This is Life (23 page)

Sometimes when Sylvie needed a favour, she would call on an ex who was still in love with her. She would explain from the start that she wasn’t going to get back with him, that she was
only calling to ask him to help her out, but because he would be so desperate to see her he would be powerless to refuse. This was mainly how she managed to move heavy objects around; the last time
she used this tactic had been to get a wardrobe up four flights of stairs.

Aurélie didn’t have such resources available to her, though. The day after he had burned all his belongings, Guillaume had borrowed his uncle’s boiler suit and left for a town
a long way away, somewhere he wouldn’t know anybody. News had reached her that he had married the first woman he met when he got there, a frantic divorcee with four children, who had a
tendency to hang around the railway station waiting for new arrivals in the hope that she would find one who would be prepared to take them all on. She had heard through the grapevine that it had
worked out well for them, that he had won a medal for being his adopted prefecture’s most devoted stepfather, and that he had even added a child of his own to the mêlée. She
wasn’t about to go barging back into his life and demanding that on top of his existing responsibilities he also take care of Herbert. And even if she had felt inclined to utilise him, it
wouldn’t have helped that his new home was over four hundred kilometres away.

Guillaume was the only boyfriend of any significance she had ever had, certainly the only one whose heart she had broken, and by all accounts he had moved on. He wasn’t like Sylvie’s
exes, going from day to day doing nothing but longing for a reconciliation. She would have to make do with what she had available: an elderly academic who had sweaty palms over her. And so she had
called Professor Papavoine.

He was already involved, whether he knew it or not, and he owed her. With a bit of squinting, it was even possible to look at the situation from an angle where it seemed as though it were his
fault: he was supposed to have been the responsible adult, and he should have prevented her, a mere child of twenty-one, from throwing the stone. He was creepy and he was sleazy, and she had felt
her flesh crawl as she dug out his card and dialled his number, but she didn’t see what else she could do. There was no way she could take care of Herbert in her condition. He was her only
option, and she didn’t have any choice but to make him useful.

‘OK, Herbert,’ she said. ‘Here’s the plan. We’ll get to Papavoine’s, I’ll break the news straight away that he and his wife aren’t going to be
doing anything funny with me, then I’ll hand you over to them . . .’ She stopped. She wondered whether it was right to leave Herbert in the care of a pair of swingers. She quickly
decided that it wasn’t a problem. They were clearly into young women, not babies. ‘And as soon as you’re with them, I’ll find a quiet corner and fall asleep.’

She struggled down the stairs. Two neighbours whom she knew by sight but not name passed her, offered greetings and looked intently at the baby.
Incredible
, said one.
Not that
realistic
, said the other.
It’s got a kind of waxy look about it
.

Aurélie and Herbert stood on the corner of a busy street, where there were always taxis going by. Now though, for the first time ever, there were no taxis going by. As
she waited and waited, the world around her started to lose focus. She wondered whether it was possible to fall asleep while standing up, and received her answer when she fell asleep while standing
up. The loss of balance woke her, and when she opened her eyes it was to see an empty cab going by, just too late to hail.

Minutes later another one came along at last, and she wrestled Herbert’s buggy into the boot and got into the back seat, clutching the baby close and hoping the driver was a safe one. She
gave him the address, and the next thing she knew they were in an unfamiliar but pleasant street, and the taxi driver was laughing at her. She sensed that her mouth had been hanging open, and she
had probably been snoring. At least she had instinctively kept a tight grip on Herbert.

She paid, retrieved the buggy and found the door. She stopped for a while. She thought of her dad, who would never have dreamed of cheating on his wife, and had never found anyone to replace
her. He lived his life alone, while these Sébastiens and Léandre Martins and Professor Papavoines oozed around, getting it wherever they could. It was sickening. At least Professor
Papavoine’s wife knew what was going on, and even seemed to be an enthusiastic supporter of his behaviour. That was a small consolation. But even so, it was wrong of him to turn sleazy on his
students, and she was going to feel no guilt at all about turning up on his doorstep and using him as a babysitter, and his home as a crash pad.

She pressed the bell, and the man himself answered. ‘Hello?’

‘It’s Aurélie Renard,’ she said.

‘Mademoiselle Renard!’ He sounded delighted to hear from her. Of course he did. He thought she had been driven out of her mind with desire for him, and was desperate to take off her
clothes and rub herself against him, and maybe even his wife at the same time. She wondered how their conversation had gone, and whether his wife had mentioned that she would be bringing a baby
with her, and what they were going to do about that, logistically. Maybe they were prepared to wait for the child to fall asleep before stripping her and licking her up and down, or perhaps they
had agreed to take turns with her, rather than both going for it at the same time. She didn’t really know how things like that worked, but whatever they had in mind, they were out of luck.
‘I’ll be right down,’ he said.

He buzzed her into the building. The lobby was a lot more spacious than the one in her building, and it was better kept. She didn’t have long to inspect her surroundings though, as
Professor Papavoine was running down the steps two at a time.

‘Hello, Mademoiselle Renard,’ he said. ‘What a pleasant surprise. And you’ve brought a friend. Let me help you. We’ll be here all day if we wait for the
lift.’ He took Aurélie’s bag and the buggy, and together they went up the single flight to the Papavoine home.

Aurélie looked around. Their hall alone was bigger than her entire apartment. The parquet shone, and instinctively she took off her shoes. It was that kind of place.
Dotted around were beautiful artworks.

He saw her looking at them. ‘All by students of mine,’ he said. ‘We buy them discreetly. I don’t want to fuel any resentment or rivalries. You know what artists can be
like.’

Aurélie smiled. She knew. She tried to imagine her work alongside these highly accomplished pieces: a video projection of a stone hitting a baby’s face. It didn’t really
fit.

‘Come in,’ said Professor Papavoine. He ushered her through to the lounge, another large room with yet more art on the walls and an enormous sofa. She sat down, and lay Herbert
beside her. He started happily rolling up and down. He had been doing that a lot more today than he had on previous days. It seemed to be his latest hobby. He was going to need a lot of watching to
make sure he didn’t do another of his plummeting tricks.

‘So,’ said Professor Papavoine, ‘can I get you anything? Coffee?’

Aurélie shook her head. ‘Where can I go for a cigarette?’

‘You don’t have to go anywhere. I’ll bring you an ashtray.’

He took one from a sideboard and put it on the coffee table in front of her. He also produced a lighter. It seemed very civilised to be smoking indoors, and in such surroundings. It felt like
lighting up in a museum. She blew the smoke away from Herbert.

‘I can’t have you smoking alone,’ said Professor Papavoine. He lit a pipe. Aurélie loved the smell of pipe tobacco. It reminded her of her grandfather.

It was a very comfortable sofa, and as she smoked on she felt her eyes going again. She wondered where his wife was. Changing into her sex gear perhaps, or quietly fuming somewhere. She could
well have been bluffing about how pleased she would be to meet her. Aurélie thought back to their conversation; there was every possibility that her voice had been dripping with sarcasm.
Maybe she was sharpening an axe, ready to behead the girl she was sure was trying to steal her husband. Then she appeared, all smiles and warm greetings. Automatically, Aurélie put her
cigarette in the ashtray and stood to greet her.

Professor Papavoine’s wife kissed her, but Aurélie felt no sexual charge. It seemed she was just being friendly, and putting her at her ease. She was all
It’s so nice to
meet you
, and
Please call me Liliane
, and
I hope I didn’t sound brusque on the phone, but I’m always a little perturbed when I don’t know who I’m talking
to
and
Can I get you anything?
She was youthful for her age, slim, ash blonde and very well dressed. Aurélie felt crumpled and red-eyed in comparison.

With both Papavoines there, she said what she knew she had to say. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t want to have sex with you. No threesome, OK?’ She looked at
Professor Papavoine. ‘Not even a twosome. It’s nothing personal; it’s just not my thing. All I want to do is sleep. And that’s not
sleep
. I mean
actual
sleep.
Oh, and just so you know,’ she addressed Professor Papavoine’s wife, ‘there’s nothing going on here.’ She pointed at the professor.

Professor Papavoine and his wife looked at one another, then burst into laughter. ‘You were right,’ said Professor Papavoine’s wife. ‘She
did
think
that.’

Professor Papavoine looked embarrassed, but amused at the same time. ‘I’m very sorry, Mademoiselle Renard,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to forgive my total incompetence
when it comes to life in general. There’s no need to worry – we’re not trying to have sex with you.’

‘Why not? What’s wrong with me?’ They laughed, and Aurélie was surprised at having been able to joke while only partially conscious. The release of tension from the
atmosphere was palpable. ‘But seriously, that’s a relief. So do you hand out cards to all your students?’

‘Er, no. Please let me explain.’ The professor’s embarrassed look returned.

‘You can tell me later. I’ll sleep first, and give you a few more hours to work on your innocent explanation.’ She remembered the conversation she had been rehearsing as she
had lain awake all night, and returned to her script. ‘And because it’s all your fault,’ she said to him, ‘you’ll be taking the baby until I wake up.’

‘It’s all my fault, is it?’

‘Yes.’

‘What is?’

‘Everything. Him, for a start.’ She pointed at the baby. ‘He’s not mine, by the way. I’ll explain when I’m awake. But maybe you’ll be able to work it
out for yourself.’

‘OK, I’ll get thinking.’

‘He’s so cute,’ said Madame Papavoine, picking him up and bouncing him.

Aurélie agreed. She tried to imagine how her week would have gone if Herbert had been a plain baby, or lacking in personality. She wondered whether she would have cared about him less.
She hoped not, but she suspected she probably would have. She would never know.

‘What’s he called?’ asked Madame Papavoine.

‘Herbert.’

‘
Air-bear?
’

‘No.
H
erber
t
.’

‘Is he English?’

‘Does he look English to you?’ Aurélie was on autopilot.

Madame Papavoine examined the baby, then shrugged. ‘Maybe a little, around the chin.’

‘But never mind that now,’ said Aurélie. ‘I’ll tell you everything when I wake up.’ She ran through the other points she had intended to raise with them.
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Before I forget, one more question – you’re not child molesters, are you?’ She had decided that they didn’t look or act like child
molesters, but she felt she had better ask anyway.

‘No,’ said Madame Papavoine, ‘we’re not interested in anything of that nature. We’ll take great care of
Air-bear
. . .
Hair-bear
. . .’

‘
H
erber
t
.’

‘We’ll take great care of . . .’ She closed her eyes in concentration. ‘. . . Herbert. Now you come with me, I’ll pop you into bed, and you can tell us all about it
when you wake up. Don’t you worry about your . . .’ She gave the baby a squeeze. ‘. . . incredibly cute little boy.’

‘Well, as I said, he’s not
my
little boy. I’m . . .’ On reflection, she didn’t want them to do too much speculating about his provenance and get suspicious
and call the police, so she used what was becoming her signature line. ‘. . . I’m looking after him for a friend.’

‘Whoever’s he is, we’re going to have great fun together.’

Madame Papavoine led Aurélie through corridors into a small but immaculate guest bedroom at the back of the apartment. She told her to hang on for a minute, then came back with a large
glass of water, which she placed on the bedside table. There was an en suite shower room. ‘Towels here,’ she pointed, and Aurélie could tell from looking at them that they were
so much softer and fluffier than the laundry-hardened ones she had at home. ‘There’s a robe on the back of the door. You sleep as long as you like, and don’t you worry about
Herbert. Is there anything else I can get you?’

Aurélie shook her head. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘We’ll go as soon as I wake up. I just need to get some sleep.’

‘I understand.’

Madame Papavoine left the room, and for the first time in days Aurélie was alone. She closed the curtains. They were thick, and the room was now almost pitch dark. Madame Papavoine seemed
so nice. Her blue eyes sparkled, and her smile lit up the room. Even Professor Papavoine seemed OK. He was a lot less sleazy than he had become in her mind. She was ready to believe that he
hadn’t been trying to seduce her, that it had all been a big misunderstanding. She would unravel everything when she was able to think straight again.

She supposed she ought to have a shower, but first she would try the bed for comfort. She lay down. It was just right. She fell asleep.

In the living room, Professor and Madame Papavoine looked at the boy as he lay on their sofa. He was grinning up at them. For a long while, neither of them spoke.