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‘I have an anxiety condition.’
Put like that, it sounded utterly underwhelming. But Alejandro was looking into her eyes as if what she was telling him was of the utmost importance. It gave her the courage to continue.
‘It’s a form of agoraphobia.’
‘A fear of open spaces?’
‘No—that’s a common misconception. I have panic attacks if I’m in a situation where I don’t think I can control the outcome. If I’m out of doors and I feel my safety is threatened it can come on… If I’m in an enclosed space and don’t have access to an exit it can come on… But with me it’s more of a fear of losing control. In public.’
Alejandro stroked the curls back from her eyes. ‘You should have told me.’
‘It’s a bit tricky,’ she said softly, ‘telling people you’re not normal.’
‘It’s a medical condition, Lulu, not something that’s a judgement on your character.’
She lowered her eyes. ‘You’re not the one who can’t breathe—who falls down and makes a fool of herself in public.’
‘Have you?’
She hesitated. ‘Once. When I was sixteen. At a concert.’
‘Never again?’
She shook her head. ‘But I could,’ she said.
‘And this has been going on all your life?’
‘No.’ This was the shameful bit. This was where everything led back to, and Lulu could feel herself closing up like a fist inside.
‘When I was little we used to live with my father. He used to shout all the time, and break things and hurt my mother.’
Alejandro had a peculiar quality of stillness about him. ‘Did he hurt you?’
‘Not physically, no,’ she said slowly. ‘My mother protected me and the boys from that, but it was like living on top of a volcano. His rages came out of nowhere.’
‘He beat your mother? You saw him beat your mother?’
‘Only once. That was when we left. That’s the thing about emotional abuse—it’s not like a bruise or a cut you can look at and say, “This is what is happening.” It’s so subtle it plays tricks with your mind. To this day Maman still struggles with blaming herself.’
‘Which is why she is so protective with you?’
‘She tried to protect all of us in a difficult situation. I know she did her best.’
‘But it wasn’t enough.’
It wasn’t a question. So she told him. She told him everything. About being reluctant to go home after school, always unsure of what she would find there. How ballet classes had been her refuge. How she would take her brothers out of their beds in the middle of the night when their father came home in a mood. How she’d learned where to hide, and how to keep it all a secret at school. After all, they were middle class…they’d lived in a nice neighbourhood, where nasty, brutish things didn’t happen.
‘Then we were just poor,’ she said, ‘which was better. Because then I could tell people my parents didn’t live together and my mother had to work. It felt something like normal. But I got busier with the boys, because Maman was gone all hours. I learned how to do things around the house because Félicienne couldn’t.’
‘I suspect you’re a useful woman to have around in a crisis, Lulu Lachaille.’
She felt a little better then.
‘When did the fairytale kick in?’ he asked, unable not to stroke the curls out of her eyes.
She looked up. ‘You noticed that?’
‘Your mother is married to one of France’s leading foreign policy advisors—a constitutional lawyer,’ Alejandro responded dryly. ‘It’s a little hard to miss, Lulu.’
