Too Close to the Edge Read Online Free

rang.
    ‘Excuse me.’
    ‘Of course.’
    Why oh why had she ever had children? It could only be Marc. She went into the living room and answered the phone with irritation in her voice.
    ‘Yes? Oh, it’s you, Paul … Yes, no. What’s going on? … What? … Patrick! … Oh, Paul, I’m so sorry … and Rose? … Of course … of course … I’ll come right now, Paul … Yes, see you very soon.’
    Éliette returned to the kitchen, ashen.
    The man noticed and instinctively rose from his chair.
    ‘Bad news?’
    ‘That was my neighbours. Their son has just been killed in a car accident … I have to go round.’
    ‘Of course. I’ll go …’
    ‘No, don’t. It’s still raining and the next village is eight kilometres away. The phone’s in the living room and there’s a phone book underneath it. But I doubt you’ll get anyone to come out at this time. Anyway, make yourself at home. There’s wood by the fire if you want to dry off.’
    ‘That’s very kind of you … I don’t know what to say …’
    ‘What about “See you later”?’
    ‘See you later.’

 
     
    The truth was that beyond feeling sorry for Rose and Paul, Éliette was not especially upset to hear Patrick had died. She had never liked the kid. Even as a little boy he had been a nasty piece of work. Sylvie and Marc had hated him because he was always throwing stones at dogs, cats, chickens, people in general and especially his brother, despite being the younger by four years. Serge, unlike Patrick, was the very model of sweetness and sensitivity. He had left the farm as soon as he could and was now a teacher living somewhere near Grenoble. His family seldom saw him. It was Patrick who was the apple of his parents’ eyes, despite the fact he openly despised them. But he was a good-looking lad with the gift of the gab, and had just passed his exams at the agricultural college in Pradel with flying colours. He would one day inherit the farm, since his brother wanted nothing to do with it.
    Old Bob pulled half-heartedly at his chain and bared time-worn canines as Éliette parked outside the house. Paul opened the door to her. He had the face of a zombie, his eyes were red, and the breath from his wet mouth was thick with pastis.
    ‘Ah, Éliette, Éliette …’
    For the first time in the history of their friendship, he put his arms around her. He smelt of the sweat of misfortune. Shefelt as if she were falling from the ladder again, only this time he was the one leaning on her, and that changed everything. It took a little effort to extricate herself from the embrace.
    ‘It’s awful, awful … We don’t understand …’
    ‘Oh, Paul. You poor thing … Where’s Rose?’
    ‘In the kitchen. I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry for dragging you out in this weather.’
    ‘Please, don’t mention it. What are friends for, after all?’
    Éliette had apologised to everyone when Charles died too. People are always ashamed of the misery that has befallen them, as though it were an act of divine retribution for a long-forgotten sin of theirs. Walking unsteadily, Paul led her into the kitchen where Rose seemed to be dozing, rocking back and forth in her chair near the stove. When Éliette put her arms around her, Rose turned to show a face wrecked by tears, washed of all expression. Her flabby skin fell in folds, as trickles of wax on a candle stump.
    ‘It’s not even as if he was coming back from a knees-up! … He wasn’t even drunk! … In broad daylight!’
    ‘You let those tears out, Rosie. It’ll do you good. I know how you feel, you know …’
    ‘I know you do.’
    ‘I brought you something to take. Have this and put yourself to bed. Tomorrow, things will be a bit clearer. There’s nothing else you can do.’
    ‘Yes. We need to look after Paul. He’s in pieces …’
    ‘Of course. Don’t you worry.’
    Paul sat slumped, shoulders hunched, elbows on the Formica table top, a bottle of pastis in front of him, despitethe fact he