A ROMANCE IN CANNES

Chapter 10

To please your mother, you have to be able to make sacrifices. That day, I decided to offer my lunch break at the altar of maternal happiness, and go in search of the package. I would have the satisfaction of pleasing her – and of reducing the terrible stress that must have been eating away at the idea of her misplaced pie – and perhaps the possibility of comforting myself with pie thanks to her.

I rushed home to open my mailbox, not a shadow of a calling card. I checked my apartment, in case the mail carrier had slipped it under the door. Nothing there either. I was at an impasse. I then called my mother to get the parcel number and also show her all the goodwill that I put into wanting to find it.

Once the information was in hand, I started looking for the city post office. Fortunately for me, only a few metres from my building, my phone was able to pick up a signal so that I could ask Google the question, and Google would help me find my route.

After struggling to park, I end up finding myself in front of the post office door. Unfortunately for me, contrary to what my friend Google had told me, it was closed between noon and two o’clock. Since it was a quarter to two, I refused to fail so close to the goal and used the time to devour a sandwich bought at the convenience store next door. I would probably arrive a little late for work, but I had the right to a certain latitude in my schedule. I would definitely stay later in the evening.

When the gate was raised, I was on the starting blocks, just behind a little granny and her Yorkie, who had taken advantage of my improvised lunch break to take first place from me. Once she had sent her package, collected her cheque, checked the balance of her bank account with the employee and recharged her mobile card – you could definitely do anything at the post office, as long as we agreed to have no secrets from the people who lined up behind – it was finally up to me.

But, despite all the goodwill of the post office, which ransacked its reserve to find my package – to the delight of the people in a hurry waiting behind me – it found nothing at all.

“Have you thought about asking your neighbours?”

“Uh… no,” I admitted.

When you have lived in a place where there’s always a family member to receive deliveries in case of online shopping, you’re not used to neighbours receiving your packages. Besides, I didn’t even know my neighbours. Apart from the furtive and unforgettable encounter with the one on my landing. And I didn’t imagine him to be really helpful to the point of receiving my parcels. Since the hour was already well advanced, I decided to go back to work and ring my neighbour’s bell later.

In the evening, I took the time to go home and shower before going in search of my pie.

I started with the ground floor. If I was dealing with a lazy mail carrier, maybe they had confined themselves to ringing the bell at the apartment closest to the mailboxes. Twenty minutes later, I finally managed to find an excuse to leave Mrs Serfati, the old lady who lived there. So happy to have someone to talk to – aside from her five cats – she’d told me lots of stories about life in the building, but had no idea who had gotten my package. I promised to come back and drop her off some pie, in case I manage to get my hands on it.

On the second floor, it was a mother looking at her wit’s end who opened the door. As she was right in the fateful time slot where the preparation of the meal, the bath, the homework and the sorting of the linen are combined, I didn’t linger. The other apartment on the landing seemed empty. I drew a blank on the third as well. I only had the fourth, my own floor, and my friendly neighbour.

I rang and, given the shrill noise that I heard resonating, I wasn’t surprised to hear grumblings. This bell was unbearable. I saw that I was being watched through the peephole and thought back to all those action movie scenes where the jerk behind the door suddenly finds himself riddled with bullets. Fortunately, I didn’t have time to think about it too much, because it opened.

“What do you want?”

Hello to you too.

“I’m the neighbour,” I said, pointing to my door.

Okay, that was completely unnecessary, since he already knew that.

“I was wondering if the mail carrier left you a package for me?”

He stared at me, and his gaze made me almost uncomfortable. He had barely opened the door a c***k and was holding it with his left hand. If, perhaps, I have the crazy idea of wanting to break into his apartment? I noted in passing that he wore a wedding ring; so there had to be at least two living here. Why hadn’t I had the chance to run into his wife?

“He left me your parcel yesterday, indeed.”

Relieved by his answer, I expected him to ask me to wait a moment while he went to get it. He didn’t.

“You... Could I get it back?”

“I threw it away,” he announced coldly as if it were perfectly normal.

“Sorry?”

“I threw it away,” he repeated, no doubt annoyed that he had to.

“Did you throw away my package?”

I was completely dumbfounded by his response. But he just looked like he wanted me to leave him alone.

“You’re not allowed to throw away my package!”

This time, I was outraged.

“Listen, your thing was full of ants. What would you have done in my place? Play the good Samaritan and end up with my apartment infested with critters.”

“But couldn’t you have come to see me and let me decide what I wanted to do with it?”

“And would you perhaps have kept it? I did well to get rid of it. Everyone knows how hard it is to get rid of these things once they’re everywhere. I hope you’re not used to receiving packages full of ants regularly. I don’t want to be invaded. Now, good evening.”

He started to close the door, but I was too angry to let him get away with it. Using my lynx reflexes, I jammed the door with my foot.

“Hey! You’re not going to get away with this! You haven’t even apologised.”

A smirk appeared on his lips. His blue eyes were hard and, framed by the black frames of his glasses, they even looked cruel.

“Apologise for what exactly? You’re right, I apologise for accepting your package. Next time, the mail carrier can get screwed, and so can you.”

Shocked by his words, I made the mistake of taking a step back. He took the opportunity to slam the door in my face.

“Asshole!” I muttered between my teeth.

“If it pleases you,” I heard him say through the wooden door.

Too bad, after all, he had deserved it.

I turned towards my apartment when he added:

“And, for the record, you can hear everything through the walls. You sing super out of tune!”

Brilliant, he heard me sing in the shower and more...