The file that must under no circumstances fall into Milo’s hands.
She had to think quickly and clearly. Nora now posed a real threat. Even if she didn’t have the documents in her possession anymore, she knew too much. And she was bound to exploit that knowledge now that Tiphaine had used the child to weaken the mother. Did this change her plans? Not really, except now she didn’t have much time: she couldn’t let her rival act before the trap closed on her.
She couldn’t give her the slightest chance to escape.
She had to get her out of the way.
The second stage of reflection: what was Depardieu’s file doing in Nora’s house anyway? Tiphaine remembered that when the attorney had left her house, he’d had the file folder under his arm. The fact that she’d found it in Nora’s house seemed proof that, contrary to what the police had said, she and Sylvain were not the last people to have seen the attorney before he vanished without a trace. It was becoming clear that Nora knew a lot more than she was ready to admit. And whatever she was keeping to herself was an asset to be reckoned with. Never underestimate your adversary. The border between suspicion and certainty was sometimes tenuous, and it only took a slight misstep for the situation to tip from one extreme to another. Nora had some highly incriminating information about her neighbors, but the very fact that she had it in her possession put her in a tricky position.
Time was running out. There was no room for risk. Improvisation was out of the question. She had to act quickly. That evening. Presumably Nora hadn’t mentioned the file folder and its contents to the cops because she had something else in mind. Attack or defense? Tiphaine tried to consider the situation from every angle, but she couldn’t work out what her neighbor might be up to. And this inability to predict her response set her nerves on edge.
Milo’s return home put an end to her pondering. The young man dropped his backpack at the foot of the stairs, called his usual “Hi!” to Tiphaine, and headed for the kitchen, where he contemplated the contents of the refrigerator.
“Do you want me to make you something to eat?” she asked, as she always did.
“No, thanks.”
“How was your day?”
“Fine.”
“Do you have any homework?”
“I don’t know.”
There was something reassuring about the monotony of their dialogue. Tiphaine looked mournfully at the teenager’s gangly figure and felt a powerful urge to take him in her arms, to hold him close to her and rock him tenderly. To cover him with kisses. To tell him how much she loved him. To ask his forgiveness.
After hesitating for what seemed like forever, Milo took a container of yogurt and a bottle of milk from the refrigerator, opened the cupboard above the sink, grabbed a bowl, opened the next cupboard and took out a box of cereal and the sugar, and finally took a spoon from another drawer. He sat down at the kitchen table and prepared himself a hearty snack. She sat down beside him and watched him eat. She wanted the moment to last, for time to stop, so she could hold on to this perfectly ordinary moment that was suddenly so precious. To share a moment of intimacy with him, the memory of which filled her with burning regret, eternal guilt. It was a life sentence, she knew, she had always known it, but until now, the tiny glimmer of possible redemption had kept alive in her a flicker of hope. Could she expect any affection from anyone ever again? A friendly look, a gentle smile? A caress, however fleeting, even just a kind word? The generosity of a compliment? The tenderness of an emotion? It had been such a long time since anyone had shown any warmth toward her.
“Milo...” she began tentatively.
“Mmmh?”
“Do you...do you ever think about your parents?”
If he was surprised by the question he didn’t show it. He kept munching his cereal, staring vacantly ahead. He didn’t answer straightaway.
“No,” he said eventually, without any emotion.
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Why not?”
Another silence. He finished his cereal and slowly peeled off the cover of the yogurt, sprinkled some sugar on top, and mixed it all together.
“Were they thinking about me when they killed themselves?”
Tiphaine closed her eyes on the tsunami that broke over her soul, laid waste to her heart, and drowned her in the bitter waters of perfidy. Spume gnawed at her from within, drawing her soul down to the bottomless depths of the shipwreck of her life.
As the elements raged inside her she opened her eyes. A single tear rolled down one cheek. A single, tiny tear that held all her grief. The final tear. Her very last.
And that was it. Her eyes were dry again. Dry as a stone. Dry as the eyes of those who never weep.
It was time for the confrontation.
Chapter 51
