“What are you playing at?”
“What?”
“That poor guy’s starting to make me feel sorry for him. You’re letting him stew while batting your eye lashes at him. You spend all day waiting for him to arrive and then you can barely speak, I can tell. What has to happen before you make a move?”
“I don’t know…”
“Is it because of Colin? I thought you’d gotten past that.”
“No, it’s not Colin. To be honest, I think more about Olivier than him.”
“That’s a good sign.”
“Yes… but…”
“Kindness and patience have their limits. Give him a little hope, otherwise…”
“Leave me the hell alone,” I replied, frustrated by the truths he was forcing me to hear.
That very evening, Felix rolled his eyes at me when Olivier came in. He came over to me and smiled shyly.
“Are you free tomorrow evening?”
“Umm… yes…”
“Actually, I’ve invited some friends over who’ve been pestering me to have a housewarming party. I’d really like you to be there. And Felix, if you’d like to come, please do.”
“We’ll be there,” I said, without giving Felix a chance to get a word in.
“I’ll let you get back to work. Until tomorrow evening then!”
He waved at Felix. As he closed the door behind him, he looked back at me through the window. I smiled.
“See, it wasn’t as complicated as all that!”
“Don’t you dare embarrass me tomorrow night,” I told Felix.
He burst out laughing.
When we rang Olivier’s doorbell the next day, I was happy, absolutely stress free. In fact, I was eager to see him. I had decided to push my doubts and anxiety to the back of my mind. When Olivier opened the door, Felix, who was worse than a bull in a china shop, ditched us, giggling like a teenager.
“He’ll make sure the party gets going, you know,” I told Olivier.
“I hope he enjoys himself!”
We looked into each other’s eyes.
“Thank you for inviting me tonight; I’m happy to be here with you.”
And without thinking, I kissed him on the cheek.
“Will you introduce me?”
Olivier didn’t need to make any introductions; all his friends had heard about me. He pretended to be embarrassed for their sake and winked at me. I was touched by their warm welcome; they did everything to make me feel I was one of them. Felix very quickly made himself at home, talking to everyone and telling jokes. Olivier poured me a glass of white wine and apologized for not being able to stay with me.
“I still have things to do in the kitchen.”
I looked around at how he decorated his apartment. Nothing like a bachelor pad. Quite the contrary, it was a home. It was neither messy nor ridiculously minimalist. It was warm: the upholstery on the sofa made you want to curl up on it, the plants and photos of his family and friends brought everything to life and were welcoming. Everything reflected Olivier: comforting.
I laughed and talked to nice people of my own age; I felt I’d become a woman like any other again. I didn’t cling onto Felix’s coattails; I didn’t feel threatened. I subtly reassured his curious friends: “Yes, I like Olivier! Give it time.” They were a close-knit group of friends who honestly cared about each other’s happiness. No one asked me about my private life; Olivier had been discreet.
My good mood collapsed like a house of cards when a woman came out of a room—that I assumed was Olivier’s bedroom—with a six-month-old baby in her arms. She was glowing with happiness and maternal exhaustion. I wanted to scream and run like the wind; I stood away from the others, hoping she wouldn’t see me. Naturally, she spotted me in a flash and came over to me with a big smile.
“Diane, is it? I’m so pleased to meet you. Olivier talks about you so much.”
She gave me a peck on the cheek; I could smell the Mustela baby lotion, which took me back to when Clara was born. I’d always loved babies and the way they smelled. Colin often said: “You’re sniffing your daughter!” Just before they died, we were thinking of having another baby to give Clara a little brother or sister…
“And this is the apple of my eye,” she continued, showing me her baby. “I was giving her a bottle when you came in… Oh, damn, I left her cuddly toy in Olivier’s bedroom! Can I leave her with you for a few seconds?”
Without waiting for my reply, she put her daughter in my arms. My head started pounding and ice ran through my veins. I no longer saw this little girl, I was seeing myself with my Clara in my arms. I could feel her skin, her tiny hand clutching my finger, her first little blond curls. Through this baby’s gurgling, I could hear a silent scream run through my head. I started breathing more quickly. I was shaking so hard that I was going to drop her if I had to hold her for even one second longer. I was afraid that my pain might hurt her…
“Diane… Diane…”
I raised my eyes, full of tears, and saw it was Olivier who was calling me softly.
“I’ll take her, OK?”
I nodded. Paralyzed, I watched Olivier take care of the little girl as if he had been doing it forever. He held her close, talked to her and handed her to the man I guessed was her father. Then he came back to me and put his arm around my waist.
“I need Diane in the kitchen!” he told the crowd.
Before we left the room, I caught sight of Felix, who looked upset. My friend was as white as a ghost. Olivier closed the door to his little kitchen, opened the window, took an ashtray out of the cupboard and handed me my pack of cigarettes that he must have grabbed on the way without me noticing. Shaking and in tears, I lit one. Olivier respected my silence.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“Don’t talk nonsense; no one noticed a thing. And even if they did, they won’t say anything. Do you want me to get Felix?”
“No…”
I sniffled; he handed me a handkerchief.
“I’m not normal anymore… I can’t… I can’t see babies or children anymore… it hurts too much. Because each time, it reminds me that my daughter was taken away from me, my Clara, the love of my life… I’ll never be able to accept that… I’ll never be able to forget… to move on…”
I gasped. I would soon break down completely. Olivier came over to me, wiped my cheeks, and held me close. I immediately felt better; I was safe; I could feel how tender and gentle he was. He didn’t take advantage of the situation. Little by little, my breathing returned to normal. I trusted him, but seeing him with that baby in his arms confirmed what I feared most within myself, the thing that prevented me from getting involved with him.
“I’m not the right woman for you…”
“Where did that come from?” he asked quietly.
I pulled away.
“If it works between us…”
He gently pulled me back into his arms and I let him.
“I have no doubts about that!” he said, stroking my cheek.
“I can never give you a child. I don’t want to have any more… The mother I used to be died with Clara.”
“Is that what’s holding you back?”
“Some day, you’re going to want to have a family. I saw you with that baby, you loved holding her. I’d feel bad about making you waste your time, you should find a woman who wants…”
“Shh!”
He placed his finger over my lips and looked into my eyes.
“I do like children, that’s true, but I especially like them if they belong to someone else. It’s not one of my goals in life. I believe that being a couple is enough in itself. And that’s all I expect from a relationship between us, nothing more, I promise you. We have plenty of time to think about children… We could see how it goes and cross that bridge when we come to it, together,” he said, smiling.
Life could be sweeter with a man like him by my side. His arms were strong and protective, his eyes lively, a soft hazel color, his
face expressive. I only had to take the step. I slowly brought my face close to his and kissed him. He held me tighter; I opened my mouth slightly, put my arms around his neck, and we kissed even more deeply. Then Oliver pressed his forehead against mine. He stroked my cheek as I closed my eyes and smiled.
“I’d give anything to have everyone next door disappear,” he said softly.
“So would I!”
“If it’s too difficult, I’ll take you home.”
“No, I want to stay.”
“I won’t leave your side for a second, you can count on me.”
We kissed again, intensely, for a long time. But we had to control ourselves. We stood a few inches apart, slightly breathless.
“Shall we go back in?” Olivier asked, frowning slightly.
“We don’t have much choice.”
We picked up the dinner plates from the counter—we had to keep busy. Before opening the door, Olivier kissed me one last time. Even though I tried, I couldn’t avoid Felix’s questioning looks: he saw that that I’d been crying, but that something else had happened as well. When he understood, his eyes opened wide and he gave me a lustful wink. I spent the rest of the evening at Olivier’s side. I was quickly able to relax, for the baby had been put to bed, and didn’t make a single sound. Whenever we felt that curiosity about us was aroused again, we always managed to brush it off. I was barely listening to the conversation; all I could think about was what had just happened, impatient to be alone with Olivier again.
Felix managed to corner me.
“Are you going to go home tonight?”
“I don’t know, but don’t wait for me if you want to leave.”
“Hallelujah!”
Everyone left. Except me. As soon as we were alone, I crossed the room and kissed him again, pressing my body against his. My hands could finally explore his body; his hands were already stroking my back, sliding down to my waist.
“Can I stay tonight?” I whispered.
“Do you need to ask?” he replied.
Still holding onto him, I led us to his room, to his bed… I didn’t feel raw passion when we made love; I needed tenderness, his touch, gentleness. Olivier was careful with each caress, each kiss. He was taking care of me; he didn’t care about his pleasure, only mine. I knew I’d found the man I needed. A little later, falling asleep in his arms, I told myself I was no longer Colin’s wife. I was just Diane.
In the month that followed, I rediscovered what life was like as a couple. We saw each other every day, except Sundays: it was out of the question to give up my weekly brunch with Felix. I slept at his place regularly, but he didn’t sleep at my place very often. I still found there were certain difficulties in revealing my innermost secrets. He wasn’t demanding: he always let me come to him when I was ready.
It was summer. I’d told Olivier that I wasn’t going to close. If he was disappointed that we wouldn’t be going on vacation together, he didn’t show it. One evening at the beginning of July, we were having a drink on the terrace when I suggested an alternative.
“Maybe we could go away for a long weekend?”
“I’d thought of that but wondered if you actually didn’t want to go away with me,” he replied, smiling slightly.
“Idiot!”
He laughed before continuing.
“Seriously, I know you don’t want to go far from Happy People.”
“You’re right, it frightens me, but you’re here now and we wouldn’t be away for long. I hope that Felix can take care of everything…”
That night, Olivier slept at my place.
The long weekend of July 14 came just at the right moment. I was going to have to brief Felix and leave the bookstore for four days. Olivier had organized everything: destination, train tickets, hotel. But he thought I didn’t give myself enough time off. Two days before we were leaving, he plotted with Felix so I could have an extra afternoon “as a test,” they said, trying to justify themselves. To my great delight they got on like a house on fire; Olivier laughed at all of Felix’s outrageous behavior and was neither critical nor jealous of our intense, close friendship. As for Felix, he saw Olivier as Colin’s successor; he appreciated his sense of humor and especially that he never asked indiscreet questions about the family I’d lost.
During the afternoon of the famous test, Olivier went with me to boutiques I hadn’t been to in years; I took advantage of the sales to perk up my summer wardrobe. I followed him without thinking about where we were going; he led me through the streets of Paris, holding my hand. Suddenly, he stopped in front of a spa. I looked at him quizzically.
“A gift!”
“What?”
“For the next two hours, someone is going to pamper you. You’re unwinding today before our vacation starts.”
“You shouldn’t have…”
“Shh! I enjoy doing it. Afterwards, go home, get ready, and I’ll pick you up at 7 o’clock. I’ve found an exhibition you should like and we’ll eat out afterwards.”
I threw my arms around his neck. No one had thought of taking such good care of me since Colin.
I was relaxed, my skin was as soft as a baby’s, and I’d slipped on a pretty black dress and platform sandals I’d bought that very afternoon. Before going down to the bookstore to wait for Olivier, I looked at myself in the mirror; I was happy to feel beautiful for him. Given the way he looked at me half an hour later, I wasn’t disappointed.
In the metro, I hung onto him, gazed at him, and kissed his neck, as if I were a teenager in love. I’d turned the page on so many things. I couldn’t imagine that anything could shatter the peaceful spell I’d lived under ever since Olivier came into my life. I was beginning to admit that I was in love with him. A sweet feeling ran through me.
We got out of the metro at Montparnasse. I followed Olivier without asking any questions. I was excited at the idea of going to an exhibition. He insisted on keeping it a surprise right until the last moment. When we got to our destination, he made me turn around with my back to the door, putting off the moment when I could discover where we were. I could hear music behind me: Celtic music in a Breton neighborhood, what could be more normal?
“I was leafing through the Pariscope listings when I came across this show. It isn’t on for long, so we had to see it,” said Olivier, pleased with himself.
“What’s it about?”
“Come in and you’ll see.”
I pushed open the door. It was an exhibition about the relationship among British, Scottish, and Irish culture. They’d created a pub atmosphere; they didn’t serve champagne and petit fours, just Guinness, whiskey, and vinegar-flavored potato chips. My excitement quickly fell and turned to terrible discomfort.
“You told me that Ireland had been good for you, so I thought you’d like this.”
“Yes,” I managed to say.
Olivier put his arm around my waist and we started to walk around the show. There were a great many people, so it was difficult to make our way through the crowd. I didn’t dare look at any painting or photograph for fear of recognizing a landscape and feeling emotions surge through me. I responded to Olivier’s questions in words of one syllable. I decided to accept his offer to have a Guinness.
“I have the impression this was a bad idea,” he finally said.
“It’s my fault; I told you that I’d loved Ireland, loved living next to the sea, and that’s true… but I don’t just have good memories; I wasn’t in the best shape back then.”
“Well, then, let’s go. Seeing you suffer is the last thing I wanted. I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t blame yourself, but I would like to leave, I’m sorry. Let’s continue our evening far away from all this.”
We headed toward the door; I stood close to him, looking down at my feet. We were almost outside when a voice rang through the music and general brouhaha. A voice that stopped me in my tracks. A voice that took me back to Mulranny. A voice that left the taste of the sea spray on my lips. A hoarse vo
ice that had the odor of tobacco and that I never thought I’d hear again.
“Wait here,” I said to Olivier, breaking free of him.
I left him standing there and retraced my steps, guided and hypnotized by the echo of that voice; it resonated like the song of the Sirens. It wasn’t possible. I was imagining it, disoriented by the wave of memories that flooded through me in this place. Yet I should have felt nothing. I looked at people’s shapes, their faces, listened to their conversations, pushed aside anyone who got in my way. And then I froze. It definitely was his voice. We were standing only a few inches apart. He was here: standing with his back to me, tall, scruffy, wearing a shirt and no jacket, a cigarette in his hand waiting to be lit. If I breathed in, his scent would waft through me and send me back into his arms. I was shaking, my mouth was dry, my hands damp, I was hot and cold both at the same time.
“Edward…” I whispered; I couldn’t stop myself.
I had the impression that everyone had heard me. He alone counted. His body tensed, he lowered his head for a few seconds, tightened his fists, and clicked his cigarette lighter nervously several times in a row. Then he turned around. We stood staring at each other. My eyes were full of questions and surprise. After looking me up and down, his expression was cold, distant. His features were still as harsh and arrogant as ever, hidden by his beard. His hair was still as messy as I remembered but now showing a little grey. He looked exhausted, marked by something I couldn’t manage to define.
“Diane,” he said at last.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice trembling, naturally switching back into English.
“I’m exhibiting my photographs.”
“How long have you been in Paris?”
“Three days.”
His reply hit me like a blow to the heart.
“Were you going to come to see me?…”
“No.”
“Oh…”
So many questions were going through my mind but I couldn’t ask a single one. His distant, hostile attitude froze me to the spot. He looked behind me and I felt a hand on my back.
“I was looking for you,” said Olivier.
How could I have forgotten him? I forced myself to smile and turned towards him.
Don't Worry, Life Is Easy Page 4