18. LORAINE
2102 Words
After five non-stop days without news from Elena, Romy and I decide that it’s too much. This is why we’re scheduling an intervention. In other words, we show up at her house uninvited, armed with candy, horror movies and, as a bottle of wine is no longer an option for the next eight months at least, non-alcoholic beers.
When she opens the door for us, it's Elena in top bad-days form who faces us. Dirty hair, faded jogging pants and dark circles under our eyes, it was time for us to take matters into our own hands. As an olive branch, even though I don’t have much to forgive, I hand her the bag of marshmallows.
“We brought you a little pick-me-up.”
She can’t help but smile. Elena is addicted to sweets.
“Locally produced, I hope?”
“Straight from the farm,” I confirmed as usual.
She beckons us to enter. She knows that, anyway, she has no choice. We would be ready to force entry if necessary.
We don’t immediately attack the sensitive subject. It’s only after finishing the first film that Romy begins gently:
“How are you feeling?”
“Wonderfully good, as you can see, I’m pregnant with the only child who thinks morning lasts from 6 a.m. to 10 p.m. This is the only explanation I can see for the fact that my morning sickness appears at any time of the day. As recently as this afternoon, I had to restrain myself from throwing up on a student who had placed an earthworm on my desk.”
“Earthworms make me gag, too,” said Romy.
“Not me, I’m used to it. Yesterday, it was the smell of croissants in the teachers’ room that made me sick.”
“If they came from that new bakery which has just opened in the industrial zone, it’s not surprising,” comments the redhead with disdain.
“They were from your place,” says Elena.
“In that case, I can confirm that it’s not normal.”
“I’m tired all the time, it’s a miracle I haven’t fallen asleep yet.”
“I think it’s normal at first,” I tried.
I’m pretty ignorant of pregnancy, never having had a pregnant friend. Just a neighbour, whom I wasn’t very close to. My experience is therefore limited to that, and what I saw in the films. But I doubt it’s very reliable. I’ve never understood why we routinely send someone to fetch a pot of boiling water during an unscheduled childbirth. What is it for exactly? To steam the baby out? Like a head cold?
Romy takes care of asking the question that burns my lips but that I dare not ask. Although I already have a little idea of the answer, given Elena’s semi-depressive state.
“Did you talk to Jack?”
She shakes her head.
“He tried to call me yesterday. I saw his name appear on my phone, but I was unable to answer him.”
“You’re gonna have to talk to him sooner or later. He has the right to know,” insists Romy.
“You know very well that he’ll not want to leave if he knows that I’m pregnant, he’ll refuse the job and will be angry with me all his life for having ruined this opportunity.”
“Hey! You haven’t ruined anything at all. As far as I know, he was completely willing to have s*x with you. It’s not fair that you bear the consequences on your own!” Romy gets carried away. “I’ll go talk to him! Explain to him that he had better behave properly with you and the baby, otherwise…”
“Otherwise, nothing at all,” I interrupt. “It’s not for you to meddle in this. Elena and Jack are adults, they don’t need you.”
Then I add for Elena:
“If you need us to be there when you tell him, we’ll come. If you prefer that we stay at a distance, we’ll obey. You decide. But I think the sooner you do it the better. Don’t forget that we’re going to Paris in a few days, all together, to go see Leona’s last performance. Jack will be there too. You won’t be able to avoid him forever.”
Our friend Leona is currently performing in an adaptation of Tartuffe, in a famous Parisian theatre. Her boyfriend, Manon, has been planning for several weeks that we would all go to the last one. It’s also a kind of farewell to Paris for the actress. After that, Leona will return to live in Locron for good, for our greatest pleasure.
“I already thought about it, I thought that maybe…”
“Don’t finish that sentence, it’s out of the question that you don’t come. Leo would be super disappointed,” says Romy.
“And she wouldn’t be the only one. We never had the opportunity to spend a few days in the capital together. For me, it’s been ages since I took a vacation, I’m happy to go with you, and if you’re not there, it won’t be the same,” I argued.
“You see, you can’t refuse. After all, it might be a good opportunity to talk to Jack. You know, in Paris, romance is in the air, maybe that will bring you luck.”
“I don’t see what romance has to do with it. I have to tell him he’s going to be a father.”
“And why can’t you have both? A father for your baby, and a lover?” Romy asks.
“Because, as I already told you, he’s leaving…”
“Oh, please! Stop with your story and this departure to the land of sushi! We don’t care for the moment that he has to go and advise them which Grand Cru is best. Do you want to see him go and marry a local geisha?”
“By definition, a geisha can’t marry, otherwise she can no longer be a geisha,” said Elena in her most beautiful teacher's voice.
Romy looks annoyed.
“Out of respect for Peter, I’m not going to strangle you. But you know I want to.”
“Who’s Peter?” I ask.
“The baby,” answers Romy. “I decided I was sick of calling him baby. It’s so impersonal. He looks like a Peter.”
I stare at Elena’s stomach sceptically, and so does Elena.
“We don’t even know if it’s a boy,” I point out.
“If need be, we’ll call him Patricia. This is just a detail.”
We continue for a while to discuss Peter and how Elena should announce his existence to Jack. As usual, Romy is insistent, and I try to smooth things over. Elena promises to talk to the father about his baby in the next few days. It remains to be seen if she’ll do so before the trip to Paris. I’m not convinced of that. She presumes that if the discussion goes badly, it’ll make it difficult for everyone to stay. I’m not sure, but I want to be optimistic. I don’t know Jack well, but I think he won’t disappoint me.
When I get home, I didn’t necessarily expect Mark to be in bed or even at home, but what I hadn’t expected was that he would be in the middle of paperwork.
“Sorry, I spread out a bit,” he apologises, regrouping the files scattered on the dining room table.
He’s wearing his glasses again, and I’m adamant they make him just as sexy as his tattoos or his deep voice. No, it’s the mixture of the three which is an attack on my mental integrity. I suddenly imagine him reading to me, his black frames circling his azure eyes. Whatever he read, by the way, it might just be a phone book. I wouldn’t care. He could be shirtless, or just n***d. That would be even better. Yes, I like this idea very much: Mark is n***d, except for his glasses, reading to me.
“Loraine?”
Damn! It’s another one of those moments when I get lost in my fantasies and don’t realise he’s talking to me.
“Hmm, you were saying?”
“You had a good night? Were you with friends?”
“I was with Romy and Elena. A girls’ night in a way.”
If Peter was one, otherwise there was an intruder.
“Ah, I thought you might have a date,” he said with a small smile.
“No, I’m not too crazy about that at the moment.”
The truth is, I haven’t wanted to meet anyone for the past few weeks. There are several reasons for this. One of them might be that the last time I thought I met someone, it was a guy who couldn’t be more unavailable. The other reason is a few metres from me. I know this is a desperate cause because Mark Tuffin will never be interested in a girl like me. And by his admission, he’s still in love with his ex. But how could I consider trying to find myself a guy, when the object of all my fantasies lives in my house? During the first days, I could hardly detect his presence in the house, but little by little, I have the impression that he’s everywhere, even when he’s not there. There’s always an object, a smell, to remind me of him. And if my obsession with him hasn’t been very healthy over the past few years, it’s just getting worse and worse. This morning, I caught myself sniffing a sweater he had left lying around in the living room. Thinking that a little air and exercise would do me good to clear my mind, I decided to go for a run. Bad idea. Because since our first disastrous jog, Mark hasn’t been discouraged, and we have gone for a run together twice already. As I walked back along the paths we ran together, I couldn’t help but think of him.
“What are you doing?” I ask, pointing to the papers on the table, but mostly to change the topic of conversation.
“I’m studying the restaurant accounts to see where I could save money. I have to do something, otherwise, I’m going straight into the wall.”
“I take it that business isn’t going strong?”
“Since the famous evening where… well you know which one. Attendance has dropped. But it hadn’t been right for a while. I made a lot of investments, maybe a little too quickly. I didn’t sufficiently anticipate certain expenses that I was going to have. I think that next summer it will get better, thanks to tourists. But now, the end of winter is harsh. I have no more cash.”
“You want me to take a look?”
“That’s nice, but I’m not going to bother you with that.”
“You know, I’m pretty good with numbers. To be honest, I find them rather fascinating.”
“I don’t see what can be fascinating in accounting. But if you feel like having a good time reading my bills, please indulge yourself.”
He slides a folder towards me, then stretches out in his chair. His movement raises his T-shirt slightly, and I stealthily observe a piece of golden skin.
“I… I… do you mind if I take this to my room?” I ask.
If I stay here, I’m not sure my brain is working.
“Are you the type to like numbers at bedtime?”
“Yeah, something like that!”
He observes me for a long time before declaring:
“You’re a strange girl, Loraine Basso.”
“I’ve been told that many times.”
He frowns.
“But I mean strangely surprising, in a positive way.”
I give him a small smile, having nothing to say about it. I grab the folder and slam it across my chest as if to form an armour between him and my heart. When he stares at me like that, I could get some ideas. And I know for a fact that I would be disappointed.
“Good night, Mark.”
“Good night, Loraine.”
I know that the way he just pronounced my first name will echo for many minutes in my head. One thing is certain: I’ll not be doing a lot of bookkeeping tonight.
- Writer
