And the declaration of war came like a bolt from the blue.
‘We’ve had a letter from Françoise.’
‘Oh, my dear, if Françoise wrote it, it won’t have made much sense, because she’s never in her life been able to write, and she can only read if the letters are big.’
‘Félicie wrote it for her.’
‘What? In the family way again, is she? Poor girl, with all those boats passing and boatmen wanting a bit of fun.’
Jean had remained standing against the wall, arms crossed, cigarette unlit.
‘Well, say what you like,’ Amélie retorted, ‘she’s never had any call for the gendarmes to turn up at her house!’
‘What do you mean? Have you had the gendarmes round?’
‘No, but I know someone who has. Anyway, Françoise is coming. I’m surprised she’s not here already.’
‘You arranged to meet her? What time?’
And Amélie, unthinkingly:
‘Three o’clock.’
It was ten to three. Désiré stretched out a hand towards his glass, perhaps out of politeness. His wife stopped him.
‘I’d rather you didn’t drink; you know it’s bad for you.’
‘Well then, children, we’ll wait for Françoise. It’s a long time since she’s set foot in this house. It’s true she sends her daughter over when I’m not here, to pinch some ham or eggs. Just this Saturday …’
‘Félicie has a perfect right to come and see her grandfather.’
‘She could ask my permission if she’s going to run off with my ham.’
‘It’s Papa’s ham just as much as yours. Everything here belongs to him, so it belongs to the family. That’s the first thing I was going to say to you.’
‘Why, have you come here to collect something?’
‘Wait till Françoise gets here,’ her husband whispered to her, shifting uneasily in his chair.
They saw Françoise come past the window. She hesitated before knocking at the door. She too had put on her best clothes. She had large, frightened eyes, and didn’t know what to do with her hands.
‘Good day, Amélie, Désiré. Hello, Hector. Am I late? I was afraid I might get here before you, because what with everything that’s been going on here …’
A deep sigh.
‘Sit down, Françoise,’ said Amélie. ‘Your husband’s all right, is he?’
‘Hasn’t had an attack for over a month now.’
‘And the brickyard?’
‘Oh, it’s going from bad to worse … One of these days they’ll be putting it up for sale and I don’t know if the new owners will keep us on … We could be out on the street. It’s very hard to think we’ve got a house of our own and …’
She gazed around the walls, then sighed once more.
‘We were just now saying to Tati that you wrote to us …’
Poor Françoise looked terrified at this. She would no doubt have liked not to be directly implicated.
‘You haven’t seen Papa?’
‘He doesn’t dare even come as far as us. You can tell he’s scared stiff, poor man …’
And Amélie, with a significant glance across at Jean standing in the corner:
‘Course he is!’
Désiré, after swallowing, bravely ventured to say:
‘When you have to live day and night with someone just out of jail.’
To which Tati, with immense satisfaction, replied:
‘Especially when he ought to be there himself! Remember that poor girl, Juliette? A little fourteen-year-old, with no father or mother. Still young enough to be playing with dolls, and the poor wee thing didn’t dare say a word, she was so frightened.’
‘You’ve no right to pass judgement on our Papa. You know full well that since his accident, he’s not himself.’
‘Oh, you think that before the accident, he was as good as the next man?’
