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A noise makes me glance around to see Gabriel waving to someone from the window: a man caring a large cardboard box with the logo Russell’s Fish & Chips on its side.
“Come on. Dinner is here.”
Myles seems to know everyone, including me. He’s the same functionary at the Municipalité who’d told me I didn’t own Low Catch and couldn’t sell it.
His greeting to me is lukewarm, at best. As we sit in a circle on the floor eating fish and chips from rolled-up paper, he doesn’t talk to me. After the warmth of the last two days, the easy camaraderie with the other three, Myles’ coldness is jarring.
My thoughts are busy with this when I hear Elodie say my name. “Sorry?” I look up from my battered haddock.
“What are your plans for your own building project?”
“You really want to know?” I ask.
“Has Amira come by, yet?” Myles asks suddenly. “She was bringing you the fabric from the Casemates,”
The conversation moves on to the silks from the casemates and he talks about how the textile factory was saved from going under by the women.
A little later, Elodie calls me again. I look up and meet her smiling face.
“Everyone keeps telling me that sooner or later I’ll be able to pay people back for their kindness. I thought I might start with you.”
“Me?” I ask quietly, not sure what she means.
“I can come and look at your place and see if we can think of any useful…” She hesitates and her face colours slightly. “You know…ideas.”
“You mean share some of your incredible flair for design?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Myles looking daggers at me. What the fuck is his problem?
“I was thinking,” Elodie says, but before she can tell me whatever it is, Myles jumps in with a question about the shop’s relaunch.
He’s done this a couple of times already tonight, whenever I speak to Elodie, he interrupts. My usual guess would be that it’s the old hating the Hemingways thing. But, is it possible he likes Elodie and his coldness to me is just plain old jealousy?
The conversation moves on and Gabriel talks about a photography project of his showing aspects of La Canette that look like fairy-tale locations. This chimes in with Elodie’s own reflections and they all talk about this for a long time, during which, I watch the dynamics in the room.
Judging by her casual manner, Myles is wasting his time. She’s not interested.
If I really wanted, I could fight him for her, and I might even win. But what would be the point?
I get to my feet and say good night. Just as I reach the door, Elodie catches up to me.
“You are coming to the opening on Monday, aren’t you?”
Probably not a good idea, all things considered. Things went well this weekend and perhaps it’s better to quit while I’m ahead.
“Please,” she insists.
“I’ll do my best,” I tell her not wanting to commit either way, then set off back to my little pod.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Hal
Sleep comes and goes; little noises keep waking me up. Birds flapping in the trees, distant dogs barking, the light wind shaking some of the panels in the house. Panels that will become walls as soon as I make my mind up about how to design the new cottages. Slowly my thoughts begin to fade and sink back into sleep.
I expect to dream of homes and exiles. Or even of sex, because of all the relationship talk. Women I’ve known and loved; women I never slept with but wish I had. Surprisingly, it’s geometric shapes that fill my dreams, Elodie’s hexagonal cells that fit together and come apart.
When I wake, the idea for my own building is already in my head as if someone put it there. I can hardly wait to start. Even though my kitchen cupboards are nearly empty and in dire need of a trip to the shops, I make do with half a packet of biscuits for breakfast. All the time, sketching designs with a pencil while waiting for my coffee to percolate.
