You should wear your red top, it suits you better, your hair’s a mess today, tidy your room, don’t leave your things lying around, you’re the one who took my lipstick, OK, it’s alright sweetheart, help me clear the table, you’re coming with me to the shop, I’ll come and collect you at four, you’re asking for my opinion, I’m giving you my opinion, I don’t have time now, have you done your homework, but what’s that, have you seen how beautiful that is, you won’t go, I bought you this, shouldn’t have started, go lay the table, no, no, no, well, OK, but just once, don’t get home too late, no chocolate, no soda after 6 P.M., you’re not leaving without breakfast, put your jacket on, it’s cold outside, but what on earth’s all this mess, have you brushed your teeth, it’s about time you grew up, go have your shower, don’t worry, it doesn’t matter, I love you, goodnight, how beautiful you look this morning, I love that thing on you, your history teacher just rang, it’s late, go to bed, but yes, math is important, it’s alright my darling, who is this boy, I know you don’t like reading but you’re going to love this, what time do I pick you up, what do his parents do, switch the lights off, don’t walk around with bare feet, we’ll go see a doctor, don’t argue, come and give me a hug, if you don’t do as you’re told, I’ll call your father.
Oh, to have a mother, even an annoying one, even a crazy one, even a mother-hen one.
I never know whether something’s good. Whether I’m any good. Whether I’ve hit the mark.
Yesterday evening, I had dinner with What’s-his-name. Just before going to the restaurant, in the bathroom, as I was getting ready, I’d have liked to pinch my mother’s lipstick. Gran doesn’t own any lipstick. On the bathroom shelf there’s just an old can of Elnett hairspray, some wash gloves, and a pot of Nivea cream.
What’s-his-name asked me to meet him at a Japanese restaurant. Once again, he asked me loads of questions, while I struggled to eat my sushi with chopsticks. My parents, my brother, my grandparents, The Hydrangeas, my colleagues, my childhood, middle school, high school, my exes.
With him, no lulls in the conversation, or fear of being like those couples who say nothing to each other at the table, who pretend to study the light fittings, or the flowers printed on their napkin.
And then he told me I was beautiful. When he said that, he seemed so sincere that I cut him short, particularly as I don’t fancy him at all. Well, not really. I don’t fancy anyone really. Except Roman.
“I have to go home. I promised my mother I’d help her with something tomorrow morning.”
He stared at me.
“I thought your mother was . . .”
“Dead. But she’s waiting for me at the cemetery. At 8 A.M.”
“You live with the old and the dead. You’re a with-it kinda girl . . .”
“You’re neither old, nor dead.”
“But you’re not living with me yet.”
“. . .”
“. . .”
“We should stop seeing each other.”
“Shall we meet at the Paradise tomorrow evening?”
“No. Tomorrow evening I’m on duty.”
“Shall I give you a lift home?”
“No. I came in my grandfather’s Renault . . .”
In the car, I thought about What’s-his-name for the first time.
I spend my time asking questions to the residents at The Hydrangeas, to my parents in their graves, to my grandparents in their kitchen. With him, it’s the opposite. It’s me who answers the questions.
And something in me still can’t quite get rid of him.
What’s-his-name is like those annoying tunes you hum all day because you can’t get them out of your head. One day I’ll tell myself, it’s over, I won’t see him this weekend, but when he turns up on the dance floor at the Paradise and kisses my neck, I can’t bring myself to say get lost.
I didn’t go straight home. They were showing Amélie Poulain at the cinema. I love that film, and have a soft spot for Monsieur Dufayel . . . Yet another little old man.
The cinema was empty. I settled down in the front row, middle seat, and, while licking a chocolate-and-strawberry ice-cream bar, slipped away into Amélie’s world. Bliss.