Chapter 26
That weekend, Nora decided she was going to make the most of her time with her children. It had been a frustrating week, because of the shifts she had worked. Nassim had been very grumpy since Wednesday, complaining multiple times about his mother’s absence. His reproaches hit home.
“You said you left Papa because he worked too hard. And now you’re doing exactly the same.”
“I’m not doing the same,” Nora defended herself despondently. “I don’t work long hours at all. It’s only that I’ve been starting just as you finish your school day. But it was only for this week: I’ll be picking you up next time.”
Nassim smiled when he heard this, but Nora’s expression darkened.
The child wasn’t wrong: she was making them go through exactly what she had always criticized Gérard for.
She was going to do everything she could to make up for it.
She was dreading the thought of Sunday night and wanted to fill every second spent with her children with fun activities.
It was only two in the afternoon and they had already been to the market, prepared the batter to make crepes in the afternoon, and had the roast chicken for lunch that they’d bought that morning.
Then Nora had given Inès and Nassim permission to spend an hour (which had morphed into an hour and a half) in front of the screen of their choice.
Nassim had rushed to the PlayStation while his sister went online, and Nora had spent the time reading. What joy!
Now she and Nassim were in the garden bickering over the game they were playing, halfway between soccer and rugby, with only the vaguest of rules.
The objective was basically for each player to run both after the ball and after each other, tackle the other person, make them fall, then tickle them. Which they did unsparingly.
When the ball went over the hedge—Nora had terrible aim—their fun was abruptly interrupted.
Nassim couldn’t decide whether to mock Nora or be annoyed.
Nora stood on tiptoes to survey the next-door yard: if Tiphaine, Sylvain, or Milo were outside, the incident would be no more than a brief break in the game.
But there was no one in the yard. She craned her neck to try to see through the French doors whether there was any movement inside the house.
She thought she spotted a figure in the dining room.
“Wait here, I’ll be back in a second,” she said to Nassim.
She walked through the house and out the front door into the street, and rang the bell next door. A few seconds later she heard footsteps, then the sound of a key turning in the lock. Sylvain opened the door.
He seemed surprised to see her on the doorstep, and once again was visibly delighted by her impromptu visit.
“You’re not going to tell me you’ve come to pick up Nassim again!”
Nora burst out laughing.
“No, he’s at home. I’ve come to fetch the ball that’s landed in your yard.”
Sylvain rolled his eyes, making it clear that he knew what it was to have once—long ago—had a child that age.
“I’ll go get it for you. Come on in.”
Nora gave him a grateful smile. She came inside and Sylvain closed the door behind her, before disappearing into the dining room. There was no sign of either Tiphaine or Milo. Barely thirty seconds later Sylvain returned holding the ball.
“Can I make you coffee?”
Nora felt her throat tighten. The way he was looking at her, the tone of his voice, warm, soft, and deep; the way he offered her coffee, with an intonation that blended confidence and hope . . .
“That’s so kind, but no. Nassim’s waiting for me to carry on our match.”
“Got it. An herbal tea, maybe?”
Nora burst out laughing. The hope in Sylvain’s voice had become a plea, as if he were begging her not to leave.
She felt the same warmth inside that she had felt in his presence a few days earlier, but this time it was much more pronounced. As were the signals he was sending out, which no longer left room for doubt.
Nora looked at him with an ardent expression, almost imploring, that said, “Please, don’t insist, I’m not sure—” Not sure of what?
If she wanted it, or would be able to resist?
The previous Tuesday—the day she’d come by to pick up Nassim when he was actually at her house—when Sylvain had mentioned that he and Tiphaine were having problems, and she’d told him she knew what that was like, they had both fallen silent and their eyes had locked .
. . those few seconds of quiet had felt surreal, outside time.
She had seen in Sylvain’s expression all the desire she provoked in him, and she felt a desire that was just as powerful.
That feeling of time standing still, of everything else being meaningless, pointless . . .
She hadn’t stopped thinking about that moment for three days, those few seconds of eternity that had set her icy heart beating once more, after so many years.
And the implacable guilt of desiring a married man, only to have to face Tiphaine’s smile and her kindness; she had picked up Nassim from school and brought him back home, looked after him all afternoon, helped him with his homework, and even made soup for supper .
. . how she had hated herself for her guilty thoughts, despised herself for the forbidden desire filling her throat, her breast, and her gut with corrosive, almost painful confusion.
But the truth was she didn’t care at all.
Standing there in front of Sylvain, she was filled with an overwhelming urge to embrace him.
She could have tried to resist, like the decent person she was, but she knew it wasn’t worth trying.
If she managed to avoid the inevitable, she knew she would regret it her whole life.
Whatever the consequences, what was about to happen would be worth all the soul searching in the world.
She didn’t have to do anything. Before she even realized what was happening, Sylvain was leaning toward her, then he brushed her lips with a shy kiss.
Nora held her breath. Because she didn’t draw back, Sylvain moved closer, and the next kiss was more palpable, more confident.
She closed her eyes and tilted her head up to his, so that she could look at him and relish his presence.
She felt his warm breath. Shivers ran up and down her body.
They kissed, very gently and unhurriedly, and both knew that this moment would remain engraved on their memories for a long time to come.
It awakened in both of them emotions whose existence they had forgotten.
It was an extraordinary, tender kiss that conveyed both sadness and a mutual thirst for joy; a kiss that lasted for a long time; a kiss to which both gave as much as they received.
And when at last their lips parted, because it had to end at some point, they looked at each other and recognized in each other’s eyes that tiny gleam of trust that each was feeling.