Moon in a Dead Eye: Shocking, hilarious and poignant noir. Pascal Garnier

was good … or so it seemed to her.

      Odette took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. A gust of wind ruffled the pages of the interiors catalogue lying open on her knees.

      She wasn’t so certain any more. But what was the use in dwelling on the past? All that mattered was the here and now. They were both in good health, they had everything they needed to be happy, and they were free!

      Her gaze followed the line of the security fence which screened off her horizons. A ray of sunlight bounced off the black eye of a CCTV camera.

      There was no reason to doubt it, they had been happy, with a few ups and downs, the odd regret, but nothing worth stewing over! They had lived an honest life. The world had become cynical; nobody took these sorts of values seriously any more. Well, if the world had moved on from them, they had moved on from it too. She and Martial were perfectly capable of looking after themselves – they’d been married forty years after all! And it had gone without a hitch! They hadn’t even needed to have children; the two of them got on just fine on their own. There was no reason for that to change …

      The shadow of a doubt was obscured by the sun for a moment. Everything became a uniform grey, cold and silent, like during an eclipse. Odette shivered, not only from the chill but something else, a sudden feeling of lacking, an emptiness that took her breath away. Then the sun came out again. She heard the reassuring hum of the TV from the living room. The Nodes waved to her as they drove past. It must be around midday. Everything was getting back to normal.

      ‘Martial?’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Don’t you think we should call Dacapo about the clubhouse?’

      ‘What for?’

      ‘To get them to open it, of course! I mean, we’re paying for it, aren’t we?’

      ‘There aren’t enough of us.’

      ‘Excuse me, there are going to be five of us soon! We’re entitled to it anyway. I don’t know about you, but I want to do things.’

      ‘What things?’

      ‘Well, I don’t know! That’s for the social secretary to think of. It’s her job to come up with things for us to do.’

      ‘Fine, we’ll call him. Let’s heat up that gratin, I’m hungry.’

      ‘Did you hear that thing on the news, Martial, about a doe attacking an old lady?’

      ‘It was a roebuck.’

      ‘Yes, well, same thing. I mean, bears, yes, wolves even, but a doe? I don’t know what kind of muck they’re spreading on the fields these days. All the little creatures guzzle it up and then go mad. You’ll see, soon it won’t be safe to walk anywhere.’

      They were having a drink on the deck at the Nodes’ place. The two women were indoors. You could hear the low murmur of their voices, the occasional word or burst of laughter ringing out clearly. It had not yet quite become a ritual, but they were going round to each other’s houses more and more often, and the mood was ever more relaxed. They had a good time, talking about everything and nothing, especially Maxime, who always had something to say whatever the subject. He found silences oppressive and was compelled to fill them. This suited Martial down to the ground, since he had spent his life cultivating the art of making conversation by nodding and smiling in agreement. Yes, it was nice, watching the sky turn mauve, then from mauve to purple, the stars coming out unnoticed. They had good weather almost every day now. Everywhere they looked, it was turning green. Everything they touched was sticky. Spring was in the air.

      ‘Top-up, Martial?’

      ‘No, I’d—’

      ‘Go on, let your hair down!’

      ‘OK then, just a drop.’

      Martial and Odette hardly ever drank, even with dinner. They had had to stock up in time for the Nodes’ first visit and since then, Martial had not been averse to the odd glass when the opportunity arose, as it did more and more often. It had not escaped Odette’s notice, and she had brought it up with him recently. Well, he was hardly going to become an alcoholic at his age. There was no harm in loosening up and letting that warm fuzzy feeling come over him now and then. Odette took those pills every night, after all …

      ‘And what about this black beast that’s been seen prowling around the dunes near Calais? They’re saying it could be a panther. Did you see it on telly?’

      ‘The photo the police showed wasn’t very convincing. It looked more like a large cat.’

      ‘Judging by the paw prints, they reckon the animal weighs about eight stone. That’s one hell of a moggy!’

      ‘Do you know the Côte d’Opale?’

      ‘No. I know the Basque coast very well though. I spent six months in Biarritz in ’56 … no, ’57. That was the life! One night, at the casino …’

      Martial sucked his ice cube. The Côte d’Opale, the dunes studded with with marram grass which scratched at your calves, the cliffs, the wind … Wissant, between Calais and Boulogne, where he had spent his holidays as a little boy … So long ago … He would go out fishing for crabs and winkles with Nicole, a girl of his own age from Lille … Back then, he had no idea he was destined to spend his life behind a desk – he wanted to be a deep-sea diver when he grew up. It had been centuries since he last visited Wissant, even in his thoughts. The beast in the dunes took him back. It must have changed there too, no doubt about it … At low tide you could walk along the beach for miles with your eyes closed, without bumping into anything at all … Straight ahead …

      ‘What do you mean, “straight ahead”?’

      ‘I’m sorry?’

      ‘You just said “straight ahead”.’

      ‘Did I?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Sorry, I must have been daydreaming out loud.’

      ‘That’s all right. One more for the road?’

      ‘No, I won’t, thank you.’

      ‘If you’re sure … So, she’ll be here tomorrow!’

      ‘Who?’

      ‘The newcomer, of course, the single lady.’

      ‘Oh yes, that’s right.’

      ‘What do you think she’ll be like?’

      ‘I don’t know. Odette thinks she’s a widow.’

      ‘How funny, that’s what Marlène says too! She could just be divorced.’

      ‘Or she might never have married.’

      ‘Exactly! Why do they insist on her being a widow?’

      ‘I don’t know. Maybe the thought reassures them; it implies someone respectable and dignified.’

      ‘Dignified? Please! I knew a widow in Limoges, by God, she was a feisty one! Listen to this, one day I got back to my hotel and …’

      After casting a furtive glance towards the house, Maxime leant close to his neighbour’s ear. Martial could not stand people sharing these sorts of secrets with him. They brought out the same feelings of shame and disgust as when he saw his first porn magazine. Thankfully, Odette and Marlène chose that moment to come out onto the deck and Maxime pulled away with a wink, holding a finger to his lips.

      ‘We all know women like to gossip, but look at the men! Martial, have you seen the time?’

      For the past week, Odette had been trying her hand at exotic cuisine, cooking anything and everything as long as it originated from the other side of the world. Distance seemed to be a key ingredient in the recipe. On the menu that evening was that dish Mexicans went wild for, chicken cooked in chocolate. She had spent most of the afternoon