“Not at all,” she said in a voice that seemed to emerge from the depths of her guilty conscience.
Tiphaine waited for her neighbor to invite her in, but Nora stood there, plainly terrified, staring at her with wide, questioning eyes.
“May I come in?” asked Tiphaine. “I need to talk to you.” All manner of thoughts were running through Nora’s mind as she tried to figure out from Tiphaine’s tone and expression the extent of her anger, bitterness, and loathing.
“Nora! Can I speak to you for five minutes? It really won’t take long.” Tiphaine’s voice was sharp now, even a little imperious. Nora shook herself.
“Of course. Come right in.”
“Thank you.”
All her senses were on alert. In the absence of any sign of animosity, she tried to pull herself together. Tiphaine sat down at the kitchen table and Nora offered her a cup of coffee, which she accepted with a distracted air. While Nora was pouring water into the machine, her neighbor began to talk.
“Something’s happened that I’d like to talk to you about. Woman to woman,” she said, emphasizing the words. “Or rather, mother to mother.”
Nora thought she might pass out. Tiphaine’s accusatory expression seemed to unmask her with agonizing intensity.
“I’m listening,” she said, swallowing.
“You know that Inès and Milo hung out together last Friday, while I was babysitting Nassim.”
It was a statement, not a question. As if Tiphaine were letting her know she had no desire to beat about the bush but intended to get straight to the heart of the matter. Nora was so surprised—and relieved!—by what her neighbor wanted to talk about that she almost burst out laughing. She managed not to, but she visibly relaxed.
“No, I had no idea,” she said, her voice much steadier now.
“When Inès got back from school on Friday she asked if she could go over to see Milo,” Tiphaine said. “She was there for, I don’t know, an hour or so. There was no one else in the house. I mean, no one to keep an eye on them, even from a distance.”
“I see.”
“And then two nights later Milo had a nightmare. He was begging Inès to leave him alone.” She stopped and looked at Nora as if expecting an explanation.
“And?” said Nora.
“Has Inès said anything about Milo?”
“No.”
Tiphaine sighed with disappointment. She sat for a moment, pensive, and then, as if she had been struck by an idea, gave Nora an odd look.
“What kind of girl is your daughter?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Inès. What’s she like? Is she an introvert, extrovert, controlling, empathetic, selfish? A victim, a tease, a slut—”
Nora interrupted her. “Tiphaine, please!” She didn’t like the turn the conversation was taking one bit. “What are you trying to get at?”
“My son spent half the night tossing and turning because of your daughter and I would like to know why!”
“How would I know?” said Nora indignantly.
“That’s why I’m asking what kind of person Inès is. You must have some idea.”
“I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”
“I’m not insinuating anything, Nora,” said Tiphaine wearily. “I’m saying something happened between Inès and Milo and it seems it didn’t have a fairy-tale ending. Did your daughter sleep well last night?”
“Perfectly fine!”
