The Islanders: Shocking, hilarious and poignant noir. Pascal Garnier

could have told her his mother had died and he had come up for the funeral, but he settled for raising his eyebrows as if to say, ‘Beats me.’ There clearly was a reason for his being here, but putting it into words was beyond him. It was the same for Jeanne: the whys and wherefores seemed superfluous, they were there, after …

      ‘How long has it been?’

      ‘A long time.’

      Jeanne had settled into an armchair opposite Olivier and sat facing him, hugging her knees. They stayed looking at one another like two mirrors eternally returning the other’s reflection.

      They had overcome their initial shock. Now they were facing reality. The child was still intact in both of them, dazzling like a pure diamond. Time had stood still and they were holding their breath as if underwater. Olivier felt his heart implode. He closed his eyes and threw his head back, clutching his brow.

      ‘Fuck! … Fuck me!’

      They were not so much words as a sort of rattle.

      ‘I’ll make some coffee.’

      Jeanne was no longer sitting in the armchair but he could hear her moving utensils about in the kitchen. She would soon return to sit in front of him. What would he say to her? ‘So, what do you do these days? … You haven’t changed a bit … Can you believe this cold? … What’s for dinner? … Did you see whatsit’s last film? … Oh yes please, I will have a bit more mash …’ Maybe not, but he was going to have to say something. The room looked like any other lounge: sofa, armchair, table, chairs, rug and lamp. No mirror. It was all a bit dull and unimaginative, clean and functional, just what was needed and no more. Only a print of The Raft of the Medusa on one wall. The curtains were drawn. The room probably didn’t see daylight very often. Jeanne must have inherited the furniture; it wasn’t what you would choose. She returned carrying a tray.

      ‘You live on your own?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Ah …’

      ‘I live with Rodolphe.’

      ‘Your brother?’

      ‘Yes. My mother and the twins died in a car accident. Rodolphe can’t manage on his own. Do you take sugar?’

      ‘No, thanks. My mother has just died, that’s why I’m here.’

      ‘The old lady across the hall?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘That’s funny, I’d noticed her surname on the letter box but I thought it must be a coincidence. I didn’t recognise her. To tell the truth, I only bumped into her once or twice. She hardly ever went out.’

      ‘So you left Le Chesnay?’

      ‘Yes. It suits us better here. We’ve got two of everything – two toilets, two bathrooms – it’s a bit like two separate flats. Having said that, Rodolphe spends most of his time in my half. What about you, where do you live?’

      ‘On the coast, in Nice.’

      ‘Are you married?’

      ‘Yes, I got married two years ago.’

      He blushed, as if caught doing something wrong, as if he were cheating.

      ‘So you’ve come back for the funeral.’

      ‘That’s right. But it’s been put back because of the holidays … because of the weather … Long and short of it, I’m stuck here until the 27th. The reason I came round was to borrow a phone book. I need to call Emmaus to clear the flat.’

      ‘I’ll dig one out.’

      There, everything was back to normal, life had resumed its ordinary course. They drank coffee and chatted, sharing minor gripes and moans. The marionettes were once again jiggling on their strings. Olivier put his cup down on the tray a little too hard and clasped his face in his hands.

      ‘Jeanne! Jeanne, do you know what this means?’

      He had said the same thing twenty-five years earlier and, just like then, she could only reply, ‘That’s the way it is. There’s nothing we can do.’

      ‘What have you been doing all these years?’

      ‘The same as always, I think. The days, months and years followed on smoothly from one another. After you left, I was sent to boarding school and then I took an English degree. I’m a teacher. That’s all there is to say.’