LOVE PROBABLY

8.

I arrive at the neighbours in a trance, with wet eyes, sweaty palms, and wobbly legs. Gerard, who was surely watching us from behind the curtain, opens the door wide, letting the smell of frying escape and invade our nostrils. He welcomes us like a perfect housekeeper, slippers on his feet, an apron and a towel over his shoulder. His look suggests that he was desperate to see us.

“Ah, finally! Hello, Madeline. So you’re going on a trip?” he said as if the pigs had all just taken flight together, while practically snatching the suitcase from my hands.

“Don’t stand there, the food isn’t going to get hotter.”

He doesn’t give me time to answer him. Already leaning over his wife who he kisses on the corner of the lips, I hear him whisper in her ear:

“Hey, it took you a long time!”

“It’s not easy for her to leave her house after all these years!” she said, walking towards the room which I imagine to be the kitchen. “How old does that make you?” she cries, already busying herself in the kitchen.

I’m a little ashamed to tell them I’m going to be thirty-six. I’m slow to answer.

“Well then? Have you lost your tongue, Madeline?” Gerard teases me. “You were never very talkative, however. Come on, let’s sit down to eat. Everything’s ready.”

“Gerard, leave her alone! Madeline is no longer a child.”

“That’s okay, Simone. In fact, I’m thirty-five, almost thirty-six,” I say shyly.

“Oh damn, already?” Gerard exclaims, genuinely surprised. “How quickly the years have passed! So you were twenty-five when we moved to Wheatacre. And what are you waiting for to get married?” he said most naturally.

“Geraaard!” yells Simone. “That’s enough! No tact, these men! I swear!” she moans, shaking her head. “In any case, you don’t need to worry. You’re barely considered to be in your thirties. There are two or three things to take care of,” she said, eyeing me from head to toe, “but overall, you look younger. It’s obvious!” she continues.

What can I say! After the notary, it’s the neighbour who starts on all this again. Do I have to thank her for this half-compliment?

“Uh, thank you. Maybe I’m not hopeless then? I might end up settling down one day.”

“Oh... There’s no age for anything these days. If you want, we can introduce you to our son,” Gerard suggests. “He’s in the middle of a divorce.”

“Really!” Simone retorts.

“You’re right. All things considered, our son wouldn’t be a gift. He’s in the middle of a midlife crisis. This isn’t the time to throw a nice girl like you into his clutches,” adds the former accountant, pragmatic.

“Uh... it will be fine, thank you. It’s better to be alone than in bad company, mum often said.”

“And she was absolutely right!” Simone retorts. “Sit down, if you want. I’ll serve you.”

“Would you like a little aperitif?” suggests Gerard. “There’s nothing stopping you from drinking now that your mother is…”

“Oh my God!” interrupts his wife. “He really said that?” she exclaims, her hands up to the sky.

“It doesn’t matter, really,” I tried to reassure her.

“What? What did I say wrong?” Gerard wonders.

“Really, can’t you see? Oh, and then, stop! You only think about drinking. You must go with her to the station, I remind you.”

“Oh dear, what a killjoy that one! I’ll have mostly slept it off by then…” he mumbles, pouring a half glass of sherry to please her.

They’re both so funny. Despite appearances, their closeness is palpable. I don’t remember ever seeing my parents like this.

I feel that lunch is going to be long. I’m not used to being the centre of attention. I try to make myself very small, but visibly delighted to have a guest at their table, they keep asking me about my plans. Except I have none! I live day by day. I never projected myself further than the next day. With mom, we were satisfied with little, so little that I got used to putting all my desires aside. I find myself completely useless, erased, without personality and without interest. However, they seem fascinated by my future.

I stuff myself to avoid having to express myself but my hosts are tough. The questions flow.

“And you no longer have any family, Madeline?”

“Uh…not that I know of. My grandparents died and I’m an only child.”

“And in London, do you know people?”

“Not that I know of either. Unless schoolmates ended up there to work, but I left school at fifteen and haven’t kept in touch with anyone.”

“Well…” Gerard sighs.

“We can give you the address of our children,” suggests Simone. “They live in the suburbs of London. If you ever need anything, I’m sure they’ll help you out. You never know, it can always be useful.”

“Oh, what could happen to me?” I say, thinking of the apartment which is mine and of the fortune in my accounts.

“Anything can happen, my dear. It’s the big city up there,” she said sincerely concerned.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll know how to handle myself. And then, at worst, I’ll come back!” I say, wolfing down fries soaked in chicken juice.

“Do you want another piece of chicken?” Simone offers, seeing my plate empty so quickly.

“Oh, yes with pleasure! This is delicious. Really, thank you.”

“Well ... You have a hell of an appetite!” Gerard remarks.

“Hmm ... I haven’t eaten much in recent days…” I said, my mouth full.

“My poor girl... It’s normal. Losing your mom is awful. My poor girl,” she repeats, deeply sorry, almost plunging her head into her plate.

Phew, a little calm. No one dares to intervene and the meal ends in dead silence. Only the television emits distant background noise. I glance at the screen. It’s the weather. Damn, it’s raining in London and I forgot to take an umbrella.