Lullaby - Leila Slimani Page 0,20

play, despite their parents’ warnings, despite the mosquitoes drawn there by the stagnant water. Here, in the blue of the Aegean Sea, Louise thinks about that black, stinking water, and about the child found with his face buried in the mire. Ahead of her, Mila kicks her legs. She is floating.

They’re drunk and they are climbing the stone stairs that lead to the terrace next to the children’s bedroom. They laugh and Louise sometimes clings to Paul’s arm to climb up a step that is higher than the others. She gets her breath back, sitting under the bright-red bougainvillea, and looks down below at the beach where young couples drink cocktails and dance. The bar has organised a party on the beach. A ‘Full Moon Party’ for the round, red rock that has shone down on them all evening, with all the guests commenting on its beauty. Louise had never seen a moon like that before, a moon so beautiful it was worth lassoing. Not a cold, grey moon, like the moons of her childhood.

On the terrace of the restaurant in the hills, they contemplated the bay of Sifnos and the lava-coloured sunset. Paul pointed out the lacy clouds. The tourists took photographs and when Louise wanted to stand up too to get a snapshot of it with her mobile phone, Paul gently pulled her arm to make her sit down again. ‘It won’t capture it. Better just to remember what it looks like.’

For the first time, the three of them eat dinner together. The guesthouse owner offered to look after the children. They are the same age as his and they have been inseparable since the start of the holiday. Myriam and Paul were caught unprepared. Louise, of course, began by refusing. She said she couldn’t leave them alone, that she had to put them to bed. That it was her job. ‘They’ve been swimming all day, they won’t have any trouble falling asleep,’ the owner said in bad French.

So they walked to the restaurant, in a slightly awkward silence. At the table, they all drank more than usual. Myriam and Paul were dreading this dinner. What could they talk about? What would they have to say to one another? But they were convinced that it was the right thing to do, that Louise would be content. ‘I want her to know that we value her work, you understand?’ So they talk about the children, the landscape, the morning swim, Mila’s progress with the breaststroke. They make conversation. Louise wants to tell them something – doesn’t matter what, something about her – but she doesn’t dare. She inhales deeply, moves her face forward to say something then draws back, tongue-tied. They drink and the silence grows peaceful, languorous.

Paul, who is sitting next to her, puts his arm round her shoulders. The ouzo has made him jovial. He squeezes her shoulder with his big hand, smiles at her like she’s an old friend, like they’re friends for ever. She stares, enchanted, at the man’s face. His tanned skin, his large white teeth, his hair turned blonde by the wind and the salt. He shakes her a little bit, the way you do with a friend who’s shy or sad, with someone you want to relax or get a grip. If she dared, she’d put her hand on Paul’s hand, she’d grip it with her slender fingers. But she doesn’t dare.

She is fascinated by Paul’s easy assurance. He jokes around with the waiter, who brings them each a digestif. In a few days he has already learned enough Greek to make the shopkeepers laugh or give him a discount. People recognise him. On the beach, he’s the one that the other children want to play with. Laughing, he bows to their desires. He carries them on his back, he jumps in the water with them. He eats with an incredible appetite. Myriam seems irritated by this, but Louise is touched by his love of food, which drives him to order everything on the menu. ‘We’ll take that too. We have to try it, right?’ And he picks up the pieces of meat or pepper or cheese with his fingers and swallows them with innocent joy.

Back on the guesthouse terrace, the three of them burst out laughing into their hands and Louise puts a finger to her lips. Mustn’t wake the little ones. This flash of responsibility suddenly strikes them as ludicrous. They play at being children, these adults whose whole day