I turn away and start serving someone else. I’m trying to act as though nothing’s happened, but as I snatch a glass from the shelf I knock off another two. They shatter on the floor.
‘Shit!’
I’ve spoken too loudly, earning a cross look from Sergei, who’s serving nearby. There’s the usual lull in the noise level at the sound of breaking glass, then conversations resume. I take a dustpan from under the counter and duck down to sweep up the fragments, glad of the excuse to be out of sight.
When I stand up Jules is leaning on the bar.
I ignore him, emptying the broken glass into a bin before continuing to serve drinks. All the while I’m conscious of him watching me. Soon, there’s no one left at my end of the bar except him. I can’t pretend he isn’t there any longer.
I face him across the stainless-steel counter. He looks fit and tanned, although as he moves his head the bar lighting exposes dark rings under his eyes, like bruises. But he has the same halfsmile on his face I remember.
‘Gave up teaching, eh?’ He makes a show of looking around. ‘Nice crowd you get in here. Do they tip well?’
‘What do you want?’
‘Oh, now you can do better than that. Aren’t you supposed to ask what I’d like to drink? “Excuse me, sir, what can I get you?” Something like that?’
I’m clenching my jaw so tightly my teeth hurt. Jules smiles at me again. His pupils are like pin-pricks. I tell myself he’s nothing to me, that I should let him say whatever he has to and then leave. But I’m not prepared for his next words.
‘I’ll tell Chloe I’ve seen you.’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘You did know she’s living with me now?’
No, I didn’t. I haven’t seen Chloe since I moved out. I’d considered offering to stay until she’d had the abortion, but in the end I hadn’t. What Chloe did with her life was no longer any of my business, she’d made that clear. I told myself a clean break was best for both of us.
But I’d no idea she’d gone back to Jules. As far as I knew, the abortion was purely her decision, and I’d assumed that meant she’d broken with him as well. My feelings must be written on my face.
‘Oh, you obviously didn’t know,’ he grins.
‘How is she?’
‘Why should you care? You walked out on her, didn’t you?’
My knuckles whiten on the glass I’m holding, but then Lenny comes over. Big as Jules is, the other man towers over him.
‘You coming?’
‘Just saying hello to an old friend of Chloe’s. You remember Sean, don’t you?’
Lenny gives me an uninterested glance, but before he can say anything a smartly dressed man and a woman approach the bar. The man signals to me. ‘I’d like a glass of Chablis and—’
‘We’re talking,’ Lenny says without turning around.
‘Well, I’d like serving, so—’
He breaks off as Lenny turns his head to stare at him. Although the big man’s expression doesn’t change the atmosphere is suddenly charged.
‘Fuck off.’
The customer begins to bluster, but it’s half-hearted. He allows the woman to lead him away. Lenny turns back to Jules as if I’m not there.
‘Hurry it up.’
It’s more an order than a request. Jules flushes as the other man goes back to where the two drunken girls are waiting.
‘Business calls.’ He gives a hard smile, attempting to regain face. ‘I’ll tell Chloe I’ve seen you. She’ll be thrilled.’
I stay where I am after he’s gone. A man waves his credit card at me.
‘Hey, you serving or just standing there?’
I turn and walk into the kitchen. Sergei says something to me but I don’t hear what. I go through the fire-escape door and out into the alleyway at the back. There’s the sweet smell of garbage and urine.
Letting the door close behind me, I slide down the wall and close my eyes.
15
‘You awake up there?’
The words are a towline to consciousness. I open my eyes as it drags me up, not knowing who called or even if I dreamed it. The thump of someone banging on the trapdoor convinces me that I haven’t.
‘Come on, wake up, you lazy bastard!’
It’s Arnaud. My first thought is Gretchen. I jack-knife upright in bed, half-convinced she’s still there. But I’m alone, thank God. The chest of drawers is still on the trapdoor, where I pushed it the night before. Overkill to keep out an eighteen-year-old girl maybe, but just as effective against her father. In a waking panic I think he must know his daughter was here, before I remember I’m supposed to be helping him with the traps.
‘All right,’ I call. My head is thumping from the rough wine and Arnaud’s cognac, and the rude awakening hasn’t helped.
‘About bloody time!’ I can hear the wooden steps creak under his weight. ‘Hurry up and get your arse down here!’
‘Give me five minutes.’
‘Make it two!’
His footsteps clump away from the trapdoor. I groan, hanging my head. It can’t be much past dawn. A grey early light filters into the loft. Wanting nothing more than to fall back onto the mattress and sleep for another hour, I pull on my overalls and go downstairs. I stop off at the tap to drink thirstily and splash water on my face and neck. Beads of it cling to my beard and its cold is a temporary salve for my headache.
Arnaud is waiting outside with Lulu, a canvas workman’s bag slung over his shoulder. He carries the rifle broken over one arm. There’s a hangover pallor, and the white stubble looks like a skim of frost against his brown face. He glowers at me.
‘I told you to be ready early.’
‘I didn’t know you meant at the crack of dawn. What about breakfast?’
‘What about it?’
He’s already walking across the courtyard. Lulu fusses around me like a long-lost friend as I go after Arnaud. I expect him to follow the track towards the road, but instead he goes down the side of the stable block. I thought I knew the farm well by now, but there’s a path here that I never knew existed. It makes me wonder what else there is here I don’t know about.
I trudge along it behind him. There’s a clamour of birdsong, bell clear in the chilled air and lowlying mist. Wishing I’d put on a T-shirt under the overalls, I rub my arms and feel the outline of the plaster. The morning feels momentarily colder as I remember Gretchen’s amnesia of the night before. In some ways it’s even more disturbing than her attacking me in the first place. It could have been an act; God knows she’s certainly capable of histrionics. But this isn’t the only time it’s happened: I remember after she set fire to the photograph she never so much as mentioned it again. At the time I thought she’d just developed a convenient memory, choosing to ignore an awkward incident.
Now I wonder if it wasn’t something more than that.
The path has taken us into the deep woods above the house, the buffer between the farm and the rest of the world. Trying to put Gretchen from my mind, I concentrate on not tripping over tree roots. Ahead of me, the back of Arnaud’s neck is stiff and uncompromising, seamed with horizontal creases. Looking at the gun, I belatedly wonder if coming into these lonely woods with him is such a good idea. I don’t know what Gretchen might have told him but Arnaud is hardly the type to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. The sound of a shot would pass unnoticed out here, and a body could lie undisturbed amongst the tree roots indefinitely.
I shake off the morbid thoughts. Arnaud is nothing if not direct: if he meant me any harm I’d know about it by now. Besides, the way my head is aching he’d only be putting me out of my misery.
There’s a stillness to the woods, a sharp silence through which every sound seems heightened. Something rustles a few yards to one side. Lulu bristles and bounds after it, until Arnaud checks her with a sharp word. The dog reluctantly slinks back to him, casting regretful looks behind her.