Noticing the boy’s interest, Tiphaine told him, “That’s Madame Appleblossom. She sits there every day, from morning to night.”
“What’s she doing?” asked the little boy.
“Waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“No one knows. Least of all her, I imagine.”
Nassim looked at the elderly lady with an expression that was both curious and pitying. Tiphaine told him that Madame Appleblossom had come to live there five years before, and ever since, weather permitting, she would sit outside the front door with her suitcase, as if she were about to leave on vacation. In the beginning various neighborhood acquaintances came by to ask what she was doing, if she was waiting for someone. She never answered, merely assuring all those who were concerned about her well-being that she was in great shape and in need of nothing. She didn’t seem to have any children, and the few visitors she received were always other elderly people. When the neighbors tried to find out more about the old lady and what she was waiting for, they ended up lifting their arms in a gesture of defeat. Some tried to make her see reason, but one day Madame Appleblossom flew into an astonishing rage, yelling that if even at her age she was being pestered by a bunch of idiots, the world really had hit a new low.
“Is that really her name? Madame Appleblossom?”
“No. Her name is Adèle Malenbreux. We call her Madame Appleblossom because she stays inside all winter long, and no one sees her except when she goes out to do her shopping. Then, as soon as the weather warms up at the beginning of spring, out she comes, like an apple blossom.”
Nassim took one last look at the strange woman, wondering how she could spend all day, every day sitting outside her house on a folding chair. Then he turned and followed Tiphaine up the path to his front door. She rang the doorbell, not knowing if Inès was already home, and when no one answered she put the key Nora had given her into the lock and went inside.
The first hour went by quickly. She poured Nassim a glass of orange juice and offered him some cookies, then helped him with his homework. When that was done, the boy asked if he was allowed to use the PlayStation. Tiphaine said he could, and while he played she browsed the shelves in the living room. She looked at the titles on the spines of the books, amusing herself by searching for some meaning related to her life, maybe even her future, like a coded prediction that only she was able to decipher.The Unbearable Lightness of Being, by Milan Kundera.Life Is Elsewhereby the same author.Dangerous Liaisons,by Choderlos de Laclos.The Flowers of Evil,by Charles Baudelaire.After the Funeral,by Agatha Christie. A lot of classic French novels. Some North African writers, and quite a few British and American ones too. Nora was clearly a very sophisticated woman.
Tiphaine walked from the living room into the dining room. It was simply furnished, with a table, chairs, and a dresser, but otherwise the room was empty, evidence of the fact that the tenants had only recently moved in. Now that she was alone in the house, or at least Nora wasn’t there, Tiphaine let her mind fill with bittersweet memories. She went slowly over to the corner where she used to sit and read or engage in endless bouts of tickling with Maxime in the old rocking chair that had once belonged to her grandmother. The corner was empty now, and all that remained of that blissful happiness was a gaping wound in the dark abyss of her memory. She stood there for several long seconds, fighting the impulse to give in completely to the siren song of the past.
“Can I have another cookie?”
In the room next door Nassim was fighting a ruthless battle against strange creatures from outer space, and this relentless combat had made him hungry. Tiphaine shook herself, landed back in the present with a thud, and hurried to comply with the boy’s request.
Mission accomplished, she resumed her tour of the house. She opened the back door and went out onto the deck.
She stood there motionless for a moment, her eyes sweeping across her old yard. Over the years she’d watched from the other side of the hedge as all the things she’d planted, sown, and grown from cuttings withered and died. A few flowers had somehow managed to withstand the lack of care. The vegetable garden hadn’t survived, and the lilac was completely blanketed by the Virginia creeper. From the living room came the repetitive sounds of Nassim’s video game, bringing back once more a volley of memories. Tiphaine shut her eyes, almost reconciled to giving in to the delicious vertigo brought on by this assault from the past: standing on the deck, sensing the presence of a little boy playing a video game, going back in time, allowing herself to be lulled by the spell of irrational longing. Then, slowly, as if propelled by an outside force, with her eyes still closed, she raised her head to the upstairs windows and let herself be overwhelmed by the poison of her obsessive delusion.
“Hi, Tiphaine!”
Tiphaine flinched and let out a startled little cry, as if caught in the act of committing a shameful crime. She opened her eyes and saw Inès standing in the doorway, still wearing her jacket, gripping her backpack in one hand. She looked very annoyed.
“I didn’t know you were babysitting Nassim here,” she said. “I stopped by your place, I thought—”
“Nassim said he’d prefer it.” Tiphaine justified herself, like a child accusing her best friend of being responsible for the thing she’d just been accused of. Surprised by the gratuitous vehemence of her response, Inès simply slowly nodded her head up and down. “Okay,” she said. “I’m going up to my room.” With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared.
The spell was broken.
Tiphaine shivered, despite the mildness of the summer’s day, and went back inside.
Chapter 18
Inès ran upstairs and opened the door to her room as if she were being chased by the devil himself, then pulled it shut behind her. Furiously, she flung her bag to the other side of the room and collapsed onto her bed in despair. What was wrong with that boy? Was he crazy, blind, or what? She couldn’t understand it. There had definitely been a spark between them the other night. What was going on?
When she’d found out Tiphaine would be looking after Nassim until their mother returned, she’d realized it was the perfect excuse to see Milo again. A sign, even. Milo hadn’t replied to her Facebook message, at least not yet, but maybe messaging wasn’t his strong suit. When she’d gotten back from school, she’d gone straight over and rung the neighbors’ doorbell, supposedly to make sure that everything was going well with her little brother.
Milo answered the door. When he saw Inès on the doorstep, his face darkened.
“Hi!” said Inès with a radiant smile.
“Hi,” he responded without enthusiasm.
Thrown off by the frosty reception, she lost some of her self-assurance.
“I...I just came by to see if everything was okay with Nassim.”
Milo looked at her in surprise, maintaining an expression that combined boredom and annoyance.
