The Switch

19:25

  Lily swings back to reality.

  ‘There are no pictures and no film because there was never another memory card,’ Madame Briac says.

  ‘No other card,’ Lily says. ‘No switch. But he told me . . .’ The warm aroma of Madame Briac’s perfume alights in her head and Lily lifts her eyes. ‘Why did Thierry say he had film? Why did he say he switched the memory card to my camera? Why would he make something up like that?’

  Madame Briac sighs. ‘To reach out to you. He wanted your help when you met up after you left the apartment. And before – the story suited him as a way of getting to Raymond Claude. To frighten him for what he was doing and for what he has done in the past. It got round . . . to Luc. . . ’ She hesitates. ‘. . . then to Claude. Even Marc-Olivier believed it.’

  Lily shivers. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I believed it. Marc-Olivier believed it. He thought he was on the film. He imagined Thierry had let him down. I caught some of his anger.’

  ‘Don’t think too hard,’ her mum interrupts, draping a cardigan across Lily’s shoulders. Lily pulls it around herself.

  ‘I had no idea,’ Flora says.

  ‘No big deal, Flo,’ Lily replies.

  ‘No big deal, huh?’ Flora whispers.

  ‘Thierry couldn’t help himself. He spread the story. It was going to happen.’ Madame Briac’s voice fades.

  The table grows quiet again. Waiting staff bustle in and out of the restaurant, making ready for the imminent arrival of diners.

  Mireille stands. ‘It has been difficult for Thierry since the death of his father. But we didn’t realise things were so wrong.’ In the pause she turns to speak to Lily’s mum. ‘I am afraid you will have to excuse me,’ she says.

  ‘Oh!’ Lily’s mum rises also, a pinch of dismay wrinkles her mouth. ‘Well, I wish you well in what you’re doing,’ she bumbles.

  ‘Thank you Madame. We will meet again, on a better day, yes?’

  Lily’s mum sits herself down uneasily. Her hair falls across her face as she reaches the chair, and she pushes the strands back with the same fluster she would employ when striding along the street with the twins’ buggy.

  ‘We can be thankful for the police surveillance to bring this business to an end,’ Madame Briac says.

  ‘Thank goodness for that.’ Lily’s voice barely reaches her own ears.

  ‘Surveillance?’ her mum questions. ‘Why didn’t the surveillance work earlier?’

  ‘Not everything works out in time, or how we expect,’ Madame Briac replies.

  ‘Her mum falls into another hurried sentence. ‘I only wonder if things could have turned out differently for the boy in the coma.’

  ‘We won’t know,’ Madame Briac replies, picking up her mobile phone.

  ‘No, we won’t.’ Lily’s mum scolds herself. ‘I was only thinking.’

  Madame Briac is abrupt. ‘We have to deal with what we’ve got.’

  ‘Yeah,’ concedes Lily’s mum. ‘Certainly.’

  Madame Briac holds her mobile in the palm of her hand. With her other hand she tops up Lily’s mum’s coffee cup. ‘The boy in the coma drifted into consciousness,’ she reads aloud.

  Flora suppresses a reaction.

  ‘It’s the best message we could hope for,’ Lily’s mum murmurs.

  ‘Absolument, Madame,’ replies Madame Briac. ‘For the boy and for his family. They will tell Raymond Claude.’

  ‘He will be more co-operative,’ Lily’s mum remarks.

  ‘I am sure he will this time,’ Madame Briac replies.

  ‘This time?’ Lily asks.

  ‘I think I have said enough.’ Madame Briac holds out her hand. ‘Come, Lily, we need to refocus’ she says. ‘There is still time and I want to show you my favourite piece of art in the exhibition.’

  Lily’s mum opens her mouth as if she is about to speak, then gasps, ‘Good God! Madame Morneau and Camille will be here any minute. I’ll wait with Flora and meet you . . .’

  Lily misses the end of the sentence.

  The chilled air bites as the gallery closing bell sounds. Lily takes Madame Briac’s arm as they walk through the displays to reach the exhibition rooms.

  ‘Thierry told me most of what happened when he left the bus on Monday,’ Madame Briac says.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Vraiment.’

  ‘Did he say he went into the Bar Tabac?’

  ‘Oui. He crossed immediately to the Bar to confront Luc. He blames Luc for getting Marc-Olivier into the drugs trouble. It has been tearing him up.’

  ‘Luc hit back at him for whatever he said?’

  Madame Briac stops before a Monet. ‘I cannot talk about Luc, or about what may have happened next. However, in terms of events it would fit that he was in the right place when the attack took place.’ She stands with her head tilted. Quietly she looks. ‘The exhibition is running for a while,’ she says, eventually. ‘And you and Flora can return in the summer holidays.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lily murmurs.

  Madame Briac beckons Lily closer.

  Lily recognises the painting but cannot take in its detail. At this moment she sees only chaos in its content. She is spinning with questions about Thierry.

  ‘Are you allowed to tell me what happened at the Gare du Nord?’ she blurts out. ‘Was Thierry wounded?’

  ‘Nothing happened at the Gare du Nord. Except a wounding of pride,’ Madame Briac replies.

  ‘I thought Raymond Claude—’

  ‘When Monsieur Briac found Thierry in the station he took him to hospital have his injuries redressed. Afterwards he returned him to the apartment. That is it.’

  ‘It’s not what I imagined. Not at all.’ Lily tries to study the art. ‘I thought Claude had injured him. I thought—’

  ‘Thankfully no,’ Madame Briac replies. She takes Lily by the hand. ‘It’s going to be OK. Jean is with Thierry. They will talk about Claude.’