better.’ He looked at her, smiling kindly, saying nothing. ‘What?’ she said.
‘I get the sense you don’t trust me any more.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I know you, Adèle,’ he said. ‘Something’s wrong and you won’t tell me.’
She nodded, and he waited for her to get her thoughts in order. ‘Last night,’ she said. ‘I thought Simon came back.’ There was no judgement in the priest’s eyes,
only concern. ‘It felt so real. He talked to me. Shouted, even. It hadn’t happened to me in years. I thought it would never happen again. I thought I was cured, but . . .’ She
stopped, and shook her head.
‘You know, Adèle, yesterday a parishioner came to see me. She was devastated because she’d spoken to her husband who’d been dead for twenty years. She told me that it
was as if he’d reappeared in the flesh. As if he had come back.’
‘You think that’s possible?’
He shook his head, smiling. ‘The people we have loved carry on living within us. It’s common for us to see them again, to imagine them talking to us. And it can feel just as real as
you and I talking now, because we miss them so much. We want them to be here. It’s normal for Simon to be on your mind, so close to your wedding day. But you mustn’t worry. Marrying
Thomas won’t stop you thinking about Simon, but that’s OK. Once you accept that, you’ll find peace. It’s very important to be at peace with our ghosts. Contrary to what
people think, they mean us no harm.’
Adèle nodded, trying to absorb what he was telling her. She hoped he was right. ‘And if I see him again?’
‘Don’t turn him away,’ he said. ‘Talk to him.’
There was a sudden deep thump from the structure of the church, followed by a long watery rumble. Father Jean-François looked up with a resigned expression. ‘The plumbing’s
been acting up all morning,’ he said.
Then Adèle heard Chloé shout for her, fear in the girl’s voice. They ran through to the toilets to find Chloé standing in front of a row of sinks. She looked towards
her mother with terrified eyes. Adèle went to her and took her in her arms, staring at the sinks.
In each, dirty water was rising slowly from the open plughole, as the room filled with the smell of decay.
13
Alain Hubert hadn’t liked the look of the guy from the moment he came in.
The diner Alain ran was as brightly cheesy as the food it served, fifties-America themed with the building mocked up to look like an aluminium railway car, albeit about three times as wide as
the real thing. It was on the edge of town, the last eatery on the road south, and most mornings the place was quiet enough to let him run it alone, extra staff starting shortly before the
lunchtime rush.
This morning the diner’s only customer was the strange woman who’d been waiting at the door when he’d opened up; she’d then muttered endlessly about the prices, accusing
him of trying to mug his customers before finally ordering a big plate of food.
The comment about mugging stung him, although the woman couldn’t have known about his less-than-savoury past. It had been a long time since Alain had given up that kind of thing.
‘You’re not homeless?’ he said, noting the old clothes she was wearing and her sour demeanour.
She gave him a curious look, then sighed and disdainfully handed him a fifty-euro note. ‘Toy money,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘What was wrong with the franc?’
It was the kind of comment he expected from older customers, but she looked to be in her mid-forties. Homeless or not, there was something about her he just didn’t like, but she seemed
clean enough and she had cash. Alain settled on
eccentric
. He hoped she didn’t plan on becoming a regular customer.
Saturday was normally deserted until eleven, giving him time to get his head around the weekly stock reorder, but so far he’d hardly even got started on it. It meant he would probably have
to stay late to get it
‘I get the sense you don’t trust me any more.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I know you, Adèle,’ he said. ‘Something’s wrong and you won’t tell me.’
She nodded, and he waited for her to get her thoughts in order. ‘Last night,’ she said. ‘I thought Simon came back.’ There was no judgement in the priest’s eyes,
only concern. ‘It felt so real. He talked to me. Shouted, even. It hadn’t happened to me in years. I thought it would never happen again. I thought I was cured, but . . .’ She
stopped, and shook her head.
‘You know, Adèle, yesterday a parishioner came to see me. She was devastated because she’d spoken to her husband who’d been dead for twenty years. She told me that it
was as if he’d reappeared in the flesh. As if he had come back.’
‘You think that’s possible?’
He shook his head, smiling. ‘The people we have loved carry on living within us. It’s common for us to see them again, to imagine them talking to us. And it can feel just as real as
you and I talking now, because we miss them so much. We want them to be here. It’s normal for Simon to be on your mind, so close to your wedding day. But you mustn’t worry. Marrying
Thomas won’t stop you thinking about Simon, but that’s OK. Once you accept that, you’ll find peace. It’s very important to be at peace with our ghosts. Contrary to what
people think, they mean us no harm.’
Adèle nodded, trying to absorb what he was telling her. She hoped he was right. ‘And if I see him again?’
‘Don’t turn him away,’ he said. ‘Talk to him.’
There was a sudden deep thump from the structure of the church, followed by a long watery rumble. Father Jean-François looked up with a resigned expression. ‘The plumbing’s
been acting up all morning,’ he said.
Then Adèle heard Chloé shout for her, fear in the girl’s voice. They ran through to the toilets to find Chloé standing in front of a row of sinks. She looked towards
her mother with terrified eyes. Adèle went to her and took her in her arms, staring at the sinks.
In each, dirty water was rising slowly from the open plughole, as the room filled with the smell of decay.
13
Alain Hubert hadn’t liked the look of the guy from the moment he came in.
The diner Alain ran was as brightly cheesy as the food it served, fifties-America themed with the building mocked up to look like an aluminium railway car, albeit about three times as wide as
the real thing. It was on the edge of town, the last eatery on the road south, and most mornings the place was quiet enough to let him run it alone, extra staff starting shortly before the
lunchtime rush.
This morning the diner’s only customer was the strange woman who’d been waiting at the door when he’d opened up; she’d then muttered endlessly about the prices, accusing
him of trying to mug his customers before finally ordering a big plate of food.
The comment about mugging stung him, although the woman couldn’t have known about his less-than-savoury past. It had been a long time since Alain had given up that kind of thing.
‘You’re not homeless?’ he said, noting the old clothes she was wearing and her sour demeanour.
She gave him a curious look, then sighed and disdainfully handed him a fifty-euro note. ‘Toy money,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘What was wrong with the franc?’
It was the kind of comment he expected from older customers, but she looked to be in her mid-forties. Homeless or not, there was something about her he just didn’t like, but she seemed
clean enough and she had cash. Alain settled on
eccentric
. He hoped she didn’t plan on becoming a regular customer.
Saturday was normally deserted until eleven, giving him time to get his head around the weekly stock reorder, but so far he’d hardly even got started on it. It meant he would probably have
to stay late to get it
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