by Mia Farlane
‘I’m agreeing with you, May.’
‘Are you saying I’m like her?’
‘I’m agreeing with you.’ Jansen was shifting the painting about, trying to get it straight.
‘She could always move in July or June or whatever.’ May went back to what she was saying. ‘This is where I’m supposed to save her: I’m supposed to talk her into staying to the end of term. (Do you want me to help you with that?)’
‘Yeah, could you please pass me the spirit level,’ Jansen said. ‘It’s over there.’
‘I’m not going to play that game.’ May got the level from the sofa and passed it to Jansen. ‘She can do whatever she wants.’
Jansen placed the level on top of the frame. She was about to make a suggestion; May could feel it coming. She waited. ‘If she’s really keen on moving to London’ – Jansen got off the chair – ‘perhaps we could ask her if she’d like to come and stay with us for few weeks – until she finds somewhere. Now that we’ve got a proper flat again. That might be an idea.’ She looked up at the Rodin and smiled. ‘What do you think?’
‘We’ve only just moved! Everything’s still in boxes.’
‘Of course, if you’re far too busy with that PhD…’
‘I am busy with the PhD. What do you mean? I’m busy with it.’
‘Good. Courbet over the sofa?’ Jansen asked. ‘Or in the bedroom?’
‘Not in the bedroom!’
‘Over the sofa then.’ Jansen picked up Le Sommeil. ‘Can you help me with this? You could take the other side.’
They held the large print – of two naked women entwined together in sleep – against the wall.
‘Here?’ Jansen said. ‘Or a bit higher?’
‘No, there, there. Bring it down a bit.’
‘Okay I’ll hold on to it, if you could do the mark. The pencil’s on the bookshelf –’
May got the pencil and made a mark on the wall, and they put the print back on the floor.
‘I don’t want to invite Elizabeth,’ May said, ‘but now that you’ve put the idea into my head I feel as if I’m going to have to invite her.’
‘May, you don’t have to invite her. It was just a thought. You don’t have to; and if you don’t want to, please don’t.’
‘Yes, I do,’ May disagreed resignedly. ‘I’m going to have to. We are sisters and that is what sisters do for each other.’
‘What does Elizabeth do for you? Already she gets somewhere to stay whenever she needs to be –’
‘She doesn’t have to do anything for me. We’re not in a business negotiation. And I am her older sister.’
Jansen put a nail through a double hook and started banging it into the wall.
‘The thing about Elizabeth,’ May continued over the banging, ‘is that she always does what she wants. She wants to learn the guitar, she does guitar; she doesn’t want to do French, she stops doing French; she drops out of school one year, she comes back the next year. Oh, I’ve got no money, I’m on the dole, but I’ve always wanted to go to Thailand…’
‘So why don’t you do something different? If you’re unhappy.’
‘I am doing something different. I’m doing a PhD.’
‘Yes, but why? Are you enjoying it? Do you want to work in a university? What do you hope to gain?’
‘A PhD.’
‘And then you’ll be happy.’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Jansen got another nail out of her pocket.
By the following Friday May had only read three more of Francine’s essays, and she still hadn’t finished the Delarue-Mardrus book. She called Francine.
‘Allô, bonjour!’
‘Bonjour, c’est May.’
‘Ah, bonjour, May! Can you guess who I’ve just spent the morning with?’ Francine asked her.
‘No.’
‘Anne Béranger,’ Francine announced.
‘Ah bon,’ May said.
‘I spent four hours with her! We had tea together. It was very interesting. You must speak of her in your dissertation.’
‘She’s not published yet though, is she?’
‘Not yet, but she will be – and I am going to write about her – so you will have to include her.’
‘Yes, I could.’
‘She’s coming to my book launch.’
‘I know,’ May said. ‘I remember you told me.’
‘We used to know each other very well – I didn’t tell you that. She was a student of mine when I was still at the Sorbonne.’
‘How many years ago was that?’ May feigned bland interest. Was Francine trying to make her jealous?
‘Oh I don’t remember – ten years – I don’t know. She wasn’t made for academia. It stifled her. She was too free; she loved spontaneity.’
May said, ‘She sounds really interesting.’ (And like a bit of a cliché, she thought.)
Silence.
‘And how are you?’ Francine now asked. ‘You’re calling me from London?’
‘Yes. I’ll be in Paris tomorrow morning.’
‘That’s perfect. I’ll put you down for three o’clock. Does that suit you?’
‘Yes – thank you.’
‘Do you have anything to say to me? How is Jansen?’
‘Fine. My sister called me last weekend,’ May said, in order to say something else. ‘She’s younger than me –’
‘Ah, you have a sister, a little sister.’ Francine wanted to know more.
‘Yes, but we didn’t really grow up together. She was only nine when I left home – which is why I haven’t mentioned her,’ May defended herself. ‘Actually, she’s not that little any more; she’s really tall; she’s taller than I am anyway, not quite as tall as Jansen, but she’s not at all “little” any more, is what I mean.’
‘And what is she doing now that she’s “no longer little”?’ Francine asked.
‘She’s living in Cambridge; she’s doing a night-class in sculpting – except that she hasn’t been to the last three classes, and now she’s decided to move to London, so…’
‘I know what you must do,’ Francine said. ‘You must invite Elizabeth to your place. She clearly needs an older sister; and you have a need to mother someone, I can see that.’
‘By the way,’ May changed the subject, ‘I haven’t been able to finish L’Ange et les pervers,’ she said, ‘so I won’t be able to talk to you about it. I’m sorry.’
‘We’ll surely find other things to say to each other. It’s not a very serious problem.’
‘No, perhaps not.’
‘Call your sister; she’s waiting for you to invite her,’ Francine explained.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I think so. This is an opportunity for you, in any case; you can show her the value of pursuing one’s goals,’ Francine said.
‘Perhaps.’
Long silence.
‘I think that’s everything,’ May said.
Francine laughed.
‘Is it still worth my coming to visit you?’ May asked. ‘Even though I haven’t read the book and I can’t give it back to you yet?’
‘It’s you I have invited to dinner, not the book! You can send me a commentary with the book later.’
Hi, E. What about come short visit? Just a thought. May x.
Jansen looked at the text message: ‘Mmm-hm,’ she nodded, ‘yeah.’
‘You’d be okay with that?’ May asked.
‘Yeah. That’d be fine.’
‘Okay. And so should I specify how long for?’
‘I think, first invite her and see what she says.’
‘So I shouldn’t put –’
‘May, you can work it out.’
May altered her text message slightly, and showed it to Jansen again.
‘Fine.’ Jansen gave her approval, and May pressed ‘send’.
12
The Reply
The following morning there was a message on the answerphone.
You have o
ne message; message one:
‘I’m moving out of my flat, so yeah I’ll come and stay. Call later.’
Message sent today, at 1.25 a.m. End of messages. To delete all messages, press ‘delete’.
May pressed ‘delete’. ‘Thank you,’ she spoke to the answerphone. ‘Wonderful, wonderful.’
‘What’s the problem?’ Jansen came into the bedroom, wearing her towel like a sarong; she’d just had a bath.
May said nothing. She had to be at Eurostar in just over half an hour and she hadn’t ironed her jacket yet; she was going to Paris, having failed to read the book, and of course she hadn’t finished Francine’s essays. She didn’t have time for this.
‘Excuse me,’ Jansen said. May moved away from the chest of drawers, and Jansen got some knickers and socks out of the top drawer.
‘I can’t believe it.’ May stared at the answerphone.
Jansen put on her bra, went to the wardrobe and got a shirt off one of the hangers. ‘What’s happened?’ She put on her shirt, and started buttoning it up.
‘Elizabeth’s arriving this coming Friday,’ May told her.
‘Oh.’ Jansen pulled on her trousers, and tucked in her shirt in front of the mirror.
‘It’s not that I don’t want to see her; I’m just terrified of being invaded.’
‘I’m going to go and make breakfast. Follow me if you want to keep talking to me.’ Jansen went to the kitchen.
‘She has no sense of privacy; she’ll take over the sitting room and leave her junk all over the place,’ May said.
‘We did invite her.’ Jansen put some bread into the toaster, and clicked on the kettle.
‘Yes, but does she say how long she’s planning on staying? Because I can just see it: I’m going to end up having to tell her to move out! I said “visit”, not “stay”. This is why I didn’t want to invite her.’
‘So why did you invite her?’
‘Because you suggested it. Because I am an idiot: someone suggests something to me and I just do it, I go along with it.’
‘That doesn’t sound like you at all.’
‘It is me! I’ve done it!’
‘… May, she’s going to call you back. You can discuss it then.’ Jansen got some plates out of the cupboard. ‘Are you going to be ready in ten minutes?’
‘Ten minutes!’ May held her hand to her stomach. ‘I haven’t even had a shower yet. You know I’m not ready!’ She was in her pyjamas.
‘Okay, well you’d better have a quick shower then.’ Jansen got the butter out of the fridge. ‘I need to be at a pickup by eight o’clock this morning, so I will be leaving no later than seven thirty. If you want me to drop you off at the station you will have to be ready. I am not waiting for you.’
‘It’s only twelve minutes past.’ May pointed to the clock on the wall.
‘By the kitchen clock, yes.’
‘So I haven’t even got time to call Elizabeth? I can’t solve this problem?’
‘What problem?’ The toast popped up and Jansen put it on the plates. ‘Text her once you’re on the train, and ask her how long she was thinking of staying. I’m leaving in nine minutes.’
‘Could you put the iron on for me?’ May ran off to have her shower.
13
Lost in Paris
May was in Paris again, on the Métro, going from the Gare du Nord to her hotel. The Métro, overground; it was like a large fun-ride, she thought, with life-sized Paris going by; the street market at Barbès-Rochechouart, busy stalls at a fairground. She hadn’t read Francine’s book, and perhaps this was in fact a good thing; it was more relaxing: because now she wouldn’t have to talk about the book, and she wouldn’t have to talk about the article either. She was free. Visiting Francine with no reason, except that the train ticket and the hotel were already booked. May smiled to herself. ‘Je suis libre! Libre!’ she thought. Jansen had bought her some dried mixed fruit for the trip. May had it in her pocket now; she took out some pieces of banana and papaya, and popped them into her mouth. It would be nice, she decided, to get Jansen a postcard – and then send it from London, she’d have to, because La Poste Française was shut on Saturday, wasn’t it? But even from London, it would still be a little surprise: une carte-postale de Paris, mon amour! She could find one at the bar-tabac near the hotel, or she could go and find a special, beautiful one at the carterie near the Pompidou Centre on her way to Francine’s; and then she could buy a dessert and sit around at a little café for an hour or so until two thirty.
Walking down the rue de Vaugirard a few hours later, on her way to Francine’s, May now felt ill; she’d had too much coffee: she’d had un grand crème at the bar-tabac near the hotel, and then she’d gone to the Pompidou Centre and bought a postcard with an inky-blue silhouette sketch of the Sacré-Cœur for Jansen, and then she’d gone to un salon de thé and had une mousse au chocolat and another coffee – un express – and written on the postcard:
Une carte-postale de Paris, mon amour! Plus, in brackets:
(Perhaps you could come to Paris with me some time – but not the next visit, because that’s Francine’s book launch and that will be stressful – unless you’d prefer to go somewhere entirely different. I think I’d prefer somewhere different – wouldn’t you? – and then it would be our special holiday…)
After which, she’d had two more coffees; that was four coffees in the space of three hours: that was stupid.
She felt drugged. Walking down the endless rue de Vaugirard, in the noise, with all the cars, and the occasional bus and mobylette going by, she felt spaced out. And nauseous. Finally, she came to the large wooden doors that led to Francine’s, and she tapped in the code – 38, 64, A – which she knew by heart.
The door didn’t click open. She tried again. Perhaps the code had been changed. Or she’d tapped it out in the wrong order, or she wasn’t supposed to press that large button below. May couldn’t remember, and she couldn’t think. She’d have to call Francine, and she’d left her mobile in London –
‘I’ll open it for you,’ a young woman offered. She was with a friend.
‘Merci,’ May said.
The woman tapped out the right code, let May through the door first, and then the two women overtook her and went into the flats straight ahead.
A huge green refuse bin – that hadn’t been there before? – was sitting in the corner of the courtyard just next to the entrance of Francine’s block. May looked for the right buzzer; she looked for ‘Brion’, but she couldn’t find it. That was odd.
Perhaps Francine had removed her name from the intercom for some reason. But why would she do that? May looked again: there was no ‘Brion’. And it was definitely the third floor – wasn’t it? May looked up. Francine’s windows were shut; had she gone out? That would be a good way of sending a clear message: it could be that Francine was inside, pretending to have gone out; it was a nuisance to her that May was visiting once again, and she had therefore shut her windows to make the place look deserted.
Unless of course they really weren’t her windows…
‘Ah, there you are! I was expecting you at three o’clock.’ Francine looked at her watch and then at May, who, having at last found the correct place, was pulling off her shoes at the door. ‘In future, you will think to call me.’ Francine let her in. ‘I was about to go out shopping. You are very lucky; you’ve arrived just in time.’
May came into the sitting room. She felt terrible – her head ached and she felt nauseous again. She explained she’d got the time wrong, and asked, ‘Comment vas-tu? How are you?’ She said it in English, too, for some reason – because she was feeling very strange.
Francine said, ‘Très bien. Et toi?’
And May said (she returned to French), ‘I feel strange, I feel bizarre. I have just had four cups of coffee. It makes me ill. I feel dizzy.’ She sat down on the sofa. She could have fainted just then, she thought. ‘Could I have some water, please?’
‘Of course.’ Francine went
to the kitchen. ‘… I’ve been working on the article… do you realize? Four hours! That’s a very long time…’ She was talking about Anne Béranger again, but May wasn’t listening. She couldn’t. She closed her eyes for a moment and wished that she could lie down.
‘Merci.’ May took the glass of water, and drank.
‘Is that better now?’ Francine asked. ‘You should always carry a bottle of water in your bag. I never go anywhere without water.’
May held the glass against her forehead to cool it down.
‘It’s idiotic, to have drunk so much coffee!’ Francine told her. ‘You have to learn to listen to your body. One has to be very attentive; the body is extremely important. Everything is linked.’
May drank some more of the water. ‘I’ll feel better soon,’ she said.
‘Give me your hands,’ Francine told her. ‘You look pale.’
May put the glass on the floor. She held her hands out, palms down, to Francine, who took them, turned them over, and with her cool fingers pressed together the webbing of May’s hands. ‘Close your eyes,’ she said.
May closed them.
‘Marathon runners find this gives them more energy,’ Francine said, speaking softly. ‘It also relieves headaches. Breathe in,’ she said, maintaining the pressure, ‘breathe in…’
May breathed in. Francine was probably looking at her.
‘… Breathe in, keep breathing in. And now – breathe out.’
May breathed out.
‘You’re breathing out your headache – breathe in again… and breathe out. That’s better; you’re more relaxed,’ Francine told her. ‘Can you feel your headache leaving?’
‘I’m not sure.’ May kept her eyes shut.
‘You have to train yourself to slow the breathing right down. If you can learn to relax during the day, you will sleep more intensely at night; and you will dream more intensely.’ Francine replaced May’s arms to her sides. ‘You can open your eyes.’
May opened them.
‘Stay there.’ Francine considered her for a moment. ‘Try to be aware of your breathing. I am going to prepare myself a herbal tea, a lime-blossom.’ She went back to the kitchen. ‘I’ll make you some, too.’