Read Online And Then Came Paulette by Barbara Constantine, Justin Phipps - Free Book Online Page B

“Hi, Daddy.” Crazy at his age. She was angry with him. About that and everything else. But particularly for not understanding how difficult she found it being on her own right now. Screw the medication, she was going to help herself to a small glass of sherry. She gulped it down. Looked at the time again. Eight-thirty. That was OK.
    She arrived at Guy and Gaby’s front door. One more thing to get used to. From now on she would have to think of it as just being Guy’s house. She was all mixed up.
    The shutters were closed and no light filtered through. She knocked. No reply. She went around the house, through the garden, and tapped on the kitchen window. Still no answer. She pushed the handle and the door opened. She called out. No response. She switched on the light and saw the chaos: dirty dishes piled high in the sink, the remains of a meal on the table, dirty clothes strewn across the floor. She had never seen the house in such a state. She ran upstairs, flung open the bedroom door, saw Guy, fully dressed, stretched out on the bed, and gave a shout. Startled he turned toward her.
    “I didn’t hear you come in. What is it, Mireille? Why are you shouting?”
    No real reason. She just needed to see him; that was all. She was worried because he never answered the phone and then seeing all the mess had shaken her a bit. That was why she had come upstairs. And when she discovered him there, lying on the bed, she really thought he was dead. They went down to the kitchen. She needed a drink. He offered her a sherry. She went for water instead, because of the medication. She drank it in one. That was better. She hugged him tenderly, told him not to worry: everything would be all right. She was going home. The next morning she would come back and help him tidy everything up.

25
Roland on the Phone
    “Hi P’pa.” “Is that you Roland?”
    “Course it is. Who else calls you Papa?”
    “It could have been Lionel calling from Australia.”
    “When’s the last time he did that?”
    “I dunno, last Christmas, maybe. So, why are you calling?”
    “No reason. It’s been a few days since I saw you hanging around the terrace of the café opposite, tripping up young ladies with your stick, so I wondered . . . is everything all right?”
    “Yeah, yeah, everything’s OK”
    “Not too bored on your own?”
    “Nope, not at all.”
    “You found something to occupy yourself?”
    “I’ve got loads of stuff to do.”
    “That’s good.”
    “How about you? How’s the restaurant?”
    “All right.”
    “And the kids?”
    “OK.”
    “And Mireille?”
    “She’s gone back to work. It helps take her mind off things. Doctor Lubin has prescribed some antidepressants, you know.”
    “Lubin? He’s not in jail yet?”
    “Every time . . . Maybe we should avoid the subject.”
    “You’re right. Anyway, nice of you to call.”
    “It’s nothing, P’pa.”
    “No, it’s nice of you. Look, Roland, you do realize your sons are six and eight and they call me Ferdinand. Don’t you think . . . ?”
    “Hang on a minute, what’s the problem? Does it embarrass you if I call you Papa, is that it?”
    “No, but at forty-five, you’d think . . .”
    “What’s age got to do with it? Anyway, it’s too late. I can’t call you anything else. I don’t believe it. I call you to find out your news and what do I get? A kick in the teeth. Always on the attack, eh? I’m totally wiped out, you know. It’s eight-thirty in the evening and I’m off to bed. Right, bye P’p—Oh shit, I’ll never get it right.”
    “It’s not a problem, Roland. Night, son.”
    Ferdinand went back and sat down at the kitchen table.
    That evening it was Marceline’s turn to make supper.
    She used only produce from her garden. Honey from her bees and eggs from the hens. She explained she couldn’t face killing the animals she had reared; she always grew so attached to them. She had solved the problem by not eating meat anymore and that