twelve

When I left work that day I passed by a bookshop and remembered Claude’s advice. I thought the idea of a Positive Notebook was great. Why not give it a try? At the very least it would give me something to do in front of the TV. I went in and chose a pocket-sized one that would be easy to slip into my coat or purse, so that it would always be handy. My day had been so empty, it was exhausting. I couldn’t wait to get home and relax.

But I’d forgotten what the atmosphere there was really like.

No sooner had I crossed the threshold then icy tension hit me. Adrien was having one of his off days and barely said hello. The girl I employed to look after him and help with his homework didn’t seem to be in a much better mood. Glancing at the schoolbooks lined up in ranks on the living-room table, I guessed the reason for the chill. Charlotte never needed any encouragement to complain about my son’s lack of attention and motivation. He fidgeted the whole time, got up on any pretext—he wanted something to eat, to drink, or to blow his nose or go to the bathroom; he invented a stream of excuses to put off the moment when he really got down to work. She accompanied her diatribe with irritated blinking and a disapproving pursing of the lips. I thanked her for her lucid debriefing while at the same time sighing wearily at the prospect of taking over from her.

A quarter of an hour later, I had already reached the end of my patience. Entrenched in his preteen logic, Adrien blamed Charlotte: she was useless at explaining things, and besides, he didn’t like her. Seeing that his arguments weren’t having any great effect, he changed tack and said that he just couldn’t manage it all—his teacher gave them far too much homework.

I should have seen that the poor kid had had more than he could take, but I was feeling the same way, and so all I could think of was to punish him by not allowing him any time on his tablet. He ran off into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. I had to use all my diplomatic skills to calm things down and get him to come back to his homework.

When Sebastien arrived, I was trying to make dinner with one hand, holding a workbook open in the other, while getting Adrien to recite the wretched lesson. Sebastien gave me a peck on the cheek and asked if I’d had a good day without so much as looking at me. I think that if I’d replied, “No, it was dreadful actually, thanks for asking,” he wouldn’t have noticed.

I could sense the pressure building but tried my best to ignore it. Adrien found it hard to learn things by heart—he picked things up quickly but was intuitive rather than methodical—and with every line he stumbled over, I could feel my calm evaporating. I was a perfectionist, and I found his sloppiness intolerable.

Sebastien reappeared from the bedroom, his shirt open and half outside his trousers. He headed straight for the bathroom.

“I don’t believe it! What on earth is this mess?” he shouted as soon as he went in. “Who did this?”

“Not me!” retorted Adrien.

A typical knee-jerk preteen response. I felt obliged to intervene.

“Sorry, it must have been me, Seb. I was really running late this morning.”

The growl of a bear in the depths of the apartment.

Charming!

He came back into the living room carrying his laptop and immediately flew off the handle again.

“Why are there crumbs all over the sofa? Adrien! How many times have I told you not to have your snack there!”

I abandoned my cooking pot and workbook and went to join Sebastien. I was fed up with him arriving stressed out and cross like this; it was becoming a habit. Nonetheless, I tried to calm things down.

“Don’t worry, I’ll see to it,” I said.

“No, I’LL do it,” he replied curtly.

Here we go again . . .

Sighing deeply, he brushed off the crumbs, then stretched out on the sofa with his computer.

He had taken off his socks, and for some reason the sight of his toenails wiggling about on the coffee table under my nose irritated me still further. Or maybe it was his complete indifference to the domestic battle I was going to have to deal with before I had the chance to sit down. I usually let things go, but that evening it was all too much for me. I had to say something.

“Are you OK? I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

“What’s the matter now?” he snapped.

“I can’t imagine . . . except that perhaps I might need a bit of help?”

“What are you going at me for?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, I’m not going at you, I was simply asking you to pay me some attention!”

“And now you’re shouting at me? Thanks, that’s really great at the end of a hard day’s work! Have you paid me any attention since I got here?”

“Well, that’s just the goddamn limit! You’re going at me for looking after your son?”

“There you go again, shouting at me!”

Seeing a storm brewing, Adrien slipped away into his room, delighted at avoiding his homework.

“Right, that’s it. I’ve had enough of doing everything myself!”

“Oh, I see. You’re having one of your usual little hissy fits.”

“What? You swan in here, ignore me and Adrien, start pissing around on the computer with your little virtual friends . . .”

“Do you really think I had such a great time today? I’ve been working like a dog, I had three meetings back-to-back, I—”

“You mean I haven’t been working?”

“OK, yes, you do work,” he said condescendingly.

“What are you implying? That working four days a week isn’t the same, or what?”

“I never said that!”

“You might as well have!” I cried. I was at the end of my tether. “I’ve had it. Let’s see how you get on without me. I’m taking off my apron. Handing in my notice.”

“That’s it, quit, why don’t you? Why don’t we get divorced while we’re at it? It seems as though that’s what you want!”

His words struck me like a boomerang in midflight. Sobbing, I picked up my coat and left the apartment, slamming the door behind me.