Lullaby - Leila Slimani Page 0,51

returned, along with her dunce’s swagger. In the corridor she collared some friends who were coming out of class. She jumped up and down and whispered secrets in the ear of a shy girl who suppressed a laugh. Louise wanted to slap her, to shake her as violently as she could. She wished she could make her understand how humiliating and exhausting it was bringing up a daughter like her. She wished she could rub Stéphanie’s nose in her sweat and her anxieties, could wipe that stupid, carefree smile off her face. She wanted to rip apart what remained of her childhood.

In that noisy corridor, Louise forced herself not to tremble. She gradually reduced Stéphanie to silence by tightening her fingers’ grip around her daughter’s chubby arm.

‘You can come back in.’

The headmaster poked his head through the doorway and beckoned them to return to their seats. The deliberation had taken only ten minutes, but Louise didn’t realise that was a bad sign.

Once the mother and daughter had sat down again, the headmaster began to speak. Stéphanie, he explained, was a disruptive element that all of them had tried and failed to control. They had used every educational method they knew, but nothing had worked. They had exhausted every possibility. They had a responsibility and they simply could not allow her to take an entire class hostage. ‘Perhaps,’ he added, ‘Stéphanie would be more comfortable in a neighbourhood closer to home. In an environment more suited to her, where she would have more points of reference. You understand?’

This was March. It still felt like winter. It seemed as if the cold weather would never end. ‘If you need help with the administrative aspects, there are people for that,’ the careers adviser reassured her. Louise did not understand. Stéphanie was expelled.

On the bus home, Louise stayed silent. Stéphanie giggled; she looked through the window, earbuds stuck in her ears. They walked up the grey street that led to Jacques’s house. They passed the market and Stéphanie slowed down to look at the stalls. Louise felt a surge of hate for her; for her offhand reaction, her adolescent selfishness. She grabbed her by the sleeve and dragged her away with incredible strength and abruptness. Anger filled her, an anger that grew ever darker and more heated. She wanted to dig her nails into her daughter’s soft skin.

She opened the small front door. Barely had she closed it behind them than she started showering Stéphanie with blows. She hit her on the back to start with, heavy punches that threw her daughter to the floor. The teenager curled up in a ball and cried out. Louise kept hitting her. She summoned all her colossal strength. Again and again her tiny hands slapped Stéphanie’s face. She tore her hair and pulled apart the girl’s arms, uncovering her head. She hit her in the eyes. She insulted her. She scratched her until she bled. When Stéphanie didn’t move any more, Louise spat in her face.

Jacques heard the noise and he went up to the window. He watched Louise punishing her daughter but made no attempt to separate them.

The silences and misunderstandings have infected everything. In the apartment, the atmosphere grows heavier. Myriam tries not to let the children perceive it, but she is more distant with Louise. She speaks to her in a clipped voice, giving her precise instructions. She follows Paul’s advice, which she repeats to herself: ‘She’s our employee, not our friend.’

They no longer drink tea together in the kitchen, Myriam sitting at the table and Louise leaning on the countertop. Myriam no longer pays her compliments: ‘Louise, you’re an angel’ or ‘You’re the best nanny in the world.’ She no longer offers, on Friday nights, to share a bottle of rosé, forgotten at the back of the fridge. ‘The children are watching a video. Why don’t we have some fun too?’ Myriam used to say. Now, when one of them opens the door, the other closes it behind her. They are hardly ever in the same room any more, the two of them avoiding each other’s presence in a perfectly synced choreography.

Then spring comes, dazzling and sudden. The days grow longer and the first buds brighten the trees. The good weather sweeps away their winter habits; Louise takes the children outside, to parks. One evening she asks Myriam if she can finish earlier. ‘I have a date,’ she explains, her voice trembling slightly.

She meets Hervé in the neighbourhood where he works. Together they