Happy People Read and Drink Coffee Read online

He couldn’t see my eyes popping out of my head at the idea of having him permanently on my back.

  “Listen, let me think about it,” I said, to appease him.

  “Promise?”

  “Yes. I want to go to sleep now, so get going.”

  He gave me a noisy kiss on the cheek before taking his cell phone out of his pocket. He flipped through his impressively large address book before calling one of his Stevens, Freds, or yet another Alex. Fired up by the idea of the evening of debauchery that awaited him, he finally let go of me. I stood up and lit a cigarette before heading for the front door. He stopped talking to the person on the other end of the phone long enough to kiss me one last time.

  “I’ll come tomorrow,” he whispered in my ear, “but don’t count on seeing me too early; I’m going to have a very busy night tonight.”

  My only reply was to raise my eyes to heaven. Happy People wouldn’t open on time again tomorrow morning. There really wasn’t much I could do about it. It was in another life that I had run a literary café. Felix had worn me out. Lord knows I love him, but I’d had enough.

  Once in bed, I went over his words in my head. He seemed determined to get me to do something. I had to find a way out of it at all costs. Whenever he had an idea like that, nothing could stop him. He wanted me to get better, but I didn’t. What excuse could I make up?

  2

  A week had passed since Felix had launched his plan to “Pull Diane out of her depression.” He’d kept bombarding me with suggestions, each one more far-fetched than the last. I reached a breaking point when he left some vacation brochures on the coffee table. I knew full well what he had in mind: fun in the sun with everything that entailed. A kind of Club Med, lounge chairs, palm trees, watered-down rum cocktails, glistening, tanned bodies, water aerobic classes where you could ogle the activities organizer—a dream for Felix and a nightmare for me. All those holidaymakers crushed against each other on a tiny beach, or fighting to get to the buffet in their fancy evening clothes, appalled at the idea that their snoring neighbor might steal the last sausage, all those people happy to have been locked up in a tiny plane with screaming children around them: everything about it made me want to puke.

  That’s why I was walking around in circles, smoking so much that my throat was on fire. Sleep was no longer a refuge for me; it had been invaded by visions of Felix in a bathing suit forcing me to go salsa dancing in a nightclub. He wouldn’t let the idea go as long as I refused to give in. I had to find a way to get out of it, nip it in the bud, reassure him while getting him off my back. Staying at home was out. Going away, leaving Paris for good was the only solution in the end. Finding some isolated spot where he wouldn’t follow me.

  A trip into the world of the living was becoming inevitable: my kitchen cabinets and fridge were hopelessly empty. All I could find were out-of-date packages of cookies—Clara’s snacks—and some of Colin’s beer. I took one of the bottles and turned it round and round before deciding to open it. I breathed it in as if it had the bouquet of an extremely expensive wine. I took a sip and memories flooded through me.

  Our first kiss had the taste of beer. How many times had we laughed about that? Romanticism wasn’t our strong suit when we were twenty. Colin only drank brown ale; he didn’t like lager. He always said he wondered why he had chosen a blond like me, which invariably resulted in him getting a slap on the back of the head.

  Beer had also once interfered with our choice of where to go on vacation. Colin had wanted to go to Ireland for a few days. Then he’d pretended that the rain, wind, and cold made him change his mind. In truth, he knew I only liked going to sunny places where I could get a tan, so he didn’t want to force me to wear a windbreaker and fleece jacket on our summer vacation, or make me go somewhere I wouldn’t have enjoyed.

  I dropped the bottle and it shattered on the tiled floor.

  Sitting at Colin’s desk with an atlas in front of me, I looked over the map of Ireland. How could I choose my tomb under an open sky? How could I find a place that would bring me the peace and tranquility I needed to be alone with Colin and Clara? Knowing absolutely nothing about Ireland, and finding myself unable to choose somewhere to settle, I ended up closing my eyes and letting my fingers land on the map, trusting to fate.

  I half-opened one eye and looked closer. I opened the other eye after taking my finger away, to see the name of the place. Fate had chosen the tiniest village possible; I could barely make out its name on the map. “Mulranny.” I would go into exile in Mulranny.

  The moment had come: I had to tell Felix that I was going away, to live in Ireland. Three days—it took three whole days to build up the courage to do it. We’d just finished dinner; I’d forced myself to eat every mouthful to please him. Slumped down in an armchair, he was leafing through one of his brochures.

  “Felix, put down the magazines.”

  “You’ve made up your mind?”

  He jumped up and rubbed his hands together.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I have no idea where you’re going but I’m going to live in Ireland.”

  I was trying to sound as normal as possible. Felix was gasping for air like a fish out of water.

  “Calm down.”

  “Are you kidding? You can’t be serious! Who could have put such an idea in your head?”

  “Colin. Go figure.”

  “That’s it. She’s finally gone mad. Are you telling me that he came back from the dead to tell you where you should go?”

  “You don’t have to be mean. He would have liked to go there, that’s all. I’ll go in his place.”

  “Oh no you won’t,” said Felix, sounding very sure of himself.

  “And why not?”

  “What on earth will you do in that land of . . . of . . .”

  “Of what?”

  “Of rugby players and mutton eaters.”

  “Rugby players annoy you? First I’ve heard of it. Normally they seem to attract you. And do you think it would be better to go to Thailand to get high on some beach during the full moon and come back with ‘Brandon forever’ tattooed on my ass?”

  “Touché . . . bitch. But it’s not the same. You’re already in a bad state; you’ll end up beyond redemption.”

  “Stop. I’ve decided to go to Ireland for a few months; you’ve got nothing to say about it.”

  “Don’t think I’m going to go with you.”

  I stood up and started straightening up anything I happened to find.

  “So much the better, because you’re not invited. I’ve had enough of having you follow me around like a little puppy. You’re suffocating me!” I cried, looking at him.

  “Well, you just think about this: I’ll soon be suffocating you again.”

  He burst out laughing and without taking his eyes off of me, lit a cigarette.

  “You want to know why? Because I give you no more than two days. You’ll come back all apologetic and beg me to take you somewhere sunny.”

  “Not on my life. Think what you want, but I’m going there to try to get better.”

  “You’re going about it the wrong way, but at least you seem more cheerful.”

  “Don’t you have friends waiting for you somewhere?”

  I couldn’t stand his prying looks any more. He stood up and came over to me.

  “You want me to go to celebrate your new idiotic idea?”

  His face clouded over. He put his hands on my shoulders and looked straight into my eyes.

  “Are you really trying to get better?”

  “Of course.”

  “So you agree that you won’t pack any of Colin’s shirts, none of Clara’s stuffed animals, no perfume except your own.”

  I’d been caught in my own trap. My stomach hurt, my head hurt, everything hurt. Impossible to escape his dark eyes, as dark as coal, or his fingers digging into my shoulders.

  “Of course I want to get better; I’m going to distance myself from their things little by little. You should
be happy; you’ve been wanting me to do it for such a long time.”

  By some miracle, my voice had not given me away. Felix sighed deeply.

  “You’re irresponsible. You’ll never manage it. Colin would have never let you do such a thing. It’s good that you want to find a way to get better, but please, forget this idea; we’ll find some other way. I’m afraid you’ll bury yourself even more.”

  “I’m not going to forget it.”

  “Go and get some sleep. We’ll talk about it again tomorrow.”

  He made a sad face, kissed me on the cheek and walked towards the door without saying another word.

  Once in bed, curled up in my duvet with Clara’s cuddly toy held tightly in my arms, I tried to calm my racing heart. Felix was wrong; Colin would have let me go abroad alone, on condition that he’d planned everything. He took care of all the details whenever we went away, from the airplane tickets to the hotel reservations to the passports. He never would have let me be in charge of my passport or Clara’s; he said I was too disorganized. So would he have trusted me to take on such a project? I couldn’t say for sure, in truth.

  I’d never lived alone; I’d left my parents’ house to move in with him. I was afraid to make a simple telephone call to ask for information or make a complaint. Colin was the one who knew how to do everything. I had to imagine he was guiding me to get everything ready. I was going to make him proud of me. If it was the last thing I did before burying myself alive, I would prove to everyone that I was capable of seeing this through.

  Certain things didn’t change, like the way I packed my bags. My closet was empty and my suitcases ready to burst. I would only use a fraction of the things I’d packed. All that was missing was some reading material, and I had to be strict with myself.

  How long had it been since I’d been to the bookstore? Felix was going to collapse behind the counter when he saw me. In less than five minutes I’d reached the Rue Vieille-du-Temple. My street. Long ago, I’d spent my days here; in the sidewalk cafés, in the boutiques, in the galleries and at work. Just being here made me happy, before.

  Today, hidden under the hood of one of Colin’s sweatshirts, I fled from the store windows, the people who lived there, the tourists. I walked on the road to avoid all the damned posts that make you weave in and out. Everything felt stressful, even the delicious smell of warm bread coming from the bakery where I used to shop.

  I slowed down as I got closer to Happy People. More than a year had passed since I’d set foot inside. I stopped on the sidewalk opposite without even glancing up at it. Standing dead still, I dug into one of my pockets; I needed a cigarette. Someone bumped into me and I inadvertently turned my face towards my literary café. Its little wooden window, the door in the middle with the bell inside, the name I’d chosen five years before with the sign, Happy People Read and Drink Coffee, everything took me back to my former life with Colin and Clara.

  Once I’d gotten my degree, my parents were in total despair about my inactivity, so they’d pulled out their checkbook. I made the mistake of saying that I’d like to work in a bookstore that was also a café. Colin was already a partner at his law firm and was enthusiastic about the idea. They’d agreed on starting the business: my parents had approved and they bought the literary café. Ever since Colin and Clara had died, my parents regularly pumped money into the place. As for me, I lived off of Colin’s life insurance and the compensation I’d collected. The morning of the opening stuck in my mind as one of general panic. The construction work wasn’t finished and we hadn’t unpacked all the books. Felix hadn’t arrived yet; I had to fight with the workmen alone so they’d get a move on. Colin called me every fifteen minutes to make sure we’d be ready for the opening that night. Each time, I’d held back my tears and laughed like an idiot. My very dear partner, looking as smart as anything, deigned to show up in the middle of the afternoon, while I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown because the sign still wasn’t hung above the door.

  “Felix, where have you been?” I shouted.

  “At the hairdresser’s. And you should have done the same,” he replied, grabbing a lock of my hair with a disdainful look on his face.

  “And just when was I supposed to do that? Nothing is ready for tonight, I’ve been lying to Colin since this morning. I knew all along this was destined for disaster; this place is more a curse than a blessing. Why did my parents and Colin listen to me when I told them I wanted to open a literary café? I want nothing more to do with it.”

  My voice reached screaming pitch and I started rushing around in all directions, trying to do everything. Felix told all the workmen to get out and came over to me. He grabbed me and shook me hard.

  “Enough! From now on, I’m in charge. Go and get ready.”

  “There’s not enough time!”

  “It is out of the question that we open with an owner who looks like a Gorgon.”

  He pushed me out of the back door, the one that led to the studio that came with the café. Inside, I found a new dress and everything I needed to look pretty. An enormous bouquet of roses and freesias lay on the floor. I read Colin’s note. He told me again how much he believed in me.

  Opening night was a great success in the end, in spite of our accounts that showed virtually no profit—Felix declared himself responsible for the cash register. Colin’s winks and smiles encouraged me. I walked from table to table with Clara in my arms, between family, friends, my husband’s colleagues, Felix’s dubious acquaintances, and other shopkeepers from the street.

  Today, five years later, everything had changed. Colin and Clara were gone. I had no desire whatsoever to go back to work and everything in this place reminded me of my husband and my child. How proud Colin had been when he’d come to celebrate there—winning in court, Clara taking her first steps among the clients, the first time she wrote her name while sitting at the counter with a glass of grenadine.

  A shadow appeared on the sidewalk beside me. Felix clutched me close to him and rocked me in his arms.

  “You know you’ve been standing here for half an hour; come with me.”

  I shook my head.

  “You didn’t come for no reason; it’s time you came back to Happy People.”

  He held my hand and walked me across the street. He squeezed it when he pushed open the door. The little bell rang and I burst into tears.

  “I know. Me too. Every time I hear it, I think of Clara,” Felix admitted. “Come behind the counter.”

  I obeyed, putting up no resistance. The smell of coffee mingled with the odor of books hit me. I took a deep breath, in spite of myself. My hand slid along the wooden bar; it was sticky. I picked up a cup; it was dirty; I took another one but that wasn’t very clean either.

  “Felix, you’re fussier about my apartment than you are about Happy People. This is really disgusting.”

  “It’s because I’ve got too much to do—no time to play housewife,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders.

  “It’s true that it’s swarming with people, just like the huge crowds we used to get on our busiest days.”

  He turned around to help his only customer, with whom he seemed on more than intimate terms, given the way they were ogling each other. The guy finished his drink and left with a book under his arm without bothering to pay.

  “So, you’re coming back to work?” Felix asked, pouring himself a drink.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve come here because you want to get back to work, right?”

  “No, as you know very well. I just want to take some books with me.”

  “So you’re really going? But you’ve got time, no rush.”

  “You haven’t listened to a thing I’ve said. I’m leaving in a week; I’ve already signed and returned the lease agreement.”

  “What lease agreement?”

  “The one for the cottage I’m going to live in for the next few months.”

  “Are you sure that isn’t risky?”
r />   “I’m not sure of anything; I’ll see when I get there.”

  We kept staring at each other.

  “Diane, you can’t leave me all alone here.”

  “You’ve been working away without me for more than a year, and I’m not exactly well known for being efficient. Come on, suggest some books for me.”

  With no enthusiasm whatsoever, he recommended the books he liked; I agreed without even stopping to think; I couldn’t care less. I had already heard of one of them: Tales of the City. To my best friend, Armistead Maupin had the power to solve any problem. I knew nothing about it; I’d never read it. Felix piled the books one on top of the other on the counter. He couldn’t look at me.

  “I’ll bring them to your place; they’re heavy.”

  “Thanks. I’ll go now; I’ve got a lot to do.”

  I glanced over at a little recess behind the bar. I was curious, so I walked towards it. In it stood framed photos of Colin, Clara, Felix, and me. It had been done with great care. I looked back at Felix.

  “Go home now,” he said softly.

  He was standing near the door; I stopped beside him, gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek, and left.

  “Diane! I won’t be coming over tonight.”

  “OK. See you tomorrow.”

  “Colin!”

  My heart was racing. I was sweating and feeling all around the bed. My only reply was the cold emptiness where he should have been. And yet Colin was with me, he was kissing me, his lips were nibbling at the skin on my neck and had worked their way down from behind my ear to my shoulder. His breath at the back of my neck, the words he whispered, our legs intertwined. I pushed back the sheets and stood barefoot on the parquet floor. The lights of the city lit up the apartment. The sound of the wooden floor creaking as I walked reminded me of Clara’s little feet running towards the front door when she heard Colin’s keys in the lock.

  Every night the same ritual was repeated. We were snuggled up against each other on the sofa. Clara in her nightdress and me eager to see my husband again. I would go into the entrance hall and Colin would have just enough time to put his files down on the table before his little one would jump into his arms.