Flowers of Darkness Tatiana Rosnay (chromebook ebook reader TXT) 📖

I didn’t, either. Not a clue.”

“You didn’t know you wanted to be a writer?”

“No, not at all.”

“What were you like at fourteen, Mums?”

In the dimness, Clarissa couldn’t help smiling. She felt her granddaughter’s silky hair against her cheek. Reminiscing … It was like skimming through a photo album, pausing over a page. Slowly letting emotions flow back. There she was, freckled, lanky, and awkward, the braces on her teeth making her miserable. She told Andy she used to be quite a merry youngster, making her friends whoop. She was a prankster on the phone, mimicking people behind their backs, pulling awful faces.

“Hey, it sounds like you were hilarious! And did you fall in love a lot?”

“I had crushes on guys who never looked at me. And those who made passes at me did not interest me in the least.”

“Did you hear that, Mums?”

“Hear what?”

“A weird sound. Like something clicking.”

Silence.

“I can’t hear a thing. Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Clarissa turned on the bedside lamp.

“I’ll go check the kitchen and living room. Maybe it’s the cat.”

“Look, the cat is fast asleep.”

Andy slunk under the sheets.

“I’m scared, Mums.”

She looked like a small child, snug against the pillows.

Clarissa padded to the kitchen. Everything was peaceful. She walked around the living room. Nothing seemed out of place.

“Mrs. Dalloway?”

“Yes, Clarissa?”

“Have you detected a break-in or anything unusual?”

“No, Clarissa, I’ve detected nothing of the sort. All is well. Do you wish to report anything else?”

“No, Mrs. Dalloway.”

“Fine, Clarissa.”

Back in the bedroom, Clarissa comforted her granddaughter.

“I’m not making all this up, Mums, I promise.”

“I believe you, missy. But I saw nothing odd.”

Andy nestled close.

“You know, it’s weird. I like your place. It’s pretty and modern, with an amazing view. But…”

“But what, Andy?”

“I know you’re going to think I’m crazy, Mums. Oh well. I’ll tell you anyway. And maybe this is why the cat is scared, too. Ever since I got here, I’ve felt like we’re being watched. All the time.”

 NOTEBOOK

After the shock came anger. I was livid. I nearly pressed on the buzzer bearing our name, shaking with rage, awful words coming to my lips. What a bastard.

My husband had another life. A life I knew nothing about. How long had this been going on? How was it that I had seen nothing, known nothing? Had he been that cautious? Or me that stupid?

I stepped back from the building, still trembling. I wasn’t going to wait for him to come back out. I had all the proof I needed. It was all there in front of me.

But curiosity got the better of me. Was this just a place he took women to? Or was there only one woman in particular? A woman he met every week, spoke to every day, slept with?

A woman my husband loved?

I wanted more than anything to know who she was.

Should I have left all this alone? Should I have walked away, never done anything about it, never mentioned it? Should I have done what I did?

I thought about it carefully on my way home. I was going to find out who she was and how long this had been going on.

And then I would decide what to do.

When my husband returned that evening, he was his usual self, amusing and caring. He helped me prepare dinner, chose our wine.

While we ate, I looked around at our apartment. I thought of everything we’d built together over the years, and I felt like crying. It was hard not letting my emotions show. I burned to scream at him, to throw things at him. But I held back.

Who was she? What was her name? How old was she? What did she look like? Did he love her? Where did they meet? How did it start?

At one point in the evening, I asked him if I could use his phone to call Jordan, as I couldn’t find mine. He said of course, and he opened it for me. He acted like he had nothing to hide.

I had time to check it. There was nothing suspicious on his phone. No photos, no texts. He was being very careful.

There must be another phone, then, I thought. A phone he hid and used to communicate with her.

Two phones, two apartments, two women.

Such a banal situation, I thought. Such a massive cliché.

How wrong I was.

 4TONGUE

I feel certain I am going mad again.

VIRGINIA WOOLF, March 28, 1941

Perhaps the answer lies in the title of my autobiographical novel, The Night Will Be Calm.

ROMAIN GARY, December 2, 1980

WHEN SHE AWOKE, it was still early. She had a quick shower, noiselessly; Adriana was still asleep, with the cat nestled against her. She decided to buy croissants, Andy’s favorite. It would take only ten minutes or so. As she got dressed, she thought back to the other nocturnal conversation she’d had with her granddaughter, just after the clicking noise incident.

“Mums, why are you so angry with François?”

Clarissa had known this was going to come up at one point. Andy was too astute not to guess at what was going on. Clarissa’d had to think carefully about what she was going to say. She realized she had not spoken to anyone about François, about what François had done. She wasn’t ready yet, and there were things a fourteen-year-old could not understand. But she felt she had to give some element of truth to her granddaughter. She couldn’t stay wrapped up in silence forever.

She had said, “He disappointed me.”

“Can you explain why?”

Clarissa had stroked Andy’s hair in the dark. Where could she begin? When had it started? Disappointment wasn’t the right word. It sounded too meek, too nice. What she felt was much more powerful and deep-rooted.

“He hurt me badly.”

Andy had reached up to caress her grandmother’s cheek.

“I hate him for that, Mums. I really hate him. For whatever he did. And I’m not going to ask what it is. I don’t think you’ll tell me anyway.”

“No, I won’t. I can’t.”

“Do you think you’ll ever patch it up?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

She thought of how she had felt when