‘Does it always go berserk when you kill another pig?’ I ask.
Arnaud speaks around a mouthful of nails. ‘If the wind carries the blood to him.’
‘Why don’t you get one that’s less vicious?’
He gives me a sour look as he hits the nail the rest of the way home and goes to the other end of the plank.
‘He’s a good boar. He only has to cover most sows once or twice to get the job done.’ There’s pride in his voice. He takes another nail from his mouth and hammers it into place with three blows. ‘You don’t get rid of prime breeding stock because of a bit of temper.’
‘What about the pig you just slaughtered?’
‘She was barren. I tried Bayard with her enough times for it to take if it was going to. If they’re not going to litter they’re no use to me.’
‘No wonder he’s mad if you’re butchering his sows.’
Arnaud laughs. ‘Bayard doesn’t care about that. He’s just impatient for the offal.’
He stands up, wincing. Massaging his back, he thrusts the hammer and nails at me. ‘Here. Make yourself useful.’
Leaving me to finish off, he walks out of the clearing without a backward glance.
For a time after Chloe’s one-night disappearance, things settle almost back to normal. The fact of it hasn’t gone away, but it’s something both of us have avoided confronting. I’ve chosen to accept that she was telling the truth when she said nothing happened, and Chloe appears to have made an effort to put her temporary lapse behind her. If I don’t think about it I can almost pretend things between us haven’t changed.
But they have.
I’ve started meeting her at the bar again sometimes when she finishes work. Neither of us has acknowledged the implication behind this, which is that I no longer trust her. It’s just part of the unspoken deal we’ve reached.
One night when I arrive she’s at the bar with a man. She’s standing next to him while he sits on a tall stool, and at first I think it’s a customer. Then I take in the way they lean towards each other, the sombreness of Chloe’s expression as she listens to whatever he’s saying. I have to pause to steady myself, then I walk over.
Chloe looks up and sees me as I approach. Her eyes widen a little, in either shock or apprehension. The man also looks around now, but I take no notice of him. I force my mouth into the semblance of a smile.
‘Hi. You ready to go?’
Chloe’s face is alive with nervousness. ‘You’re early.’
Her eyes flick to the man. He’s been staring at me and now I turn to face him. Chloe grows even more flustered.
‘Sean … this is Jules.’
‘Hello, Sean,’ he says.
He’s about thirty. Good-looking, with a stubbled jawline and gym-honed physique that suggest he’s overcompensating for his almost femininely long-lashed eyes. The leather jacket and carefully distressed jeans are too obviously expensive to pull off the street look he’s attempting.
I know straight away who he is. He regards me with a slyly condescending smile, as if he knows who I am as well.
I turn to Chloe. ‘How long will you be?’
She can’t look at me. ‘Ten minutes.’
Head down, she hurries off to serve someone. I can feel the man she called Jules watching me. Right then I wish I hadn’t given up smoking: it would give me something to do with my hands.
‘So you’re a teacher,’ he says.
‘For now.’ I hate the thought of Chloe talking to him about me.
He smiles into his vodka. ‘For now, eh? Sounds like you’ve got big plans.’
I don’t let myself respond. He sits easily on the high stool, letting his expensive jacket and clothes speak for themselves. I don’t ask what he does: I don’t want to know.
‘So, you and Chloe,’ he says.
‘What about us?’
‘Nothing.’ He seems amused again. ‘I hear you met a friend of mine a while back.’
‘News to me.’
‘Guy by the name of Lenny.’
The name doesn’t register. And then it does. The scary bastard who stopped us in the street that night. Chloe called him Lenny.
Jules slides off the bar stool. ‘Got to go. Tell Chloe I’ll be seeing her.’
I don’t trust myself to answer. I unclench my hands as I wait for Chloe to finish. We go out and walk along the street. I wait for her to say something, but she doesn’t. Not a word.
‘Who was that?’ I ask at last.
‘Who?’
‘Jules.’
‘Oh, just a customer.’
I stop. Chloe continues a couple of paces, high heels rapping on the pavement, before she stops and turns. This is the first time she’s looked me in the eye since I walked in the bar.
‘Don’t, Chloe.’
‘Don’t what?
‘Treat me like an idiot. That was him, wasn’t it?’
‘If you already know why bother asking?’
‘What did he want?’
‘Nothing.’
‘So why was he there?’
‘He came for a drink. People do, you know.’
‘Are you seeing him again?’
‘No! I can’t help who comes in the fucking bar, can I?’
She hurries away from me. I catch up and stand in front of her, blocking her path. Our breath steams luminously under a streetlight.
‘Chloe …’ Words clog in my throat. ‘What’s going on? For Christ’s sake, just talk to me.’
‘There’s nothing to talk about.’
‘Then why are you being like this?’
‘I’m not being like anything. Christ, get off my back, you don’t own me!’
‘Own you? Jesus, I feel like I don’t even know you!’
‘Perhaps you don’t!’
Her eyes are bright, with either tears or anger. It feeds my own. ‘OK, you know what? Forget it. I’ll pack my things and move out.’
It’s my turn to walk off. I’ve not gone far when I hear her footsteps hurrying after me. ‘Sean!’
I stop and turn. She puts her arms around me and rests her head on my chest. ‘Don’t go.’
My relief is so strong it scares me. ‘I can’t handle you seeing somebody else. If you are, tell me now. Just don’t play games with me.’
‘I won’t,’ she says, her voice muffled. ‘I’m sorry. I won’t, I promise.’
The pressure of her body snuggled against me feels warm and right. I stare over her head at the bleak chain of yellow lights running up the street. The frigid air carries an acrid tang from the unseen river. I stroke the familiar contours of Chloe’s back, feeling cold and remote with the certainty that she’s lying.
10
‘I need cement.’
Mathilde looks up at me. The kitchen was empty when I returned my breakfast tray, so I guessed she’d be here in the vegetable garden. There’s a plastic bowl of freshly picked beans beside her, but at the moment she’s kneeling by the small flowerbed. She turns back to it, plucking out one of the weeds that have snaked up between the plants.
‘Isn’t there anything else you could be doing?’
‘Not really. I’ve hacked out as much as I can get to, and I better repoint that before I start anywhere else.’
The work’s gone quickly this past week. But I’ve had to remove so many loose stones that the upper level of the house looks ready to collapse. I hope that’s only superficial, and there was no option if I was going to do the job properly. Even so, I’d rather not leave the wall in this state for too long.