“Nassim’s not here.”
“Really?” said Inès, increasingly disconcerted. “But your mom was meant to be getting him from school.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
Inès felt the ground swaying beneath her feet. No boy had ever treated her with such indifference. Worse than indifference—contempt. The silence between them persisted, like torture.
“Well...sorry...I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she managed to say, her heart pounding in her chest under the assault of this stinging humiliation.
“No worries,” he said brusquely as he closed the front door.
Inès found herself alone on the sidewalk, with the intolerable sensation of having just received a slap in the face. It took her a few seconds to realize what had happened: a boy had spoken to her as though she were boring and unattractive. She’d never felt so spurned and humiliated. How had it happened? What had she done? What had gone wrong?
It took almost a minute for shock to give way to anger. That was how he treated her? Okay, then. The moron would soon realize the error of his ways. She couldn’t just let it go, not without reacting, not without showing him what she was made of.
This was not going to be the end of it.
Chapter 19
It was 7:30 p.m. when Nora rang Tiphaine and Sylvain’s doorbell. Sylvain answered, and if he was surprised to see her standing on the doorstep, he didn’t look disappointed. He invited her in and, even before asking the reason for her visit, offered her a drink.
“That’s very kind, but no thank you,” said Nora. “I’ve just come by to fetch Nassim and I’m going home. It’s late.”
“Nassim?”
Sylvain’s blunt response took Nora aback. She frowned, then smiled very faintly in disbelief.
“Yes. Tiphaine was supposed to be getting him from school today.”
Sylvain’s expression made it clear that he knew nothing about it. Her heart clenched in her chest. Was it possible that Tiphaine had forgotten?
“Is Tiphaine here?” she said, her voice choked with anxiety.
“I’ve only just gotten home. Milo’s up in his room. I was about to call to find out where she was.”
As if to prove it, he took out his cell phone and called his wife’s number. Nora had turned pale. During the few interminable seconds it took Sylvain to reach Tiphaine, she tried to remember their conversation and to figure out why things hadn’t gone as planned. Had she gotten the day wrong? Had Tiphaine not realized it was this week? But surely the school would have called her to come and fetch Nassim. Someone had picked him up. Who could it have been if it wasn’t Tiphaine?
A terrible thought crossed her mind. Maybe the schoolhadcalled to say that Nassim was waiting to be picked up, but instead of calling her they’d called Gérard. He was bound to make the most of such a golden opportunity to prove to her she couldn’t manage on her own. He’d pull out the big guns, for sure, use all his fancy phrases as if it were his big day in court. “It’s the children’s well-being that’s at stake. You have no right to make them pay for your idiocy!”
Nora shuddered at the thought.
Fortunately, the suspense was short-lived. Tiphaine answered at the third ring, and from what Nora could make out of the conversation, she and Nassim were next door. She felt the viselike grip of anxiety loosen instantly, breathed a sigh of relief, and found she could smile again.
“They’re at your place,” confirmed Sylvain as he ended the call. “Tiphaine says she sent you a text.”
“Really?”
She fumbled in her bag, took out her phone, and switched it on. She saw she had a new message.
“My bad. I didn’t even think to check my messages.”
Nora, turning to leave, noticed the look of annoyance on Sylvain’s face; his lips were pursed, and the expression in his eyes was troubled. She could tell something was wrong.
“I’m so sorry to have disturbed you...Tiphaine and I agreed she’d babysit Nassim here and I’d pick him up after work. I should have checked my messages.”
Sylvain’s expression grew conciliatory. “You don’t have to apologize, Nora.” He paused, apparently at a loss for words, and looked at her with a benevolent expression tinged with discomfiture. She looked back at him, perplexed, waiting for him to go on. Words rattled around Sylvain’s mind as he tried to find a formulaic expression to rationalize the absurd situation, to keep up appearances. And then the strange, thrilling giddiness of not saying anything, not trying to explain or deny. Not lying. Spinning out the moment, as pretense collapsed into the authenticity of emotion, the desire to be himself, to be true.
“Tiphaine didn’t tell you she was picking up Nassim from school today and Thursday, did she?” Nora asked, sounding both sympathetic and apologetic.
