at school the next day, was the driving force behind all subsequent decisions. He would not allow himself to make any more errors in judgement, and that meant following the rules to their absolute limit.
It was something they argued about, over and over. His refusal to go with her, to punish the drug dealers in a way far more appropriate than prison. He’d stopped her then, just as he’d tried to stop her every time since.
***
Coming to a halt she rested her palm against the wall, its bricks soaking up heat from the threatening sun. She leaned against the door, waiting for her heartbeat to return to a more normal level as a wet nose found her shin. She bent down to ruffle behind the dog’s ears.
‘Bonjour, Barney.’
‘Barney! Allez!’ An elderly woman shuffled across the small courtyard, waving at the dog.
‘Delphine, how are you today?’ Veronique enquired as Barney continued to jump at her like a small child, desperate for attention.
‘Pas mal, pas mal,’ Delphine replied between heavy breaths and Veronique couldn’t help but notice the yellow tinge to her skin.
‘Have you been outside lately?’
She avoided Veronique’s eyes. ‘Now and then,’ she said, walking back to an armchair positioned in an open doorway. She sank into its battered cushions, swollen ankles spilling out of stained ruby slippers.
‘And what does the doctor say?’ Veronique reached inside the door and poured Madame a glass of chilled lemonade from the turquoise ceramic jug set on a narrow table in the hallway. She took it with shaking hands, chapped lips sucking the liquid into her mouth.
‘What do they know? Barely old enough to write their own name and yet they want to pump me full of drugs I can’t even pronounce.’
‘Has your son been to visit this week? I thought he was going to take you to the house near La Rochelle?’
‘He is busy with his work. I understand he will come another time.’
More likely busy with another woman, Veronique thought. He probably lay in bed at night, imagining the size of his bank balance once the cancer destroyed what was left of his mother.
‘Why don’t I take Barney for a run tomorrow?’ she offered, squeezing Delphine’s hand.
Delphine smiled in response. ‘Yes, he would like that. Tires him out for the rest of the day.’
‘And perhaps later we can go for a walk to the bistro. Some of their home cooking would do you the world of good.’
‘Peut-être.’ She smiled, sorrow clouding her eyes. ‘But for now you have a visitor.’
Veronique looked up towards the small balcon on the top floor of the building where the shadow of a man could be seen.
***
‘Remind me to ask for your key back,’ she said as she opened the door to her appartement and walked through to the open-plan living area. Christophe was sitting at the wrought-iron table out on the small balcon, plucking tomatoes from a nearby plant and popping them into his mouth like sweets.
‘Why is it that your fridge is empty and yet you have an entire farm out here?’ Christophe replied as she bent to kiss him on both cheeks.
Veronique stole a tomato for herself, the skin warm against her lips. ‘I like being able to eat something I’ve grown myself. That way I know it’s not full of pesticides or things grown in labs.’
‘Like me, you mean?’
‘You’re the perfect experiment gone wrong.’ She smiled, going back inside and through to the bedroom. Shrugging out of her running gear she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. ‘I bumped into Guillaume.’
Christophe’s head appeared around the doorway. ‘Really? Is he still tall, dark and ever so handsome?’
‘Tired.’ Veronique ducked her head under the stream of cool water then picked up a loofah and began to massage her ankles, then continued up the length of her body to finish at the back of her neck.
‘The stress of being Mr Perfect is obviously getting to him.’ Christophe opened the mirrored cupboard above the sink and began to apply mascara to feathery lashes. ‘What did he want?’
‘He caught me at the park.’ She scrubbed at her hands.
Christophe pushed back from the sink to stare at her. ‘He was there? Merde. What did he say?’
‘That he knows it was you who told me.’ Stepping out of the shower she reached for a towel on the rail opposite, her hand lingering on the soft cotton.
‘So what? He can’t prove it.’
‘You need to be more careful.’ She dried herself from the face down, following the line of her scar.
‘I was careful.’
‘Christophe, if anyone gets their hands on your phone they’ll be able to see who and what you have been messaging so I hope you really have deleted everything, including any back-ups. You can’t afford another warning and I’d hate for you to lose your job. You love it there, surrounded by other like-minded science geeks.’
‘I’ll ignore that. Science is the key to everything and you know it. Did you find anything?’
Veronique went back into the bedroom and opened the wardrobe. Two rails of clothing, one pale and the other dark, arranged by fabric and then season. The drawers contained both her lace underwear and workout gear, all folded and stored away amongst layers of tissue paper. At the bottom stood row upon row of stacked boxes, each labelled with a Polaroid photograph of the shoes contained therein.
Her eye fell on a box pushed to the back. Inside was the sweatshirt Guillaume had left behind, fire engine red with bleached stitching and bare patches bleeding out from the elbows. Like a favourite teddy she had cocooned her frame in the soft cotton, wishing she could tattoo the memory of him onto her skin.
You asked him to leave, remember? she told herself, pushing the box out of sight and pulling on a pair of ivory chinos and silk T-shirt the colour of a midnight sky.
‘Nothing specific, but I think she’s still alive. Unless of course you can tell me otherwise? Did Guillaume search the park?’
‘Didn’t you just tell me to be more careful?’
‘Did they find a body?’ Veronique went into the kitchen and poured two cups of muddy coffee, adding a teaspoon of honey to one and handing it to Christophe.
‘Don’t you think I would still be at the park if they had?’
‘So someone either moved the body or she left of her own accord.’
Christophe took a mouthful of coffee. ‘Pretty much, but I’m under strict instructions not to divulge any information to the press.’
‘I’m not press.’
