To her enormous relief, Tiphaine agreed immediately. It was only for two days and Nassim didn’t come across as a difficult child. They agreed she’d pick him up from school, bring him home, give him a snack, supervise his homework, and keep him occupied until Nora’s return.
“What about Inès?” Tiphaine asked. “What will she do?”
“Inès is older, so I don’t mind if she’s home alone for a few hours.”
“She can come over, too, if she wants company. I’m sure Milo would be more than happy to see her.”
Nora couldn’t find the words to adequately express her gratitude. Then the two women turned to the practical details. “I’ll get you a key made,” Nora said. “Just in case.”
“In case what?”
“I don’t know, in case you need something for Nassim, or if he wants to come and pick up a game, or a book, or whatever.”
“Inès has a key, right?”
“Yes, but she might get back later, or spend the afternoon at a friend’s house...It’ll be simpler if you have your own.”
“Okay. But I’ll give it back to you at the end of the week.”
“If you prefer.”
The idea of having the key to her old house disturbed Tiphaine. Being able to go inside whenever she liked seemed like taking a gambler who’d been barred from the casino on a trip to Las Vegas. It felt like she was inexorably growing closer to Nora, and she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to be friends with her. Still, the prospect of looking after Nassim gave her a thrill she couldn’t quite put her finger on. A complicated mix of excitement and unease. She’d agreed to this favor without properly thinking through what it involved, but she didn’t care. When Nora had asked her if she would pick up Nassim from school and babysit him until she got home, she’d felt something akin to consolation. Like a soothing balm on the open wound of her sorrow.
Chapter 14
Inès woke up in an excellent mood on Saturday. No class. Not that she didn’t like school, but she was looking forward to two days off. And to going back to her mother’s house the next day. She missed Nora’s kindness, attention, and the fact that she was always around. Her father was more distracted, as if he had a thousand things to do and think about. Which he did.
Anyway, the weekend was shaping up to be fun. Her father had told them he’d be gone for part of Saturday to tie up the loose ends of a case he was pleading first thing Monday morning. If he wasn’t going to be around, she might as well make the most of it: when he was at home, not that it guaranteed that he was mentally present, he was always putting his foot down about the things she wanted to do.
So, given that he was going to be out of the house all day, Inès planned to ask Emma and Léa over. They’d surf the internet, take selfies making crazy faces, post them on Facebook, like them, comment, like the comments.
Saturday nights with their father were always fun: he’d order takeout, burgers or pizza usually, for the three of them to eat in front of a movie. They used to fight over which movie to watch; everyone had their own idea of what they wanted to see, which usually didn’t correspond to what the others wanted. So their father had ruled that to avoid ruining the evening with endless squabbling, they’d take turns picking the movie. That evening it was Inès who had the delicious task of imposing her choice. She hadn’t yet made up her mind betweenHarry Potter and the Goblet of FireandRebel, which she’d missed seeing in the movie theater when it came out. She’d decide during the day.
Sundays were a day of transition, when they didn’t do much, except pack their bags with whatever they needed to take to their mother’s house, tidy their rooms, finish their homework assignments for Monday, and try to get a little ahead for the rest of the week.
Gérard always seemed to realize suddenly that the week was over, his kids were leaving for seven days, and he hadn’t really made the most of them being there. They hung out in their pajamas until after lunch, enjoying the munificence of a father whose pangs of guilt made him indulgent.
On Sunday evenings they went back to Nora’s. The rhythm there was different: slower, calmer, much less stressful. Inès found the house more comfortable somehow, smaller and cozier. And above all there was her mother, who understood her so much better, even if they did fight like cats and dogs. Nora was far from perfect, but she was so much easier to deal with than the quick-tempered Gérard, who could be in perfectly good spirits one minute, only for his mood to change dramatically in the face of some trivial annoyance.
Inès jumped out of bed and went straight down to the kitchen for breakfast, half-dressed in a T-shirt and panties. She found herself thinking about Milo and wondering if she was going to run into him during the week. She liked him living next door. They had very different personalities, but they’d hit it off the other evening at her mother’s house. Milo was reserved while Inès was gregarious, he was shy and she was a chatterbox, she was sociable, he seemed quite introverted. And he hadn’t appeared attracted to her, which was no doubt the reason he’d awakened her desire for him.
Inès’s body had been changing for a while, and with it the way people looked at her. She was just beginning to develop a vague sense of her new power, unknown to her until recently, which was giving birth to a whole variety of sensations that she had to admit she found extremely pleasurable. The boys she hung around with (apart from her brother and father, of course) were endlessly eager to please. Their behavior betrayed their infatuation. But it was happening too often now; boys were getting crushes on her all the time. She was beginning to tire of it, or so she liked to think—and, more to the point, to say within earshot of her friends, who had no idea of all the excitement to come.
But with Milo, the promise of a new challenge was rather thrilling. And there was something about him: she liked that he was tall, his dark and concentrated gaze, his unhurried movements, his tact. She felt comfortable and confident when she was with him, without really understanding why. Whatever it was, she was looking forward to seeing him again.
In the kitchen, Nassim put twopains au chocolatto heat up in the oven and sat down at the breakfast table opposite his father, who was tapping away on his iPad, a steaming cup of coffee within reach.
“Good morning, princess!” he said, then looked up and noticed her state of undress. “You could put on some clothes before you come down for breakfast, you know.”
Inès didn’t rise to the bait.
“Did you hear what I just said?” Gérard asked.
“Whatever,” she replied with a shrug.
“You’re not eight anymore, Inès. It’s a question of respect. Do I come down for breakfast in my boxer shorts?” Nassim giggled at the thought of his father sitting at the table in his underwear. Inès didn’t react.
“Go upstairs and make yourself decent!” said Gérard, in a tone that didn’t brook any dissent. Inès sighed, as if she were dealing with a complete idiot. She stood up and walked out of the kitchen.
