Happy People Read and Drink Coffee (10 page)

“To our truce.”

I braced myself and took a sip. Then another.

“This slop is good,” I said to myself, “It tastes like coffee.”

“I'm sorry; I didn't understand; you were speaking French.”

“Nothing, forget it.”

The silence between us made me feel ill at ease.

“Are you happy with the photos you took today?”

“Not really.”

“Don't you get fed up with always taking pictures of the same thing?”

“It's never the same.”

He launched into a lecture on photography. He seemed in raptures over his profession. I was interested by what he was saying and was the first to be surprised by that.

“Can you make a living out of it?”

“I do a lot of bread and butter work, but I try my best to concentrate on what I like. What about you, what did you do in Paris?”

I took a deep breath and sighed before ordering another round. This time, I paid before he could. In two hours, I'd become addicted to Guinness. I took a long drink.

“I ran a literary café.”

“With your husband?”

“No. Colin helped me get it started, but Felix is my business partner.”

“Really? The clown I fought with?”

“The very same. But tell me, didn't that clown leave you with a little souvenir of his trip?”

I pointed at the cut that Edward still had on his lip. To tell the truth, Felix had greatly exaggerated his exploits.

“We were both pretty ridiculous,” Edward said with a smile. “So you mean that Felix is running a literary café right now?”

“Yes. He's been the only one running it for a year and a half.”

“You must be close to bankruptcy, no? I'm not saying he isn't a nice guy, but I can't imagine he's a very good manager or administrator.”

“You're not wrong. But it's also partly my responsibility. I haven't made an effort to take back the reins, and even before Colin and Clara died, I didn't kill myself at work.”

“You'll go back there one day, of course. I imagine you have to be damned lucky to have a literary café in the center of Paris . . .”

I avoided looking at him.

We went outside the pub together with the same habit: to light a cigarette. The peace pipe. Edward walked me back to my car before getting into his.

I took an unbelievable amount of time to get the engine started; that's how surprised I was by the turn the day had taken. The sound of a car horn brought me back to reality. Edward's car was next to mine. I lowered the window.

“I'll go ahead of you,” he said, with a little smile.

“Be my guest.”

He sped off. When I arrived at the cottage, I told myself, for the first time, that the lights from my neighbor's house weren't annoying.

Ever since Edward and I had buried the hatchet, we continually ran into each other: on the beach, at Abby and Jack's house, where I went more and more often, and even sometimes at the pub.

I was walking along the beach. I'd lured away Postman Pat while Edward was taking pictures. As I was walking back to him, I saw him quickly put away all his equipment.

“What are you doing?”

“I don't feel like getting soaked; I'm going home.”

“You're such a sissy.”

He smiled at me.

“You should do the same.”

“You're kidding.” I looked up at the sky. “There are only three little clouds.”

“You've been living here for six months and you still don't understand the weather. I promise you there's going to be a serious storm.”

He gave me a wave and headed for home. Postman Pat hesitated between going with his master or staying with me. I threw a stick for him and he stayed to play.

But the game didn't last long. A downpour hit us less than fifteen minutes later. I ran back towards the cottages with the dog ahead. One day, I'll stop smoking and then I'll be able to really sprint. Edward's door was open and Postman Pat ran inside. Without thinking, I followed him, then stood dead still at the doorway when I saw Edward.

“Come in,” he said, “I won't bite.”

“No, I'll go home.”

“Aren't you soaked enough? You want to get even wetter?”

I nodded in agreement.

“Come in and get warm.'

He went upstairs. His place still looked like a shambles. I went straight over to the fireplace to warm my hands. I was fascinated by a photo on the windowsill: a photo of a woman sitting on the beach in Mulranny. If Edward had taken that picture, he really was talented.

“Put that on,” he said, coming up behind me.

I caught the sweater he threw me. It came down to my knees. Edward handed me a cup of coffee. I happily accepted and remained standing next to the fire. Then I turned back to study the photo again.

“Don't keep standing there.”

“Is this one of your photos?”

“Yes. I took it just before I decided to come and live here.”

“Who's the woman?”

“No one.”

I turned around and leaned against the mantle. Edward sat down on one of his couches.

“How long have you been living in Mulranny?”

He bent down to pick up his cigarettes from the coffee table. After lighting one, he propped his elbows up against his knees and stroked his beard.

“Five years.”

“Why did you leave Dublin?”

“Is this an interrogation?”

“No . . . no . . . I'm sorry, I'm too nosy.”

I started taking off the sweater.

“What are you doing?” Edward asked.

“It's stopped raining. I won't bother you any longer.”

“Don't you want to know why I became a hermit?”

I put my head back into the top of the sweater, which meant “yes.”

“In truth, I left Dublin because I couldn't stand the city any more.”

“But Judith said you liked it there and I thought you liked living near her.”

“I needed to start a new life.”

He shut up like a clam and suddenly stood up.

“Are you staying for dinner?”

Once I got over my surprise, I accepted his offer. Edward got going in the kitchen and absolutely forbid me to help him.

During the meal, he told me about Judith, his parents, and his aunt and uncle. I confided in him about my relationship with my family that was getting more and more confrontational. He had the decency not to ask me anything about Colin and Clara.

I started to look as tired as I felt.

“Now who's the sissy?” Edward asked.

“It's time for me to go home.”

Edward walked me to the door. I noticed a small suitcase on the floor.

“Are you going away?”

“Tomorrow morning; I have an assignment in Belfast.”

“What are you doing with your dog?”

“Do you want him?”

“If that helps you out.”

“Take him; he's yours.”

I opened the door and managed to whistle for Postman Pat who came trotting out. Edward petted him but it was more like thumping him. After taking a few steps away, I turned towards him.

“When will you be back?”

“In a week.”

“OK. Good night.”

The weather had been horrible all day long and we'd hardly dared venture outside. I amused myself by cooking; I'd felt like it, the urge just came over me like that. And it was also convenient having a living garbage can at my disposal.

My dinner was simmering on the stove. I was comfortably settled on the couch, the dog at my feet, a glass of wine on the side table, engrossed in
The Good Life
by Jay McInerney with piano music in the background. My peace was broken by someone knocking at the front door. Postman Pat didn't move; he was no more eager than I was to be disturbed. Still, I went and opened the door and found Edward standing there.

“Hello,” he said.

“I hadn't realized you were coming back tonight.”

“I can go away again, if you want.”

“Idiot. Come in.”

He followed me into the living room where the dog deigned to show he was glad to see him before quickly going to sprawl down in his spot. Edward started looking all around.

“Are you taking the grand tour?” I asked.

“Not at all; it's just been a long time since I was here.”

“Please, make yourself at home.”

“I wouldn't dare.”

“Would you like a drink?”

“I'd love one.”

I went into the kitchen. I used the opportunity to check the food in my pressure cooker. I'd made enough for three. I leaned against the stove to keep control. Then I went back to join Edward and handed him his glass without saying a word.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

“Do you want to stay and have dinner with me?”

“I don't know . . .”

I lit a cigarette and stood in front of the bay window. It was so dark that you couldn't see a thing outside.

“I cooked today for the first time in a year and a half and I'm still in the habit of cooking for a family. I have enough for an army. I'd like you to stay and have dinner with me.”

“It would be rude to refuse.”

“Thank you,” I said, lowering my eyes.

Edward told me about his week over dinner. I made him laugh when I told him all the problems I'd had with his dog running away. Every now and again, I felt I was standing outside the scene, watching myself sharing a meal with the person I had called “my bastard of a neighbor” just a few weeks before. It was surreal.

After putting on the coffee, I went back into the living room and found Edward standing in the middle of the room, smoking a cigarette. I couldn't see what he was holding in his hands and staring at. He looked up and stared straight into my eyes.

“You made a beautiful family.”

I walked over to him and took the picture from him. I sat down and he crouched down next to me. It was one of our last family photos, taken a few weeks before they died.

“Let me introduce Colin and Clara,” I said, stroking my daughter's face.

“She looks like you.”

“Do you think so?”

“I'll let you get some sleep.”

He stood and put on his jacket, whistled for the dog, and headed for the front door.

“I'm leaving in three days for the Aran Islands,” he said. Then he hesitated.

“Do you want me to take care of Postman Pat?”

“No. Come with me.”

“What?”

“Come with me. You won't be disappointed.”

And with that, he left.

7

I didn't have to think about it for long before accepting Edward's offer. We left after delivering Postman Pat to Abby and Jack, who stared at us, dumbfounded.

The car journey and ferry crossing were spent in utter silence. With him, I learned not to speak unless I really had something to say.

We had barely set foot on the island when he dragged me to one of its farthest points where he claimed the light was perfect for his photos. It was then that I began to seriously regret having come along with him. I'd always suffered from fear of heights and we were at the edge of a cliff nearly three hundred feet high.

“I wanted to show you this spot. It's restful, don't you think?” he asked.

Terrifying seemed more appropriate.

“It gives you the feeling of being alone in the world.”

“That's why I like it here.”

“At least you don't have any annoying neighbors.”

We looked at each other then, and the expression in our eyes was full of meaning.

“I'm going to get to work,” Edward said, “but you have to stay here and honor the tradition of the island.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Everyone who comes here has to lie flat on his stomach and lean his head down over the edge. Your turn to play!”

He started to walk away but I grabbed his arm to hold him back.

“Are you kidding?”

“Are you afraid?”

“Oh, no, not at all, quite the opposite,” I replied stiffly. “I love getting a thrill.”

“Well, have fun then.”

This time, he really did leave. He was daring me. I smoked a cigarette. Then I got down on my knees. The only way I could get near the edge was to crawl. Like on a commando training course. I started shaking about three feet from my goal. My muscles seized up; I was paralyzed, and I was close to
screaming in terror. Time passed and I was incapable of standing up to back away from the precipice. Moving my head to see where Edward was taking pictures seemed impossible; I would surely fall. I whispered his name so he would come and rescue me. To no avail.

“Edward,” I called loudly, “Come here, please.”

The minutes seemed like hours. Finally, Edward came over to me.

“What are you still doing here?”

“Having tea, what does it look like?”

“Don't tell me you're afraid of heights?”

“Well, I am.”

“Then why did you want to do this?”

“It doesn't matter. Do something, anything, pull me back by my feet, but don't leave me here.”

“I don't think so.”

The bastard. I felt him stretching out beside me.

“What are you doing?”

Without saying a word, he moved closer to me, put an arm around my back, and held me close. I still didn't move.

“Move forward with me,” he said quietly.

“No,” I whispered.

When I felt Edward starting to move towards the edge, I hid my head against his neck.

“I'll fall.”

“I won't let go of you.”

I slowly looked up at him. The wind whipped my face and my hair was flying in all directions. I gradually opened my eyes and felt like I was being sucked into a void when I saw the waves beating against the rock face. Edward tightened his grip. I half closed my eyes, giving in, I couldn't control anything, my whole body went limp. I turned towards Edward. He was watching me.

“What?” I asked.

“Enjoy the view.”

I glanced at him once more before leaning out again. Edward stood up, grabbed me by the waist, and pulled me up. I gave him a little smile.

“Let's go,” he said, putting one arm around my back.

We spent the evening at the pub in the port. On the way to the bed and breakfast where we were staying, I found out he'd be leaving early the next morning; he wanted to take some pictures at sunrise.

I stretched out in my bed; I'd slept like a baby. It was already quite late in the day. When I got up, I noticed a piece of paper had been slipped under my door. There was a map of the island and a note for me. Edward told me where he'd be spending the day.

The owner served me a gigantic breakfast. While wolfing it down, I listened to him tell me about Edward and the times he'd been there by himself.

A little later, I'd nearly reached my goal: I'd been walking for more than an hour across the heath. The beach was right ahead of me; I could see Edward in the distance, holding his camera. If I hadn't been afraid of breaking his concentration, I think I would have run over to him, without quite knowing why. I sat down and watched him. I took a handful of sand and played with it. I felt good; I could breathe again. Life was reasserting itself and I didn't want to fight it any more.

Edward walked back from the beach, his bag over his shoulder, smoking a cigarette. When he got to me, he sat down beside me.

“So the sleepyhead finally woke up?”

I lowered my eyes and smiled. I felt him move closer. He kissed me on the forehead.

“Hello,” was all he said.

I was flustered.

“So, how are the pictures?” I asked to change the subject.

“I won't know until I see the proofs. I'm done for today. Do you want to go for a little walk?” he suggested, standing up.

I looked up at him. I stared at him and wanted to hold his hand; nothing was stopping me. He held me close. I stood there for a few moments, overwhelmed by the sense of security that washed over me. Finally, I gently pulled away. I walked towards the sea and when I looked back, Edward was behind me. I smiled at him, and he smiled back.

I'd slept for half the day, and I was still exhausted. I was going to collapse into a heap again.

“What do you have planned for tomorrow?” I asked Edward as we stood in front of the door to my room.

“I found a boat so I could spend the day on another island in the open seas.”

“Can I go with you?”

He smiled, then wiped his face with his hand.

“Never mind. I'll just get in your way,” I said, opening the door to my room.

“I didn't say no.”

I turned around and looked at him.

“Come with me, but you'll have to get up at dawn.”

He gave me a wry smile.

“Hey! I'm capable of getting up early!”

“In that case, I'll come and get you at six o'clock.”

He came closer and just as he had that afternoon, he kissed me on the forehead.

I'd set the alarm clock in the room and the one on my phone. When they both went off at once, I leaped out of bed. I felt like I'd hardly had any sleep. I thought I would collapse with exhaustion in the shower. I was running on automatic when I opened my door at exactly six o'clock. Through half-opened eyes, I saw Edward, bright as a button.

“What planet are you from?” I asked him, sounding groggy.

“I don't sleep very much.”

“Are there bunks on the boat?”

He gestured me to follow him. He made a detour to the kitchen while I leaned against the wall at the entrance wondering how I was going to make it through the day.

“Here,” he said.

I opened my eyes. He handed me a thermos.

“Is this really what I think it is?”

“I'm getting to know you.”

“Thank you! Thank God!” I followed him out to the car.

My dose of caffeine and what I saw when we got to the port finally woke me up. You could hear the sound of the trawlers and see the night mist thanks to the lights on the fishing boats. I quickly realized we were about to get into one of those old tubs. All I needed was a yellow wax jacket and navy blue boots to be the very picture of a Parisian at sea. I stayed back while Edward said hello to the sailors. They all had a cigarette hanging from their lips and faces deeply lined by the elements. Forces of nature. I felt particularly uncomfortable when they all turned to look at me. Edward waved at me to come over and get on the boat.

“You're going to stay on the bridge,” he said.

“And what about you?”

“I'm going with them.”

“All right.”

“Don't move from there; I'll come and get you. And umm . . . don't touch anything and don't say anything.”

“I can hold my own.”

“Don't you know the old saying? A woman on a boat is bad luck. And since they didn't know you were coming, I had a battle to keep you with me.”

“What did you say to convince them?”

He looked at me, suddenly very serious, and wiped his face with his hand.

“Nothing special.”

He walked away.

Since I hadn't caused any problems on the crossing, I was treated to a few smiles when I got off the boat.

After spending the morning at the port with the trawler men, we headed towards the beach. It was actually an inlet surrounded by high cliffs. Edward got to work, and I took the opportunity to go and explore what was hidden behind the rocks. I climbed up. Nothing but the sea on the horizon. I leaned against the rocks and closed my eyes. A ray of sunlight warmed me up, and I enjoyed the moment.

“Diane!” Edward called, from behind me.

“Yes?”

I glanced at him and my smile faded when I realized he'd just taken my picture. He looked very satisfied with himself and walked away. I hurried down from my rock to run after him.

“Show me those pictures right now!”

‘“Artistic property,” he replied, lifting his camera out of reach.

I ran all around him, trying to jump high enough to grab it, but in vain. I finally collapsed down on the sand and Edward did the same.

“Will I see them one day?”

“If you're a good girl.”

He'd left the camera on the ground. In a flash, I jumped over him, stole the object of my desire, and took off as fast as a rabbit. Thinking I had a few fractions of a second to spare, I turned it around to see it from all sides.

“How do you turn this thing on?”

“Like this.”

Edward was right behind me. He put his arms around me, took my hands and guided me. The screen lit up.

“Do you really want to see them now?” he whispered in my ear.

“On one condition.”

“I'm listening.”

“I want some pictures with you in them.”

“I hate that.”

“Is the gentleman photographer afraid to have his picture taken?”

He didn't reply, just started fiddling with the settings on the camera. His face was leaning over my shoulder and he looked deep in thought. He finally raised his arm and took the picture without warning me.

“Smile, Edward. Wait, I'll help you.”

I turned around to face him, still in his arms. He frowned. I held his face and pulled his mouth into a smile.

“You see, you can when you want to! Go on then, get to work!”

It was the first time I saw Edward so joyful, almost carefree. He had me climb onto his back for a series of pictures. I was thrashing about so much that we ended up falling. I managed to snatch the camera from him and run away. When I turned around, I saw that Edward hadn't moved. He was watching me. He sat down, lit a cigarette, looked away, and stared out into the distance. By some miracle, I brought the camera up quickly and managed to immortalize the scene. I went back and stood in front of him.

“Well, what's your professional opinion?”

He stuck his cigarette in the corner of his mouth, took the camera from my hand, and leaned over it. He looked up at me when he realized he was the subject of the photo.

“Come here,” he said, pointing to the space between his knees.

I slid down in front of him; he put his arms around me and showed me the screen.

“It's not bad at all for a first try,” he said. “But you see, there, it needs . . .”

I couldn't hear what he was saying any more. I turned to stare up at him and it was as if I were seeing him for the first time: his messy hair, his beard, the color of his eyes. I breathed in his scent for the first time, too, a mixture of soap and stale tobacco. I was so overcome with emotion that I had to close my eyes.

“Let's take one more little picture.”

I saw he was looking at me. He put the camera down without taking his eyes off me. He put one hand against my cheek. I leaned my face against his palm.

“We should get back to the port; the boat won't wait for us,” he said, his voice more husky than usual.

He stood up, gathered together his equipment, and helped me up. We walked hand in hand for a long time on the way back.

“Wake up, we're here.”

It was Edward's voice. He had stayed with me below deck and I'd fallen asleep in his arms during the crossing. He stroked my cheek to help me come around. I rubbed my face against his. I felt good.

The owner of the bed and breakfast was there to greet us, despite the late hour. He'd saved us some leftovers for dinner. Edward was right at home here. He heated up the food and poured us a drink while I sat on a high bar stool and watched him, without doing anything. Once we sat down, all we did was look at each other; we didn't say a word.