Page 65 of After the End

“Coming right up, my darling!” she answered, and began preparing his snack. When she was done she told the child to come and sit at the table.

“Not there,” she said, sitting at the chair facing the window, “there!” She pointed at a chair with its back to the window.

“That’s not my chair,” he protested. “That’s where Inès sits.”

“We’re playing a game, sweetheart, remember?” Tiphaine explained in the patient tone of a teacher. “Be good, do what I said.”

Nassim sat where she told him to without further protest. Tiphaine’s ridiculous behavior was increasing his unease; he had the feeling that even the slightest opposition would set off an extreme reaction that could be very scary. Tiphaine served him a big bowl of yogurt, a glass of orange juice, and several cookies in a beautiful bowl. A snack fit for a king.

“So come on, tell me,” she said, sitting down alongside him.

“What?”

“About your day. What you did, who you played with, what your teacher’s like, your best friends, the kids you don’t like so much...”

She was interrupted by a call on her cell phone. She stood up, rummaged in her purse, and drew it out. She squinted at it with a satisfied smile.

“Nora’s on her way.”

She canceled the call, pressing her thumb on the screen with an imperious gesture, then turned and faced the child.

“I’m listening!” she said, as if she were taking a lesson.

“I—I worked...”

“I’m sure you did. You worked, you played, you ate, I’ll bet you even went to the bathroom. Tell me everything, but don’t forget to eat your snack.”

Nassim’s throat was so tight he could barely swallow. He plunged his spoon into the yogurt and brought it to his mouth. Never had he struggled to swallow like this.

“I played with Jonathan.”

“Who’s Jonathan?”

“My friend.”

“Your best friend?”

“No.”

“Who’s your best friend?”

“Alexandre.”

“Why didn’t you play with Alexandre, if he’s your best friend?”

“He was out sick today.”

“Okay. Go on. What did you play with Jonathan?”

“Hide-and-seek.”

Tiphaine waited in vain for him to carry on. She gave a disappointed sigh that still managed to sound magnanimous, almost kindly.

“Honestly, Maxime, this is like pulling teeth.”

“My name isn’t Maxime.”

She grimaced at his words. Her jaw clenched, her lips pursed, and her eyes filled with a nasty gleam that didn’t escape the child’s notice.