierry was coming round—
Instead I stepped out from behind the van.
“Roux.”
He jumped to his feet, brief ly unguarded, lit up with that radiant smile of his. Then wariness took over again. “Thierry’s not here, if that’s what you want.”
“I know,” I said.
The smile returned.
“Roux—” I began. But he held out his arms, and I found myself there as I had before, with my head against his shoulder, and the warm soft scent of him—something quite separate from the smell of cut wood, or polish, or sweat—like an eiderdown over us both.
“Come inside. You’re shivering.”
I followed him in and went upstairs. The flat was unrecognizable.
Draped in white sheets, still as snow, the furniture piled into corners, the floor a drift of fragrant dust. Freed of Thierry’s clutter I could see how large the flat really was; the high ceilings with their plaster moldings; the wide doorways; the intricate balconies on the street side.
Roux saw me noticing. “Rather pleasant, as cages go. Mr. Big spares no expense.”
I looked at him. “You don’t like Thierry.”
“And you do? ”
I ignored the gibe. “He isn’t always so abrupt. He’s usually very nice, you know. He must be under stress, or maybe you were winding him up—”
“Or maybe he’s nice to important people, and says what he likes to those who don’t matter.”
I gave a sigh. “I hoped you’d get on.”
“Why do you think I haven’t walked out? Or hit the bastard in the face? ”
I looked away and did not answer. The charge between us intensified. I was very conscious of him standing close to me, of the streaks of paint on his overalls. He was wearing a T-shirt underneath, and on a cord around his neck hung a small piece of green river-glass.
“So what are you doing here? ” he said. “Hanging around with the hired help? ”
Oh, Roux, I thought. What can I say? That it’s because of that secret place just above your collarbone where my forehead fits so perfectly? That it’s because I know, not just your favorites, but every twist and turn of you? That you have a tattoo of a rat on your left shoulder that I’ve always pretended not to like ? That your hair is the color of fresh paprika and marigolds and that Rosette’s quick little drawings of animals remind me so much of the things you make from wood and stone that often it hurts me to look at her and to think of her never knowing you—
Kissing him would just make it worse. And so I kissed him, little soft kisses all over his face, pulling off his cap and my overcoat, finding his mouth with such scalding relief—
For the first few minutes I was blind, beyond thought. Only my mouth existed just then; only my hands on his skin were real. The rest of me was imaginary; coming to life at the touch of him, little by little, like melting snow. And in a daze we kissed again, standing in that empty room with the scent of oil and sawdust in the air and the white sheets spread like the sails of a ship—
Somewhere at the back of my mind I was aware that this had not been the plan; that this would complicate everything beyond measure. But I couldn’t stop. I’d waited so long. And now—
I froze. Now what? I thought. Now we were back together? What then? Would that help Anouk and Rosette ? Would that banish the Kindly Ones? Would our love put even a single meal on the table, or still the wind for even a day?
Better you’d stayed asleep, Vianne, said my mother’s voice inside my head. And better, if you care for him—
“This isn’t what I came for, Roux.” With an effort, I pushed him away. He did not try to hold me back but watched me instead as I pulled on my coat and straightened my hair with shaking hands.
“Why are you here? ” I said fiercely. “Why did you stay in Paris at all, with everything that’s happening? ”
“You didn’t tell me to leave,” he said. “Besides, I wanted to know about Thierry. I wanted to make sure you were OK.”
“I don’t need your help,” I said. “I’m fine. You saw that in the chocolate shop.”
Roux smiled. “Then why are you here? ”
Over the years I have learned to lie. I’ve lied to Anouk; lied to Thierry; and now I have to lie to Roux. If not for him, then for myself—because I knew that if any more of that sleeping part of me were to awaken, then Thierry’s embraces would not only be unwelcome, but wholly intolerable, and that all my plans of the past four years would blow away like leaves on the wind.
I looked at him. “I’m asking you now. I want you to leave. This whole thing isn’t fair on you. You’re waiting for something that can’t possibly happen, and I don’t want you to get hurt anymore.”
“I don’t need help,” he mocked. “I’m fine.”
“Please, Roux.”
“You said you loved him. This proves you don’t.” “It isn’t that easy. . . .” “Why not? ” said Roux. “Because of the shop? You’d marry him for a chocolate shop?”
“You make it sound so ridiculous. But where were you four years ago? And what makes you think you can come back now, expecting to find that nothing’s changed? ”
“You haven’t changed so much, Vianne.” He put out a hand to touch my face. The static between us was gone now, to be replaced by a dull, sweet ache. “And if you think I’m leaving now—”
“I have to think of my children, Roux. This isn’t just about me.” I took his hand and squeezed it hard. “If today proves anything, then it’s this. I can’t be alone with you anymore. I don’t trust myself. I don’t feel safe.”
“Is safety so very important, then? ”
“If you had children, you’d know it was.”
Well, that was the greatest lie of all. But I had to say it. He has to leave. For my own peace of mind, if not for his; for the sake of Anouk and Rosette. They were both upstairs when I got in, Anouk already tearing up to Zozie’s room in a clatter of excitement about something that had happened at school. For once, I was glad to be left alone, and I went to my own room for half an hour, to read my mother’s cards again and to calm my agitated nerves. The Magus; the Tower; the Hanged Man; the Fool. Death. The Lovers. Change. Change. The card shows a wheel, turning
remorselessly round and round. Popes and paupers, commoners and kings hold on desperately to its spokes, and through the primitive design, I can make out their expressions, the open mouths, the complacent smiles turning to wails of terror as the wheel runs its course— I look at the Lovers. Adam and Eve, standing naked, hand in hand. Eve’s hair is black. Adam’s is red. There is no great mystery to this. The cards are printed in three colors only: yellow, red, and black, which, with the background of white, make up the colors of the four winds—
Why have I drawn these cards again?
What message do they hold for me ?
At six, Thierry phoned to ask me out. I told him I had a migraine, and by then it was almost true; my head throbbed like a sick tooth, and the thought of eating made it worse. I promised I’d see him tomorrow instead and tried to put Roux out of my mind. But whenever I tried to get to sleep, I felt the touch of his lips on my face, and when Rosette awoke and began to cry, I heard his accents in her voice, and saw shadows of him in her green-gray eyes. . . .
Friday, 14 December
Ten days to go before christmas eve. ten days before the big bang, and what I thought would be simple enough is actually turning out to be kind of complicated.
First, there’s Thierry. Then there’s Roux.
Oh boy. What a mess.
Ever since Sunday’s talk with Zozie, I’ve been trying to think of the best thing to do. My first impulse was to go to Roux straightaway and tell him everything, but Zozie says that would be a mistake.
In a story it would be easy enough. Tell Roux he’s a father, get rid of Thierry, then things can go back to the way they were and everyone can get together on Christmas Eve for a massive celebration. End of story. Piece of cake.
In real life, it’s not so simple. In real life, Zozie says, some men can’t cope with fatherhood. Especially with a child like Rosette—what if he just can’t handle that? What if he’s ashamed of her?
I hardly slept at all last night. Seeing Roux in the cemetery made me wonder if Zozie was right, and that he didn’t want to see us at all. But then, why keep working for Thierry? Does he know, or doesn’t he ? I went over and over it, and still it wouldn’t make sense to me. And so today I made up my mind and went to find him at Rue de la Croix.
I arrived at the house at about half past three, feeling all wound up and shivery inside. I’d skipped the last lesson of school—it was a study period, and if anyone mentions it, I’ll just say I was in the library. Jean-Loup would have known if he’d been there, but Jean-Loup was ill again today, and with the sign of One Monkey drawn on my hand, I slipped away without anyone noticing.
I took the bus to Place de Clichy and walked from there to Rue de la Croix, a broad, quiet street overlooking the cemetery, with big old stucco houses like a row of wedding cakes all along one side, and a high brick wall on the other.
Thierry’s apartment is on the top floor. He actually owns the whole building: two whole floors and a basement flat. It’s the biggest apartment I’ve ever seen, though Thierry doesn’t think it’s big at all and complains about the size of the rooms.
When I got there the place looked empty. There was scaffolding on one side of the building, and cellophane sheets over the doors. There was a man in a hard hat sitting outside, having a smoke, but I could tell it wasn’t Roux.
I went in. I took the stairs. From the first landing I could hear machine sounds and smell the sweet and somehow horsy scent of freshly cut wood. Now I could hear voices too: well, one voice—Thierry’s voice—raised above the sound of work. I went up the last few stairs, snowy with sawdust and shavings of wood. The door was shielded in cellophane, and I parted it and looked inside.
Roux was wearing a filter-mask and using the machine to sand down the bare floorboards. The smell of raw wood was everywhere. Thierry was standing above him in a gray suit and a yellow hard hat, and that look he gets when Rosette won’t use a spoon, or spits out her food at table. As I watched, Roux turned off the machine and pulled down his mask. He looked tired and not too happy.
Thierry looked at the floorboards and said: “Vac up the dust and get the polisher. I want you to get at least one coat of varnish down before you leave.”
“You must be joking. I’d be here till midnight.”
“I don’t care,” said Thierry. “I’m not going to waste another day. We need to be finished by Christmas Eve.”
And then he walked straight out and past me down the stairs to the first floor. I was standing behind the dust sheet, and he didn’t see me as he went by; but I saw him quite close up, and there was a look on his face I didn’t like at all. It was a kind of smug look; not quite a smile, with too many teeth. As if Santa Claus, instead of giving out presents for all the kids, had decided to keep them all for himself this year. And just then I hated Thierry. Not just because he’d shouted at Roux, but also because he thought he was better than Roux. You could see it in the way he looked at him; in the way he stood over him, like someone getting a shoeshine; and in his colors there was something more—something that might have been envy, or worse—
Roux was sitting cross-legged on the floor, the filter-mask around his neck and a bottle of water in his hand.
“Anouk! ” He grinned. “Is Vianne here ? ”
I shook my head. His face fell.
“Why didn’t you come ? You said you would.”
“I’ve been busy, that’s all.” He jerked his chin up at the room, all giftwrapped in builders’ cellophane. “Do you like it? ”
“Meh,” I said.
“No more moving. Room of your own. Near the school, and everything.”
Sometimes I wonder why adults make such a big deal out of education when it’s obvious that kids know far more about life than they do. Why do they make it so complicated? Why can’t they keep it simple, for once?
“I heard what Thierry said to you. He shouldn’t talk to you like that. He thinks he’s so much better than you. Why don’t you tell him to get lost? ”
Roux shrugged. “I’m getting paid. Besides”—I saw the gleam in his eyes—“I may get my own back some time soon.”
I sat down next to him on the floor. He smelled of sweat and of the sawdust he’d been working in; his arms and hair were dusted with it. But something about him was different. I couldn’t quite figure it out. A kind of funny, bright, hopeful look that hadn’t been there at the chocolaterie.
“So what can I do for you, Anouk? ”
Tell Roux he’s a father. Yeah. Right. Like so many things, it sounds easy. But when it comes to the practical—
I wet the tip of my finger and drew the sign of lady Moon Rabbit in the dust on the floor. That’s my sign, Zozie says. A circle with a rabbit inside. It’s supposed to look like the new moon, and it’s the sign oflove and new beginnings, and I thought that since it’s my sign, then perhaps it would work better on Roux.
“What’s wrong? ” He smiled. “Cat got your tongue ? ”
Perhaps it was that word, cat. Or perhaps it’s because I’ve never been much good at lying, especially not to the people I love. In any case, I blurted it out. The question that had been burning a hole in the roof of my mouth ever since my talk with Zozie—
“Do you know you’re Rosette’s dad? ”
He stared at me. “Say what? ” he said. There was no mistaking the shock in his eyes. So he hadn’t known; but from his face he wasn’t what you’d call pleased either.
I looked down at the sign of lady Moon Rabbit and drew the broken cross of Red Monkey Tezcatlipoca next to it in the floury dust.
“I know what you’re thinking. She’s kind of small for a four-year-old. She dribbles a bit. She wakes up at night. And she’s always been slow with some things, like learning to talk and using a spoon. But she’s really funny—and really sweet—and if you give her a chance—”
Now his face was the color of the sawdust. He shook his head, like it was a bad dream or something that he could just shake away.
“Four? ” he sai
d.
“It’s her birthday next week.” I smiled at him. “I knew you didn’t know. I said, ‘Roux would never have left us like that. Not if he’d known about Rosette.’” And I told him then about when she was born, and about the little crêperie in Les Laveuses, and how ill she had been at first, and how we’d fed her from an eyedropper, and about our move to Paris, and everything that happened there. . . .
“Wait a minute,” said Roux. “Does Vianne know you’re here? Does she know you’re telling me this? ”
I shook my head. “No one knows.”
He thought about that one for a while, and slowly his colors went from quiet blues and greens to splashy reds and oranges, and his mouth turned down, hard, not like the Roux I know at all.
“So—all this time she never said a thing? I had a daughter, and I never even knew? ” He always sounds more from the Midi when he’s angry, and right then his accent was so thick that it could have been a foreign language altogether.
“Well, maybe she didn’t get the chance.”
He made an angry sound in his throat. “Maybe she thinks I’m not cut out to be a father.”
I wanted to hug him, to make him feel better, to tell him we loved him—all of us. But he was too crazy to listen just then—I could see that even without the Smoking Mirror—and all at once I thought that it might have been a mistake to tell him like that, that I should have listened to Zozie’s advice—
Then suddenly he stood up, as if he’d come to a decision, scuffing the sign of Red Monkey Tezcatlipoca in the dust at his feet.
“Well, I hope you all enjoyed the joke. Pity you couldn’t have made it last a bit longer—at least until I’d finished the flat—” He pulled the filter-mask from around his neck and threw it savagely at the wall. “You can tell your mother I’m through. She’s safe. She’s made her choice, she can stick with it. And while you’re at it, you can tell Le Tresset that he can do his own decorating from now on. I’m off.”
“Where ? ” I said.
“Home,” said Roux.
“What, back to your boat? ”
“What boat? ” he said.