Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
I crept downstairs as quietly as I could.
I felt more awake than I had done in a very long time, considering that all about me was darkness.
Once I reached the kitchenette, I turned on the light and wiggled the key into the lock of the little door leading to the basement.
The sound of my heart beating in my ears would have woken the dead, I thought, and immediately hoped that wasn’t true.
‘What are you doing, Edie?’ I asked myself, coldly resigned to the fact that there was no turning back now.
I turned the key and heard the click. As the little door creaked open, a blast of cold air hit me in the face.
I felt my knees trembling and threatening to give way.
I would have reconsidered the whole thing then and there, but I heard noises coming from upstairs, which only meant one thing.
Madame Moreau was up and would shortly come down to the basement herself.
I steadied myself and took the torch from my dressing gown pocket.
Closing and turning the key in the door behind me, I stepped carefully down the small staircase to the basement.
Manu had left a note with the key, advising me where to position myself.
Seeing the bakery from the vantage point of the bathroom offered me some kind of safety, but being in the actual room was far too close for comfort.
I found the bags of flour that Manu had said to hide behind and took up my position.
From there I had a clear view of the great ovens that produced the Moreaus’ famously crusty bread and I could see the large troughs they used for mixing the dough, too, which had been obscured from my little spyhole in the toilet.
Old wooden shelves lined the walls and were stacked with rose-gold pots and loaf tins.
A large weighing scale sat at the other end of the room, where the dough was cut and rolled before baking.
I sat in complete silence, with every hair on my body alert.
Something lightly brushed against my ankle and I instinctively shrieked with terror.
I clasped my hand over my mouth and hoped to God I wasn’t being attacked by a zombie.
On closer inspection, I saw that the culprit was the belt of my robe coming loose and didn’t know whether to feel relieved or embarrassed.
All of a sudden, I heard the key turn in the lock and realised that Madame Moreau and her grandson were on their way, which meant that ‘he’ was surely on his way, too.
I took whatever breadcrumbs of courage I had left in my hands and tried to steady my breathing.
I remembered the information I had read about residual hauntings and tried to remind myself that it was essentially a film on rerun, nothing more.
Wordlessly, the two of them entered the bakery, although I could see Manu’s eyes darting about for me.
If he couldn’t see me, then I knew I had hidden myself well.
Perhaps he thought I had chickened out. There wasn’t much time for him to consider this, though, as straightaway he began loading the oven with wood from a pile in the opposite corner of the room.
I noticed the door that presumably led onto the side lane, the one that had pulled shut on me when I first arrived.
Could I make my escape through it if things got too much?
As the wood began to crackle and spark, the room filled with the low light from the fire and Manu set about emptying large quantities of flour into one of the troughs.
Madame Moreau moved about stiffly, preparing the additional ingredients Manu would need.
After a thorough mixing of the yeast and the water, which he didn’t bother to measure, he scraped the dough together and transferred it to the worktop.
The smell of the flour and the sweet-sour yeast made me feel at home and I almost forgot the reason I was there.
Watching him expertly throw the flour over the surface, I found myself becoming lost in the process, until the flickering began and the atmosphere in the room changed completely.
It felt as though there was an electric charge running through the air.
Gradually, like thousands of shimmering dust motes swirling together, a hazy outline of a person began to appear.
I jolted from the shock of seeing him at close quarters and almost knocked over one of the bags of flour that concealed my presence.
However, no one seemed to hear me or notice, as they in turn jumped at his sudden apparition, despite the fact they were expecting him.
What Madame Moreau said next shocked me even further.
‘Bonjour, Papa.’
I was frozen to the spot. This was no random haunting; I was watching the ghost of Monsieur Moreau.
I had to stuff the belt of my robe into my mouth to ensure I wouldn’t scream.
Monsieur Moreau, or rather his ghost, seemed completely oblivious to the presence of his daughter and great-grandson, instead focusing intensely on his work.
He moved about, not like a regular person, but just as the website had said.
It was like watching an old, scratchy film – at one point the light around him would glow, and the next almost fade completely.
He reached for objects but never quite connected with them.
He seemed unwilling or unable to interact with Manu, who watched his great-grandfather carefully and did his best to emulate his technique.
It was startling and amazing to watch. They both flicked out their wrists to spread the flour on the board, then began the process of kneading and adding various ingredients along the way.
While the breads were set aside to prove, Manu continued to shadow Monsieur Moreau as he put a pot of steaming water in the oven and, using a long wooden paddle, placed the round breads at the very back and closed the door.
The only conversation was between Madame Moreau and Manu, surprisingly ordinary things like ‘Make sure the temperature of the water is right for the dough’ and ‘The baguettes are ready for the oven now.’ Somehow, this bizarre and unique set-up had become normal for them.
Madame Moreau watched her father lovingly, but was careful not to get too close.
This carried on for over an hour, by which stage my entire body was aching from crouching behind the large bags of flour on a cold floor.
It was then I heard Madame Moreau suggest that she start to take the cooked breads upstairs and get ready to open the shop.
With that, Monsieur Moreau, or his spirit, vanished, leaving only a strange charge in the atmosphere, like ripples in water.
I knew the moment of truth had arrived and I had to make my presence known.
I didn’t want to frighten them by popping up out of nowhere, but considered that if they had spent the morning sharing their kitchen with a ghost, my presence shouldn’t come as that much of a shock.
‘Good morning, Madame Moreau,’ was all I could say, as I stumbled out from behind my hiding place. She staggered at the sight of me, and thankfully Manu grabbed her arm to offer her support.
‘Mais, qu’est ce que… You!’ she shouted at me with a mix of fury and guilt at being found out.
Manu ushered his grandmother to a stool.
‘Elle veut nous aider,’ he assured her gently.
‘He’s right,’ I added, ‘I do want to help, if I can.’ I wasn’t quite sure what I was signing up to, or why Manu thought I could possibly help them, but I would have said anything at that point, for Madame Moreau looked so pale and shaky, I feared for her health.
I went and fetched her a glass of water, which she gulped in one go.
She ordered Manu to get the bread ready for the shop and to prepare his deliveries, and she assuaged his worries with a persuasive nod of the head that she would be all right.
I didn’t know if the same could be said for me.
I was still shivering myself and I wasn’t sure if it was the cold or the shock.
She must have sensed this, so she heaved herself off the stool and bade me to follow her.
We climbed the stairs and, with another nod of encouragement to Manu as we passed through the shop, we climbed the next set of stairs to her apartment.
I had never seen past her front door up till now and the significance of bringing me into her home was not lost on me.
It was, like my own apartment, small and functional, but hers was extremely cosy and homely.
It was carpeted and had frilly drapes that hung from the long windows overlooking the street.
Her fireplace was home to lots of old photographs of the bakery and what I assumed to be her mother.
Then I saw Monsieur Moreau in another frame and recognised him instantly.
The thick moustache and neatly gelled-back hair were unmistakable.
‘Assieds-toi,’ she said, pointing to one of two wingbacked chairs arranged in front of the fire.
I was glad of the heat and rubbed my hands in front of the low embers.
Madame Moreau boiled some water on the cooker and prepared a pot of strong coffee for us both.
She placed the cups on a little side table and sat down in the chair opposite me.
‘I underestimated you, édith,’ she said, with a look of approval on her face.
And there it was – approval. My drug of choice. All I ever wanted was the approval of those around me. Yet now that I had finally won this taciturn woman over, I no longer cared what she thought of me, for I was so angry with her.
‘Was this some sort of test? I thought you hired me to become the assistant manager, not a ghostbuster!’ I knew I was being facetious, but it seemed the only way to counteract the shock of what I’d just witnessed.
‘Mais non … of course not,’ she argued.
‘Oh, really? What about Maria, then? Yes, I’ve heard about your last employee,’ I said, seeing her surprise. ‘Is that why you hire people from abroad, so none of the locals will find out your secret?’
‘Partly, yes.’
I had expected some sort of argument, for her to tell me I’d got the wrong end of the stick.
‘Oh, so you’re admitting it?’ I could feel the blood rising to my cheeks with rage.
‘édith, écoute-moi, I was not trying to fool you or test you as you say. Mais, I cannot risk anyone here finding out. They will think we are…’ At this stage she tapped her index finger against her temple and whistled like a cuckoo.
‘Well, it’s not fair, expecting someone to live here without knowing the truth,’ I said, taking a sip of coffee that was thankfully good and hot.
‘Would you have taken the job if I had told you the truth?’
I left the question hanging in mid-air. Of course the answer was no, but how could you tell anyone that you had a ghost in your basement without sounding like a lunatic?
‘We cannot talk for long now,’ she said, checking her watch, ‘but I promise, I will explain you everything tonight.’
I regarded her carefully and wondered how we were supposed to carry on as normal for the rest of the day in the shop. Then it became clear to me that she and Manu had done exactly that, for years. It was their reality.
‘You have known for some time, yet you are still here,’ she said sincerely. ‘Why did you not leave us?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I answered honestly, ‘The truth is, I came here to get away from my own problems and despite, well, this –’ I gestured at the floor below us ‘– I kind of like it here. It’s going to sound strange, but there’s something about the place that has given me back my appetite for life, you know?
’ I wrinkled my nose with a half-hearted smile.
I hadn’t really understood how true it was until that moment.
‘Well, I am glad you stay. Mais maintenant, we must work!’ she announced and something in her practicality made me put aside my misgivings. As I rose from my chair and prepared to follow her downstairs, she turned and gave me one of her withering looks.
‘What now?’ I asked impatiently.
‘Oh, nothing, perhaps this is your new uniform, hein?’ she replied, eyeing me up and down.
That’s when I realised that I was still in my dressing gown.
‘Hang on, did you just make a joke?’ I said, smiling triumphantly. She walked away, but we both knew I had cracked her hard shell.
Edie one, France nil.