‘Are you sure you were on your own?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sit down, why don’t you? There’s something the matter, isn’t there? Is it because your father hasn’t been to see you?’
‘No.’
‘Is it because you’re tired of looking after me?’
‘No, no, it’s not that …’
‘Are you bored here?’
‘No.’
‘Is it because of Félicie?’
Her sharp eyes peered at him and Jean tried in vain to look natural.
‘Go on, own up, you’re thinking of nothing but Félicie. Yes, you are! I’ve seen you. And she’s hanging around you. Oh, she’s a cunning one, that girl. Instead of going over the bridge, where she knows I can see her, she goes round by the lock and then I can’t see where she’s heading. Was Félicie in the garden with you?’
‘No, I promise you …’
‘Because I’m going to tell you something. Listen, I shouldn’t really say this. The other day, I told you I had savings, and I told you on purpose where they’re hidden. And I wouldn’t even have told René that.’
Yes, here it came! He knew that he was by now almost more important to her than René. In a way, he had stepped into her son’s shoes, with certain extra details.
‘Well, say you’d run off with the money? Now, don’t be cross. You didn’t even think of it, I know that. But if you had, I wonder if I would have held it against you. Even then, if you’d said to me:
‘“Tati, I’m fed up, I’ve got to go away.”’
Then suddenly he saw her chest heave. Her sickness was making her ugly. And uglier still when her features seemed to melt and she began sobbing like a child.
‘Don’t mind me. Pass me a handkerchief, will you … Even if you wanted to leave me …’
But already, under the tears, her expression had hardened, and she sat up in bed.
‘But there’s one thing I’d never forgive, and never allow, it’s if you and that girl I hate … Don’t you see, Jean, if you were to do that …? When I think that all my life those people have …’
She couldn’t find words strong enough.
‘I don’t know what I’d do. Even if I’m stuck here in bed, I think I’d have the strength to get up and …’
She tore at her hair in rage and impotence.
‘Oh, if you went off to see some girl in town for a bit of fun, that’s one thing. But Félicie! … You’re not saying anything.’
‘No.’
‘You love her!’
‘No.’
They were alone in the house, in the bedroom, with occasional gusts of wind coming in. They would be visible from across the water. But it was unlikely there was anyone there to watch them. Félicie had not come!
The family in the house by the brickyard had gone to bed. It must be warm in there. Four of them breathing in the two small rooms, and Eugène’s breath would be heavy with alcohol.
‘Yes.’
He had said yes, after saying no. He was aware that he had committed an action of colossal importance. He had said yes, because he no longer had the heart to keep on denying, play-acting, going up to sleep alone in his attic and waking in a cold sweat every night at the thought of what was doomed to happen.
‘Jean! What did you say?’
She could see all too well he was in a strange state. He was too calm, his gaze far away.
‘Jean! You do love her?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’ve slept with her?’
‘Yes.’
He gave a timid smile, as if to apologize.
‘Jean! It’s not possible. Tell me it isn’t true. Oh, Jean!’
She had thrown off the bedclothes. He could see her dressings. He had never noticed so clearly the birthmark on her cheek.
