It had already been dark for a long time when it began to rain. Heavy, squally rain that beat against the windows. In my room, I could hear the wind gusting and in the distance the sound of tyres going through puddles. I didn’t know if I was imagining these cars or could really hear them. I didn’t know if I was capable of making it all the way to the village. With my eyes closed, I imagined myself, soaked, lurching into the middle of the road, waving my arms in the headlights. I imagined the moment when a car would brake, its door open and I’d be saved.
In spite of myself, I fell asleep.
When I woke again, all the lights were out. I had no idea what time it was, but I reckoned L. had gone to bed. As on previous nights, she’d left her bedroom door open to listen out for the slightest sound.
The chances of me managing to get up and walk to the kitchen without waking her were tiny. I knew that. The splint would strike against the floor and my crutches had disappeared.
The chances of me finding the key in the drawer, getting out of the house and opening the gate without her waking up were zero. But I had no other option.
I put a pullover on over the T-shirt I was wearing. I had no other clothes to hand. The suitcase used to transport my things had disappeared. L. had removed everything.
I sat down on the bed and stayed there for a few minutes, scarcely breathing. I didn’t even dare swallow. And then I mustered all my strength and stood up.
I made it to the kitchen, where I opened a drawer and managed to find the key. I could hear my own breathing, laboured and painful.
I went out. I felt icy rain on my thighs, the splint sank into the gravel with a metallic crunch. Within seconds, my hair was soaked and whipping against my face, and I was having trouble walking against the wind. I tried to run but the pain was too intense.
I reached the gate. It was only then that I noticed that L.’s car had gone. I leaned against the wall to recover my breath. A gust of wind raised the branches of a willow with an intense rushing sound. It was like a cascade of broken glass.
Without looking back at the house, I opened the gate and limped out onto the narrow road, then set off towards the village.
L. must surely be waiting somewhere, with her engine off, looking out for me. I was certain that at any moment I’d hear her car start up and see her hurtling towards me.
That must be her plan. To allow me to escape half-naked, catch me in her headlights and knock me down like a skittle.
I kept walking along the road, despite the pain, which grew with every step. I couldn’t see anything because of the rain except a lighted window in the distance, which stood out in the darkness.
I was just a few yards from the first house in the village when I fell into a trench dug for the sewer pipes by the edge of the road. I have no image of that moment, just the sensation of the ground giving way and then mud. I passed out.
I have a very confused recollection of being taken in the ambulance. Today, all I can remember is the survival blanket, golden and shimmering in the ambulance’s rotating light. The feeling of the trolley in my back. The speed of the vehicle.
I woke up in a hospital room in Chartres. Before long, a nurse came in. She told me what had happened. She said my husband was on his way, or rather about to catch a flight; he’d been informed.
It was one of the council road workers who’d found me at daybreak. The doctor said I must have fallen shortly before the man found me, otherwise I wouldn’t have made it. I was in an advanced state of hypothermia.
No one asked me about how I’d ended up there, in my underwear and a pullover in the hours before dawn. They told me to take my time, to think it all through. They gave me pills for the pain and others to help me sleep.
The splint on my foot had been replaced with a resin cast. I’d been supplied with new crutches. I slept almost the whole time until François arrived.
He was by my bedside the next morning, looking worried and drawn. He hugged me. I needed to rest. The main thing was that I was here, safe and sound.
I later discovered that they’d found traces of several sleeping pills and rat poison in my toxicology results.
Later, when they thought it was the right time to ask me what had happened, I understood that most of the medics – and probably François too – were convinced I’d taken this cocktail myself. And then panicked and gone out in the middle of the night to get help.