And Then Came Paulette (17 page)

Seated side by side on the bench, Ferdinand and Marceline were counting the stars. Or trying to. But of course there were too many, it was impossible. It was a bit chilly, Marceline drew closer. He shut his eyes, delighted and at the same time intimidated. A quarter of an hour later she lowered her head on to his shoulder and gently rested it there. For the first time. He shivered. She did too. They no longer moved, could hardly breathe. But that was as far as it went. They both jumped because Kim, in boxer shorts, threw open the door of his apartment and ran out toward them in a panic.

“Muriel's shut herself in the bathroom, I think she's ill, she's been crying for over an hour!”

They charged inside.

Marceline spoke through the door.

“What's going on, Muriel? Are you unwell?”

“It hurts.”

“Open the door.”

“I can't.”

“Please try.”

“I can't move. My back hurts too much.”

Slipping the blade of a knife along the frame, Kim managed to lift the latch and open the door. Muriel was lying slumped in the shower. Marceline bent down and took her in her arms, rocking her and asking where it hurt. Feverish, Muriel clutched her hand, and placed it on her stomach. It was hard as stone.

Marceline recoiled. Muriel went into a panic.

“Am I going to die?”

“No, you're not, of course you're not. But I don't understand . . . Why didn't you tell us before?”

“Tell you what, Marceline?”

A fresh contraction tore a long groan from her, rising in a crescendo and ending in a scream. Marceline hugged her. Don't worry, sweetheart, don't worry my love . . . it'll be all right, we'll get the midwife or doctor to come, they'll sort you out. Muriel turned toward her, looking stunned. Her expression one of total incredulity. It was then that Marceline understood. The girl had only just that second realized what was happening to her. She stroked her face. You poor little dear . . . She called for Kim and Ferdinand and they helped carry Muriel to her room. Marceline settled her on the bed, propped up her back with some pillows, went out again, asked the two men to find someone quick, fetch a doctor or midwife. They didn't seem to understand. Marceline begged them to hurry: it was urgent. Worried, Kim and Ferdinand went back to the other wing of the house to make a call. Halfway there, Kim remembered that Suzanne's aunt was a midwife. He ran to fetch his cell phone from his room. It was one o'clock in the morning.

Marceline stroked Muriel's head and spoke softly into her ear. It's all right, little one, don't you worry, Kim's called the midwife, she's on her way. But by this point Muriel had been suffering for hours, it
had gone on too long, she wanted it to stop immediately, right there and then. She had shouted so much she no longer had the strength to say anything. She could move her head from right to left, but that was the only form of expression she could still manage. No, no, no.

Time passed. The contractions came one after the other, racking her unremittingly. Then one that was even more painful than the others, it seemed to rip her insides. The crown of the baby's head appeared. Marceline knew they couldn't wait any longer. Muriel, my love, we're going to help it come out, now listen to me, I'll tell you when to push, OK? That's good, now breathe in, go on now, push . . . yes, yes . . . that's good. One more time . . . push . . . again . . . again . . . that's it, almost there now, again, harder, there's the head, you've done the difficult part. One last time . . . that's it, it's there, you've done it. Oh look at her, isn't she a little angel? . . . Muriel, it's a girl!

Feeling all emotional, Marceline covered the baby with a blanket so it wouldn't get cold. She bent down to put it in Muriel's arms, but Muriel turned away. She didn't want to touch it, or even look. Marceline really felt like crying, but stopped herself.

Two in the morning. Guy and Kim were posted by the side of the road just before the junction. They each held a flashlight in their hand. The midwife's car arrived; they waved their arms and pointed out the path to the house. In the yard Ferdinand took over, he opened the door and let her in. She was cheerful, her gestures snappy and precise. Marceline was relieved. Marie explained she had been as quick as she could but she was still in the maternity ward when she received the call. Babies often arrived on nights when there was a full moon. And at the end of the week that's just how it was! She examined the baby, cut and clamped the cord, took care of Muriel, checked the placenta was intact, asked questions about how things had gone, and congratulated everyone on their good work. But she knew there was a problem: Muriel wasn't looking at the baby, even when it started
to cry. So Marceline went up and stroked Muriel's hand, bent down to her ear and asked in a whisper if she wanted to talk about what was happening or if she would rather they took care of the child at first. She did prefer that, so the two women left the room with the baby. Muriel turned her head toward the wall and quietly started to cry.

Although she'd long been awake, as a result of all the commotion, at six o'clock Simone finally decided to go and see what was happening in the kitchen. And this is what she saw: Marceline preparing a bottle, and Guy with a baby in his arms, striding across the kitchen, trying to calm its sobbing. Her instincts took over. Frowning, she approached him with a determined expression. Do you really think that's any way to handle a baby? If you shake it like that, it's not surprising the poor little thing's crying. Guy took this badly. But at the same time it dawned on him that they'd got their Simone back! Imperiously she sat down in an armchair and held out her arms. He handed over the newborn baby and, as if by magic, the crying stopped. Annoyed, he went out saying he had work he needed to get on with. Of course Simone became angry when she found out the baby was Muriel's. Because it just wasn't right not to have told her anything before! No but really, put yourself in my shoes, how does it make me look? Marceline explained. She soon saw the point. She and Hortense had once seen a show about that on TV. It had made quite an impression on them.
She remembered the expression used to describe the problem. So, she'd been in denial about her pregnancy, had she, the poor thing? Marceline nodded. So what was going to happen now? Marceline didn't know what to say. But for now the baby was hungry and she still had loads of things to do. So having wedged Simone in the armchair, she held out the bottle and let her get on with it. Simone fed the baby, holding her close to wind her, all wrapped up in a pure cotton T-shirt—Kim thought that important—and a multi-colored scarf, one of Hortense's unfinished works of art, by way of a blanket. It was the first time in her life Simone had held such a small baby. The first time she had been able to look at one so closely. And talk to it in a whisper without anyone watching. Aren't you pretty, you tiny thing, you're so beautiful, oh yes you are, you're beautiful, my dear, and look at your little hands, they're so delicate, those little hands, with those long fingers you could play the piano you could, and those little feet, but how's it possible to have such small feet, so perfect, so sweet, tell me how's it possible my little princess . . . The little princess must have weighed less than six pounds. Not much at all. And yet, after barely an hour Simone's arms were already stiff. But she said nothing and put up with it, neither moving nor calling for help. She was too afraid she might wake the little angel. Or perhaps shatter the magic . . .

Kim checked on the Internet: the pharmacy opened at eight o'clock. At quarter to eight Marceline took Ferdinand's car. Marie had left a small case of samples for them during the night, but although it had helped, it wouldn't last long. So she needed to find some infant formula milk, teats for the bottles, newborn diapers, sanitary towels, and saline solution.

In the workshop Guy went back to work: he wanted to make a stroller. One that could be moved easily around the house and wouldn't topple over. Top priority. So he dismantled an old stroller that he had found in the barn, keeping just the frame and wheels, and
decided to attach to it the wicker basket from the laundry room. Ferdinand was none too happy about this. He needed that basket to carry the laundry he'd just done. Yes, but the stroller was a priority. All right, all right. So Ferdinand used a crate instead, it came down to the same thing.

Ferdinand's job that morning was to find something for the baby to wear. Earlier he had gone to the attic to look for a box of Ludovic and Lucien's baby clothes. A cardboard box full of memories. For later. When they were grown up. It was Mireille who had put it all up there, when they moved out. So he'd brought it all down, put the baby clothes in the washing machine and, as soon as the laundry was done, hung it up by the stove to dry: tiny pajamas, teeny-weeny tops, doll-size socks and such a sweet little bonnet.

Soon they would be able to dress the baby and put her in a cradle. If, that was, Guy found a better solution to fastening the basket to the frame. According to Ferdinand it was still too rickety, and not steady enough. He offered to give him a hand but Guy told him to get lost. Ferdinand went off grumbling that he had such a short fuse, that man . . . Everyone was a bit on edge. Not surprising, given the shortage of sleep. Or perhaps the full moon was getting to them.

The other wing of the house.

At about nine o'clock Kim made some breakfast for Muriel. She wasn't hungry, she wanted to get up. So he offered to help her walk to the bathroom, but she brushed him aside, preferring to hold on to the walls and hang on to the furniture rather than accept his arm. Feeling frustrated he went out for a stroll and to see if the hens were all right. He greeted Cornelius, who was just going out, and decided he would do some work in the garden. He really needed to let off steam.

On her return from the pharmacy Marceline dropped in to see Muriel. She was sitting near the stove with Chamalo on her knees,
playing with the little kittens. Marceline found this disturbing. So she sat down beside her and they chatted about this and that. But Muriel didn't ask a single question about the baby. Marceline told herself she would have to be patient. The midwife was due back later in the day; they could talk about it then. Things would sort themselves.

At the end of the morning Guy arrived, pushing the stroller. Kim, Simone, Ferdinand and Marceline all applauded, of course. It was a very special stroller, to be sure. Easy to maneuver, adaptable, yet stable. Bravo! Guy was very pleased.

After much thought, they put the baby and stroller in the little sitting room next to Simone's bedroom. Since Hortense's passing, she no longer went in there. And Marceline's room was just opposite. Not to mention that—and this was the icing on the cake—it was the nearest room to the other apartment. They only needed to shift the cupboard in the corridor, which was blocking the door between the apartments, and then Muriel could come see her little one whenever she wanted.

They shifted the cupboard away from the door.

But Muriel didn't come.

Guy had drawn up a schedule just in case—The Organikid—and, without consulting anyone, put himself down for night duty. It made sense: he was the one who suffered from insomnia. But he was well-advised to do so. Both Marceline and Simone were worn out, and he and Ferdinand had a nap during the day, so it was natural that they should be the ones to take over. The two women went to bed after dinner. The first part of the evening the two men worked in tandem. The baby woke at about nine-thirty. They raced into the room and conferred with one another over the stroller. Are you going to take her? No, go on, you take her. Don't you think . . . ? No, let's see. In the end it was Ferdinand who took the baby in his arms. And he walked back and forth across the kitchen until the bottle was ready. Guy followed the instructions that Marceline had left. It all went well, he didn't break or spill anything, the temperature was perfect and the baby didn't cry for long. But a few minutes later things became more complicated. After a long and painful struggle the infant's little stomach suddenly emitted a sound out of all proportion to its size, like a
sink suddenly emptying. They were almost overpowered by the smell. Huge anxiety. They would have to change the diaper. Neither Guy nor Ferdinand had ever done this. Guy had never had a child, and while Ferdinand did have two sons, he had never found himself in a situation where he'd needed to; his wife always took care of everything. But now they were on their own and would just have to manage. It took them a quarter of an hour. Eventually the little one went off to sleep and they could breathe again.

Collapsed on the sitting room sofa, they kept the TV switched off, so they would be sure to hear any noise coming from the baby's room. And as the full moon was shining brightly into the room, they also didn't switch on the light.

After a long silence they started to whisper.

“Are you all right?”

“Yep, fine. And you?”

“I'm OK.”

“Mm.”

“I was wondering, you don't have any regrets?”

“None at all.”

“Sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“Lotta people, eh?”

“Yeah.”

“You'd never have guessed.”

“Never.”

“It's full of life.”

“Sure is. Full of life—and it's great. There's new blood now.”

“Pff. Stop it, you'll make me laugh.”

“Sh, you'll wake the little one.”

“It's all right, I'll stop.”

“So, Ferdinand?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“It's funny, really, sometimes you think you've missed out and then wham!”

“Yeah, it's crazy.”

“Just think.”

“Mm.”

Toward midnight they sprang to their feet at the first sound of mewling. This time around they had the hang of things. They could do the bottle standing on their head, and the diaper change took ten minutes at the most. Real pros. After that Ferdinand went up to bed. Left alone to handle things, at first Guy got in a bit of a sweat. But that soon passed. He congratulated himself on having made the stroller. He could take the baby into the kitchen, prepare the bottle with one hand and rock her with the other. And then the magic moment, where he sat in the armchair and realized that for the first time in his life he was bottle-feeding a one-day-old baby. He could watch it and whisper to it without anyone else around. Just the child and him. Good night, little lady . . . do you realize it's already your birthday, one whole day, but, you listen really well, don't you, oh yes they're new all these sounds, it's so interesting, you're really gorgeous you know, yes you are, and look at those little hands, they're so delicate those little hands, with those long fingers you could play the piano you could, and those little feet, but how can anyone have such little feet, so perfect, so sweet, tell me how is it possible, my princess . . .