six

Outside in the street once more, I felt like a stranger to myself: the interview had turned my world upside down. My hands were trembling a little, but I didn’t know whether it was from fear or excitement. As I walked toward the Métro, thoughts were racing through my brain. With every step I took, I recalled the things that Claude had said, and my determination grew: “Everyone has a duty toward life, don’t you think? To learn to know ourselves, to become aware that time is short, to make choices that matter and that mean something. And above all, not to waste our talents . . . We must fulfill our potential, Camille. Urgently!”

That evening, I went over what my life was at present. It was all very comfy: a safe job, a safe love life . . . But that was simply window dressing. It was high time that I took a proper look at what was underneath and assumed responsibility for it.

As a mother, things were tense. Recently, that tension between my son and me had become electric. Everything was a chore. What with his school, his clubs and hobbies and medical appointments, it felt as if I no longer had a minute to myself. As soon as I set foot inside our front door, I felt harassed and my tolerance threshold dropped dramatically. I flew off the handle at next to nothing. Especially over homework, which had tripled that school year thanks to an overzealous teacher. Already tired from school, Adrien saw this workload as punishment. It seemed endless, and I felt I was dragging him along like a dead donkey. I shouted at him; he exploded back at me, either bursting into tears or becoming hysterical.

I was so exhausted by it all that once he had finally completed his work, I would let him do whatever he wanted—and he would rush off to plonk himself in front of a screen. I knew that this was the easy way out, but I needed a bit of peace, to unwind for five minutes. It’s only human, isn’t it? I would reassure myself.

Often, he would want me to come and look at the imaginary world he had created on Minecraft, his favorite computer game of the moment, or an unmissable YouTube video.

“I don’t have the time, sweet pea; I have to get supper ready.”

That was how it was. Over the past few months, I hadn’t had the energy to take an interest in his world, and without properly realizing it, this had created a gulf between us. He would wander off again, disappointed and vaguely sad.

“You never do anything with me anymore!” he would say reproachfully.

I struggled to justify myself. “Adrien, try to understand. You’re a big boy now. The house doesn’t run itself! Besides, with all the games you have . . .”

“But I have no one to play them with! Why can’t you give me a little brother?”

There he went, making me feel guilty again. Why, as a modern European woman, should I be obliged to have 2.4 children? What if I wanted only one?

Social pressure: that got on my nerves as well. All year round, my ears were filled with the same old refrain: “It’s so sad to be an only child. He must get bored . . .”

Sebastien had been disappointed when I confessed I didn’t want any more children. Had that also contributed to the distance between us? That and the daily routine. The draining effect of monotony, of the ordinary. We no longer feel obliged to make an effort, so in the end we stop making any effort at all. We just grow careless. It’s so obvious, right under our noses, and yet we don’t see it.

I had reached this stage in my reflections when I glanced over at my husband. He was stretched out on the sofa, half watching TV while he played on his smartphone. He was oblivious to my presence, and above all to my inner turmoil. That did it. Yes, at that instant I knew that I wanted to stop settling for this nice little existence that had become such a rut it no longer had any meaning. I wanted to have the courage to shake up everything that was so well established, so predictable, so settled. Exchange the reassuring for the exhilarating! In other words, to press the reset button and start all over again.

I tapped out a text message to Claude Dupontel and immediately pressed Send, like someone drawing up a ladder behind her to make sure there is no going back. If I thought any more about all this, there was a risk that I might back out.

I’ve made my mind up to give your method a try. I’ve nothing to lose, have I?

Half an hour later, I jumped when I heard my mobile ping.

Bravo for taking this first step, Camille. It’s always the hardest, but I’m sure you won’t regret it. Keep an eye on your mailbox. You’ll be receiving my first instructions by post. Take care, Claude.

I was pleased. Excited. Nervous. All three at once.

I spent a restless night dreaming I was heading down a ski slope at breakneck speed. I was elated until I suddenly realized that however hard I tried, there was no way I could stop . . . I woke up covered in sweat and paralyzed with fear.

I was so anxious to get home and open my letter box that the workday seemed endless.

What a disappointment! It was empty.

Don’t be so impatient! You’re hardly his first priority.

Next day, the box was empty again. Another disappointment.

It’s not even been forty-eight hours.

The day after . . . empty!

I was champing at the bit. My excitement had turned to frustration. When was I going to start, for heaven’s sake? After eight days of feverish waiting, I gave in and telephoned Claude. His assistant answered with that dreamy voice of hers, seemingly designed to calm all expressions of impatience.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Dupontel is in meetings all day. May I give him a message?”

“Oh, yes, thanks. I’d like to know when my course is to start.”

“What did he say the last time you saw him?”

“To await his instructions, which I’d receive by post.”

“If that’s what he said, then you only have to wait. Good-bye. Have a good day.”

This time, her mellifluous voice really wound me up. I hung up, furious, in such a state that I was ready to tear up the first thing I could lay my hands on.