Moon in a Dead Eye Read online

  ‘Great, see you soon!’

  Martial and Odette walked back holding hands, like two children coming home from their first day at school. Odette seemed relieved.

  ‘You were right, we had to see them up close. That woman’s at least seventy.’

  ‘He’s no spring chicken either. That raven-black hair doesn’t fool me for one minute, or his teeth for that matter!’

  ‘They seem like nice people though. Smiley.’

  ‘Him especially! My word, he’s a walking advert for his dentist!’

  ‘Martial!’

  They fell through the door in fits of giggles and, for the first time, the house felt warm and cosy, lived in. They opened a half-bottle of champagne and a tin of foie gras.

  The sky was undeniably blue, not a wisp of cloud on the horizon. Though there was still a chill in the air, making an extra layer essential, Martial and Odette had decided to have breakfast on the deck. It was 16 April and the first time they had eaten outdoors. Martial was doing battle with his tartine. The homemade apple jelly was too runny, spilling out of the holes in the bread as he spread it.

  ‘So, what do you think?’

  ‘It’s nice, very nice. Maybe a little bit runny …’

  ‘That’s because of the apples. I could only get Golden Delicious. We’re happy here, though, aren’t we?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘They said on the radio this morning it’s raining in Paris. Do you realise how lucky we are?’

  ‘Yes … Damn it! I’ve got it all over my bloody trousers.’

  ‘Are they your new ones?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Here, wipe them with this. So, what did you make of it?’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘The drinks at the Nodes’, obviously!’

  ‘Oh, it was all a bit fancy for my liking. All those little sweet and savoury nibble things, they’re too fussy. I like simpler stuff.’

  ‘I don’t mind it every now and then. They certainly didn’t hold back on the champagne – we must have drunk at least two bottles!’

  ‘Three! Maxime opened another just before we left. I think Marlène had a few too many …’

  ‘I was a bit tipsy too. I didn’t make a fool of myself, did I?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I was falling asleep by the end.’

  ‘It was well before then! I had to give you a nudge, you were snoring on the sofa … That sofa! It’s …’

  ‘Pachydermic!’

  ‘Exactly! All real leather – must have cost an arm and a leg. But it’s far too big for that sitting room. With the piano behind it, you can barely move. I’m not saying they haven’t got nice things, but it’s all a bit showy. They’re the same themselves, very nice people but they always have to go one better, with their holidays, and their friends in high places, and their son the lawyer …’

  ‘We still don’t know which of them plays the piano.’

  ‘We don’t, do we?’

  Inspecting the scrawny shrub, whose branches reached upwards as though imploring the sky, Martial came across a single bud the size of a boil.

  Since the Nodes had moved in, Martial and Odette had given up playing ‘the neighbours game’. There was no point now that they could get it all from the horse’s mouth, without even having to ask. The neighbours crossed paths almost every day, running errands for each other and sharing restaurant and shopping tips. Martial and Odette’s superior knowledge of the area made them seem pleasingly like trailblazers, the old hands of Les Conviviales. Piecing together what they had gleaned from all these conversations, they now knew that Maxime had spent his career selling greenhouses all over Europe; that Marlène had danced at the Paris Opéra in her youth; that before coming here they had lived in Orléans and that their son, Régis, was an exceptionally gifted lawyer destined for high office in the near future.

  ‘He’s always been able to pick things up just like that!’

  Whatever the topic of conversation, Marlène always found a way to turn it to her genius progeny, so that her audience ended up despising the man without ever having met him.

  Yes, they were a bit showy, with their clothes, their car and their furniture, but their hearts were in the right place and they were good fun, him especially. He was a real charmer, using and abusing his magnetic smile. He always had a joke up his sleeve and seemed at ease in every situation. In other words, a true salesman. As for Marlène, for all her fragile bird-like demeanour, she was no spare part. She knew her role like the back of her jewellery-laden hand, scolding her husband when his jokes went too far, acting the dizzy blonde when it suited her and always laughing in the right places. All in all, they were pleasant company. No one said they had to be intellectuals. As neighbours went, they were just fine; Martial and Odette could have done much worse. Going their separate ways the previous evening, the two couples had agreed to make a joint visit to a nearby château which was supposed to be very beautiful. Luckily they had not fixed a date for the outing, for which Martial was now thankful. A dinner a month was about enough socialising for him. Plus, it was one thing getting on well as neighbours, quite another to turn that into a friendship.

  ‘Martial?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I was thinking it might be time to get a new dinner service.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For having people over, obviously!’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘Like the Nodes, for starters. We’ll have to return their invitation. There’s a little shop under the arches. We could head over there now.’

  Monsieur Flesh always carried tons of things on his belt: keys, a mobile phone, a torch, pepper spray, a knife; he was a walking hardware shop. He was leaning against the gate smoking a cigarette and staring intensely at the empty sky. Martial slowed down as he drew level.

  ‘Morning, Monsieur Flesh! Beautiful day, isn’t it?’

  ‘Very nice, yes. Oh, there’s a new person coming, a woman.’

  ‘A woman on her own?’

  ‘Yes. Next week.’

  ‘Right … Well, have a good day, Monsieur Flesh.’

  ‘And you, Monsieur Sudre.’

  Sunshine was streaming through the windscreen. After all those months of grey, their eyes struggled to adjust to the riot of colour, as though emerging from a dark tunnel into bright daylight. Odette put on her sunglasses. Her mouth twitched with irritation.

  ‘Something wrong, Odette?’

  ‘No, nothing … Bit strange to have a single woman coming, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not really. She might be a widow.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true, she might be …’

  Standing in front of the bathroom mirror wearing only his underpants, Maxime was striking toreador poses. Chest puffed out, belly sucked in, fists clenched beside his hips, he held his breath for long enough to tell himself he still looked pretty good for a man of his age. Then he slowly exhaled, not entirely convinced. As his muscles relaxed, the skin sagged on his hunched skeleton like an oversized garment. He shrugged his shoulders and began to shave.

  ‘Here, at least …’

  All of this was down to a heart scare, a teeny tiny one, but a warning sign. The doctor had told him he had the heart of an ox. But he couldn’t push his luck, he wasn’t thirty any more. Drinks parties, good wine, good food and … all the rest of it would have to be reined in from now on. Nothing too serious. But it had been the last straw, hastening their decision to leave. Marlène had leapt at the chance. She had been thinking about it for some time, for other reasons. They had been burgled three times in recent years. The residential neighbourhood of Orléans where they had lived for many moons had become a prime target for the scum who came in from the outlying boroughs. Nothing could stop them, not the most sophisticated alarm systems or the patrols that took place day and night. They were everywhere and nowhere, gnawing away like vermin at the foundations of the stable, quiet life people had worked hard to build. The city centre had not escaped unscathed. Marlène had been
mugged in broad daylight at the cash point next to the post office. It took her six months to get over it. Through a friend in the police, Maxime had got himself a firearms licence. His revolver only left his glove compartment at night, when he slid it underneath the bed. They could not go on like that. So it was a combination of things that had brought them to Les Conviviales. He couldn’t really complain about the place; it was new, clean, empty of both past and future. The problem was it would soon be filled with nothing but old people. Old old people, not like him. People like the Sudres, for example. They must have been about the same age as him and Marlène but, come on, there was no contest … Very nice people, nothing was too much trouble, but could he imagine seeing in the New Year with them? Not likely! And as for wearing socks with sandals, dear God!

  Maxime rubbed aftershave into his cheeks, chuckling at the memory of Martial’s feet before his expression turned to a frown. There were white hairs at his temples. He would have to get some more dye.

  ‘This is very kind of you, Monsieur Flesh. I couldn’t have managed it on my own. If you could put it down there on the deck … a little to the left … There, perfect! Thanks ever so much.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Madame Node.’

  ‘It’s an olive tree. It’ll do well in that spot.’

  The fragile stem clinging to its stake, peeking up like a periscope from its huge pot, perfectly summed up the touching pathos of human hope. Monsieur Flesh shook his head doubtfully. The man lacked imagination.

  ‘I’m planning to put a bay tree the other side. What do you think?’

  ‘Better wait and see …’

  ‘Indeed … It’s funny, my husband spent his whole life selling greenhouses but he hates flowers. Not like my son. He used to make me such lovely posies, even when he was very little! He has a natural eye for it. Do you like flowers, Monsieur Flesh?’

  ‘I look after them. Right, I’d better swing by number twelve. There’s a woman coming next week.’

  ‘A woman?’

  ‘Yes, a single woman. Have a good day, Madame Node.’

  Marlène took off her brand-new gardening gloves and watched the caretaker walking back up the road. His arms dangled at his sides, as though pushing an invisible wheelbarrow. A single woman … Well, she had to be old in any case. And anyway … He would never admit it, but since his heart scare, Maxime was not quite the same. Something had changed, imperceptibly. It was as though he felt he was being watched. He was always checking the time; it had become a sort of tic. It couldn’t be down to her; she had given him free rein years ago, leaving him to his own devices so long as their life together was not disrupted. She had realised early on this was the only way to go. She did not resent him for it, it was just the way he was – he liked to feel attractive. And he had attracted her, so much so that she had left the Opéra to focus all her attentions on doing the housework. She didn’t regret it; she would probably never have made it to prima ballerina. In any case, she had never gone without; Maxime was generous and had showered her with enough luxuries to allow her to forget the essentials. And then Régis had come along … You were allowed to have your children to stay for two weeks of the year here. She had already got his room ready … Maxime had got angry … She had cried …

  An ant emerged from between two flagstones. Knitting its antennae together, it seemed to ponder which way to go. Marlène crushed it under her foot.

  Odette felt like learning something, but she wasn’t sure what. Italian, ikebana, yoga, belly dancing, Turkish cookery, surgery – anything, as long as it was new! So much time on her hands … Every day felt as long as a Sunday. This was her time, hers and no one else’s, and she could do whatever she liked with it. Yet the vast virgin territory bestowed upon her was no more than a big lump of ice floating on an ocean of emptiness, melting a little more each day. It preyed on her mind, the fear of wasting it. She wasn’t used to such freedom, and felt burdened by it. She had done as she was told her whole life, not simply out of laziness or lack of courage, but because she sincerely believed that modelling her existence on a train timetable would put her on the right track for success in the workplace and at home. It might not be perfect, but she had yet to discover a better alternative. There was cinema day, mountain-hike day, the day they went for dinner at so and so’s – and life was good … or so it seemed to her.

  Odette took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. A gust of wind ruffled the pages of the interiors catalogue lying open on her knees.

  She wasn’t so certain any more. But what was the use in dwelling on the past? All that mattered was the here and now. They were both in good health, they had everything they needed to be happy, and they were free!

  Her gaze followed the line of the security fence which screened off her horizons. A ray of sunlight bounced off the black eye of a CCTV camera.

  There was no reason to doubt it, they had been happy, with a few ups and downs, the odd regret, but nothing worth stewing over! They had lived an honest life. The world had become cynical; nobody took these sorts of values seriously any more. Well, if the world had moved on from them, they had moved on from it too. She and Martial were perfectly capable of looking after themselves – they’d been married forty years after all! And it had gone without a hitch! They hadn’t even needed to have children; the two of them got on just fine on their own. There was no reason for that to change …

  The shadow of a doubt was obscured by the sun for a moment. Everything became a uniform grey, cold and silent, like during an eclipse. Odette shivered, not only from the chill but something else, a sudden feeling of lacking, an emptiness that took her breath away. Then the sun came out again. She heard the reassuring hum of the TV from the living room. The Nodes waved to her as they drove past. It must be around midday. Everything was getting back to normal.

  ‘Martial?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t you think we should call Dacapo about the clubhouse?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘To get them to open it, of course! I mean, we’re paying for it, aren’t we?’

  ‘There aren’t enough of us.’

  ‘Excuse me, there are going to be five of us soon! We’re entitled to it anyway. I don’t know about you, but I want to do things.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know! That’s for the social secretary to think of. It’s her job to come up with things for us to do.’

  ‘Fine, we’ll call him. Let’s heat up that gratin, I’m hungry.’

  ‘Did you hear that thing on the news, Martial, about a doe attacking an old lady?’

  ‘It was a roebuck.’

  ‘Yes, well, same thing. I mean, bears, yes, wolves even, but a doe? I don’t know what kind of muck they’re spreading on the fields these days. All the little creatures guzzle it up and then go mad. You’ll see, soon it won’t be safe to walk anywhere.’

  They were having a drink on the deck at the Nodes’ place. The two women were indoors. You could hear the low murmur of their voices, the occasional word or burst of laughter ringing out clearly. It had not yet quite become a ritual, but they were going round to each other’s houses more and more often, and the mood was ever more relaxed. They had a good time, talking about everything and nothing, especially Maxime, who always had something to say whatever the subject. He found silences oppressive and was compelled to fill them. This suited Martial down to the ground, since he had spent his life cultivating the art of making conversation by nodding and smiling in agreement. Yes, it was nice, watching the sky turn mauve, then from mauve to purple, the stars coming out unnoticed. They had good weather almost every day now. Everywhere they looked, it was turning green. Everything they touched was sticky. Spring was in the air.

  ‘Top-up, Martial?’

  ‘No, I’d—’

  ‘Go on, let your hair down!’

  ‘OK then, just a drop.’

  Martial and Odette hardly ever drank, even with dinner. They had had to stock up in time for th
e Nodes’ first visit and since then, Martial had not been averse to the odd glass when the opportunity arose, as it did more and more often. It had not escaped Odette’s notice, and she had brought it up with him recently. Well, he was hardly going to become an alcoholic at his age. There was no harm in loosening up and letting that warm fuzzy feeling come over him now and then. Odette took those pills every night, after all …

  ‘And what about this black beast that’s been seen prowling around the dunes near Calais? They’re saying it could be a panther. Did you see it on telly?’

  ‘The photo the police showed wasn’t very convincing. It looked more like a large cat.’

  ‘Judging by the paw prints, they reckon the animal weighs about eight stone. That’s one hell of a moggy!’

  ‘Do you know the Côte d’Opale?’

  ‘No. I know the Basque coast very well though. I spent six months in Biarritz in ’56 … no, ’57. That was the life! One night, at the casino …’

  Martial sucked his ice cube. The Côte d’Opale, the dunes studded with with marram grass which scratched at your calves, the cliffs, the wind … Wissant, between Calais and Boulogne, where he had spent his holidays as a little boy … So long ago … He would go out fishing for crabs and winkles with Nicole, a girl of his own age from Lille … Back then, he had no idea he was destined to spend his life behind a desk – he wanted to be a deep-sea diver when he grew up. It had been centuries since he last visited Wissant, even in his thoughts. The beast in the dunes took him back. It must have changed there too, no doubt about it … At low tide you could walk along the beach for miles with your eyes closed, without bumping into anything at all … Straight ahead …

  ‘What do you mean, “straight ahead”?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’