“Can you bring the Titeuf that we were reading yesterday?”
Tiphaine didn’t raise her voice and Nassim frowned, embarrassed that he couldn’t understand what she was asking.
“I can’t hear you,” he said, leaning out even farther.
Tiphaine lowered her voice even more.
“Come on, Nassim, it’s not exactly complicated. Titeuf, the same comic book we were reading yesterday—can you bring it down?”
“Bring what down?”
Time stopped. The little boy leaned a little farther out, on tiptoes now, his hands gripping the window ledge.
Suddenly Tiphaine screamed and lifted her arms in a panic.
“Nassim! Be careful, you’re going to fall!”
Her fear took the boy by surprise; startled, he tipped forward. He was leaning a little more out into the void. His feet left the ground for a long-drawn-out split second, during which it was as if he were weightless, horizontal, so light and fragile...
He looked like an angel about to take flight.
The next moment, stunned and in shock, he leaned back and, in a survival reflex, pushed hard with his hands against the window ledge and fell heavily back onto his bedroom floor.
Down in the garden, Tiphaine looked up at the sky and uttered a sigh of frustration.
Chapter 26
That weekend, Nora decided she was going to make the most of her time with her children. It had been a frustrating week, because of the shifts she had worked. Nassim had been very grumpy since Wednesday, complaining multiple times about his mother’s absence. His reproaches hit home.
“You said you left Papa because he worked too hard. And now you’re doing exactly the same.”
“I’m not doing the same,” Nora defended herself despondently. “I don’t work long hours at all. It’s only that I’ve been starting just as you finish your school day. But it was only for this week: I’ll be picking you up next time.”
Nassim smiled when he heard this, but Nora’s expression darkened. The child wasn’t wrong: she was making them go through exactly what she had always criticized Gérard for. She was going to do everything she could to make up for it. She was dreading the thought of Sunday night and wanted to fill every second spent with her children with fun activities. It was only two in the afternoon and they had already been to the market, prepared the batter to make crepes in the afternoon, and had the roast chicken for lunch that they’d bought that morning. Then Nora had given Inès and Nassim permission to spend an hour (which had morphed into an hour and a half) in front of the screen of their choice. Nassim had rushed to the PlayStation while his sister went online, and Nora had spent the time reading. What joy!
Now she and Nassim were in the garden bickering over the game they were playing, halfway between soccer and rugby, with only the vaguest of rules. The objective was basically for each player to run both after the ball and after each other, tackle the other person, make them fall, then tickle them. Which they did unsparingly.
When the ball went over the hedge—Nora had terrible aim—their fun was abruptly interrupted. Nassim couldn’t decide whether to mock Nora or be annoyed. Nora stood on tiptoes to survey the next-door yard: if Tiphaine, Sylvain, or Milo were outside, the incident would be no more than a brief break in the game. But there was no one in the yard. She craned her neck to try to see through the French doors whether there was any movement inside the house. She thought she spotted a figure in the dining room.
“Wait here, I’ll be back in a second,” she said to Nassim.
She walked through the house and out the front door into the street, and rang the bell next door. A few seconds later she heard footsteps, then the sound of a key turning in the lock. Sylvain opened the door.
He seemed surprised to see her on the doorstep, and once again was visibly delighted by her impromptu visit.
“You’re not going to tell me you’ve come to pick up Nassim again!”
Nora burst out laughing.
“No, he’s at home. I’ve come to fetch the ball that’s landed in your yard.”
Sylvain rolled his eyes, making it clear that he knew what it was to have once—long ago—had a child that age.
“I’ll go get it for you. Come on in.”
Nora gave him a grateful smile. She came inside and Sylvain closed the door behind her, before disappearing into the dining room. There was no sign of either Tiphaine or Milo. Barely thirty seconds later Sylvain returned holding the ball.
“Can I make you coffee?”
