Happy People Read and Drink Coffee (7 page)

I stood at the entrance to his living room, rocking back and forth. Postman Pat trotted in and rubbed against my legs. I petted him to avoid talking to his master, who had his back to me behind the kitchen counter.

“Coffee?” he asked suddenly.

“Yes,” I replied, walking toward him.

“Are you hungry?”

“I'll eat later; the coffee will be enough.”

He put some food on a plate and set it down on the counter. The smell of the scrambled eggs made my mouth water. I looked at the plate defiantly.

“Sit down and eat.”

I automatically obeyed him, partly because I was starving and partly because his tone of voice left me no choice. Edward was standing and staring at me, holding his coffee, with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. I brought the fork to my lips and opened my eyes wide. He may not have been very friendly but his scrambled eggs were worthy of a cordon bleu chef. Every now and again, I looked up from my plate. Impossible to work out what he was thinking or to bear the way he was staring at me for long.

I started looking around. One fact stood out: Edward's place was a complete shambles. There were things everywhere: photography material, magazines, books, piles of clothes, half-full ashtrays. A pack of cigarettes hit my cup; I turned and looked at my host.

“You're dying for one,” he said.

“Thanks.”

I got off my stool, took my dose of nicotine, and walked over to the bay window.

“Edward, I have to explain what happened yesterday.”

“Not at all; I would have helped anyone.”

“Contrary to what you think, I'm not in the habit of making a spectacle of myself like that. I want you to understand.”

“I don't care what made you do it.”

He walked over to the front door and opened it. This oaf was telling me to leave. His dog was still nestled against me; I petted him one last time. Then I walked past his master and stood on the steps. I turned to face him and looked him straight in the eyes. No one could be so hard.

“Goodbye,” he said.

“If you need anything,” I said, “please don't hesitate.”

“I don't need anything.”

He slammed the door in my face. I stood there for several minutes. What an asshole this guy was.

I had to do a big spring clean to get my house back in order. When it came to getting plastered and having a hangover, it didn't matter what country you were in: the effects were the same.

Felix had played his role as a counselor wonderfully, listening to me for many hours at a time over the phone. I'd just gone through another crisis and I was still standing. I was going to launch into a new attempt to get better.

I was trying to find a way to go about it when someone knocked on my door. I was surprised to find my neighbor there. The gods were against me. I hadn't seen him since I'd left his place, a week before, and I was none the worse for it.

“Hello,” he said dryly.

“Edward.”

“Actually, I do have a favor to ask you. Can you take care of my dog?”

“Don't Abby and Jack usually take care of him?”

“I'm going to be away too long to leave him with them.”

“What do you mean by too long?”

“Two weeks or more.”

“When do you want me to take him?”

“Now.”

He certainly had nerve. And he'd left his motor running, so he was really holding a gun to my head. Since I was taking my time to answer, he shook his head and said, “OK. Forget it.”

“Do you mind if I think about it for a second?”

“Think about watching a dog?”

“Well, since you've asked so nicely . . . Fine, bring him in.”

He went and opened the back of his Land Rover and Postman Pat jumped out. More affectionate than his master, he was delighted to see me, which made me smile.

“I'm off,” said Edward.

He sat down behind the wheel.

“Wait a minute, doesn't he have a leash?”

“No, you whistle and he comes back.”

“That's it?”

Edward closed the car door and sped off. Still the same jerk. And he'd taken up the nasty habit of slamming every single door in my face.

Three weeks had passed since I'd become a dog sitter. Three weeks. Edward was really going too far. But the dog was sweet; my best friend for the moment. My only friend in this hellhole, in fact. He followed me everywhere, even slept with me. I frightened myself a little when I started talking to him. It was a bit like, “Who's mommy's good little boy, then?” But even when he was being a good doggie, he still looked more like a donkey crossed with a bear. A mixture you couldn't actually define.

I discovered the joys of having a four-legged friend. I liked it, except when he ran off. I was treated to at least one of his escapades every day when we walked along the beach. Even though I wore myself out whistling for him, nothing happened. Today, I was worried even more than usual. He'd been gone too long.

I was soaked in sweat from running down the beach, coughing my brains out. Head down, hands on my knees, I was catching my breath when I heard Postman Pat barking. He was coming toward me accompanied by a woman I'd never seen before. I shaded my eyes with my hand. The closer she got, the more I knew I wouldn't have run across this young woman without noticing her. She must have been about my age. She was wearing a short kilt and walking boots. She looked like she was about to catch pneumonia: under her leather vest, her top was very low-cut and barely covered her breasts. She had a mass of curly auburn hair. Before she got to me, she picked up a stick and threw it far away for the dog.

“Get lost, you dirty beast,” she said, laughing.

She kept smiling as she continued walking toward me.

“Hi, Diane,” she said, before giving me a hug.

“Hello,” I replied, taken aback.

“I found out you were taking care of him and I came to see if he wasn't giving you too much of a hard time.”

“No, I'm doing fine, except for now.”

“Oh, don't worry; I can't count the number of times I wound up with my ass in the sand running after him. He only listens to Edward. Though who would dare try anything else with my brother?”

She burst out laughing, but she talked so incredibly fast I wasn't sure I'd understood everything.

“Edward's your brother?”

“Yes. Oh, sorry, I haven't introduced myself: I'm Judith, his younger sister.”

“And I'm Diane, but you know that already.”

“Good, so now you'll offer me something to drink at your place?”

She linked arms with me, turned us around and headed towards the cottage. This young woman wasn't Edward's sister; their parents couldn't possibly have given birth to two such different children. The only thing they had in common was the color of their eyes; Judith's were exactly the same greenish-blue as Edward's.

I showed her in and she immediately collapsed on the sofa and put her feet on the coffee table.

“Would you like coffee, tea?”

“You're French, right, so you must have a good bottle of wine. It's time for a drink.”

Five minutes later, we were clinking glasses.

“Diane, I can't believe you're as antisocial as my brother. Why are you living here? It's a beautiful place, that's true, but what were you thinking?”

“It's an experience like any other, living all alone by the sea. But what about you? Where do you live?”

“Above a pub in Dublin. You have to come.”

“Maybe one day.”

“How long are you here for? Aren't you working?”

“Not for the moment. And you?”

“I'm having a few days off, but I'm doing some work at the port. I'm managing the schedules for the containers; it's not very exciting but it pays the rent and bills.”

She continued jabbering, a real chatterbox. Then she suddenly shot up, as if she'd been stung by a bee.

“I'm off; Abby and Jack are expecting me.”

She was already on her way out the door.

“Wait, you've left your ciggies.”

“Keep them; they're contraband. I have a little arrangement with the dockers,” she said, winking at me.

“You're walking home? It's dark out. Do you want me to drive you back?”

“Are you kidding? It'll be some exercise for my thighs. See you tomorrow!”

Judith came back the next day as she said. Then the day after. Three days in a row she'd invaded my personal space. Yet, paradoxically, her presence didn't suffocate me. She made me laugh. She was a born flirt. She knew how to show off her figure—she could have been an Italian actress—and swore like a trooper every time she opened her mouth. Dynamite. She bombarded me with cock-and-bull stories about her love life. Even though she was very confident and didn't fear a thing, any good-looking guy who came along could take advantage of her. She couldn't resist any bad boy who tried to pick her up.

That night, she stayed to have dinner with me. She ate enough for four people and could hold her liquor like a man.

“It's just us,” she said, unbuttoning her jeans, “Do you mind?”

I went and opened the door for the dog who was asking for his nighttime walk.

“Why did my brother leave you his mutt?”

“I owed him a favor.”

She looked at me suspiciously. Without reacting, I sat down on the couch and tucked my legs underneath me.

“Has Edward always been like he is?”

“What do you mean by ‘like he is'?” she answered, using air quotes.

“Kind of angry, unsociable, taciturn? . . .”

“Oh, that? Yes, always. He's had a fucking awful character since he was born.”

“Nice. I feel sorry for your parents.”

“Didn't Abby tell you anything? They were the ones who brought us up—Abby and Jack. Our mother died giving birth to me; Edward was six years old. Our father didn't want to take care of us, so he sent us to our aunt and uncle.”

“I'm really sorry . . .”

“Don't be. I had wonderful parents and wanted for nothing. You'll never hear me call myself an orphan.”

“You never lived with your father?”

“We did spend a few days with him, when he deigned to come out of his office, but it was hellish. Because of Edward.”

“Edward wasn't happy to see him?”

“No. He thinks our parents abandoned us. He holds a grudge against the whole world. In spite of all the admiration he had for dad, as soon as they were in the same room, they'd start fighting.”

“What do you mean?”

“Edward is exactly like him. So there have always been sparks between them. They spent all their time shouting at each other.”

“What about you? Were you caught in the middle?”

“Yes. You can imagine the atmosphere.”

“And are things as confrontational as ever?”

“Dad died.”

“Oh . . .”

“Yeah, we've had some hard times.”

She gave a little laugh, lit a cigarette, and stared out into space for a few seconds before continuing.

“They fought right up to the end, but Edward stayed with dad throughout his whole illness. He spent hours at his bedside. I think they made their peace. I never found out what they said to each other. Edward won't talk about it; he just assured me that dad died peacefully.”

“How old were you?”

“I was sixteen and Edward was twenty-two. He immediately decreed that he was now head of the family and had to provide for me. Abby and Jack couldn't do anything about it. He came and got me and took me to live with him.”

“How did he manage everything?”

“No idea. He was going to college, working, and taking care of me. As he got older, he created a shell around him to protect himself from everything and everyone.”

“Doesn't he have any friends?”

“A few, hand-picked. It's almost impossible for him to trust anyone. He's convinced he'll either be betrayed or abandoned. He taught me to get along by myself and not to count on anyone. He always protected me and never hesitated to get into a fight to defend me from guys he thought were coming on to me too much.”

“Is he violent?”

“Not really; he fights when people really annoy him, you know, when he gets pushed too far.”

“I think that's exactly what I did,” I mumbled.

She looked at me, screwing up her eyes.

“You're not afraid of him though, are you?”

“I don't know. He was really nasty to me.”

She burst out laughing.

“Well, you coming here must have really pissed him off, but don't worry: he has high principles. Amongst them, never to raise a hand to a woman. He'd more likely be the kind of guy to help a damsel in distress.”

“I'm having trouble imaging that the person you're describing is my neighbor.”

Judith was going back to Dublin the next day. She met me on my daily walk along the beach with Postman Pat. We were sitting on the sand. She was trying to find out some information about me again.

“You're hiding something. What are you doing here? I can't believe that neither Abby or I have been able to worm anything out of you.”

“There's nothing to tell. My life isn't interesting, I can assure you.”

I left to find Postman Pat. He'd taken off out of sight again. I ran towards the path that led to the cottages. I was always afraid that he'd get hit by a car, or worse, that Edward would come back to find his dog wandering around.

I caught him and pulled him by the collar to take him back to the beach. At that very moment, Edward's Land Rover pulled up in front of the cottages. To prove I could really control the dog, I held on to him firmly until his master was standing next to us. He was jumping all over Edward, who was looking daggers at me. We stood there staring at each other while the dog ran back and forth between us.

A high-pitched scream rang out. Judith ran over to us. She leaped onto her brother. I thought I could see the glimpse of a smile on Edward's face. She finally let him go. She took hold of his chin and stared at him, frowning.