Free Blood Wedding by Pierre Lemaitre

situation, a permanent solution. Expensive, granted, but absolutely dependable.
    One last obstacle – a considerable one – and everything might be different.
    Sophie spends a long moment mulling it over. Her mind is racing so fast that she is almost tempted to make notes, but that is not allowed. She decides to take a few days to think about it, and if at that point it still seems like a sensible solution, she will take the necessary steps.
    This is the first time that she breaks her own rules: she spends fifteen minutes sitting in the same place.
    *
    Sophie cannot sleep. In her room, she allows herself the risk of jotting things down to get her thoughts in order. All the elements are in place. The plan can be summed up in five lines. She lights another cigarette, re-reads her notes, then burns them in the rubbish chute. Everything now depends on two conditions: finding the right person, and having enough money. Whenever she arrives somewhere new, her first precaution is to leave a suitcase at left luggage containing everything she might need if she has to vanish in a hurry. Aside from clothes and the various items she uses to change her appearance (hair dye, glasses, make-up, etc.), the case contains 11,000 euros. But she has no idea how much this might cost. What if she does not have enough?
    How could she keep such a house of cards from collapsing? It is madness, there are too many conditions to meet. Thinking about it, she realises that, although her response to each individualobstacle is “It should be O.K.”, the sheer number of her doubts and hesitations means that the plan is unrealistic.
    She has learned to distrust herself. It is perhaps what she does best. She takes a deep breath, reaches for her cigarettes and notices that she has only one left. The alarm clock reads 7.30 a.m. Her shift does not start until 11.00.
    *
    At about 11 p.m. she leaves the restaurant. It rained during the afternoon, but the evening is cool and clear. At this time, she knows that with a little luck . . . She walks down the boulevard, takes a deep breath, asks herself one last time if there is any other way, knowing that she has already been through every possible solution open to her. And could think of nothing better than this. Everything will depend on her intuition. So much for intuition . . .
    Cars prowl, stop, windows rolled down to enquire about prices and evaluate the merchandise. Some do a U-turn at the end of the boulevard and drive slowly back. At first, when she came home late, she was reluctant to take the boulevard, but the detour took her out of her way and, over time, she realised that she did not mind: she had reduced her contact with the outside world to a minimum and found something comforting about that, being a local, a familiar face, she was greeted with a nod or a wave by these women who, like her, were probably wondering whether they would ever get out of here.
    The street is dotted with pools of light. The first section is known as the A.I.D.S. parade. Young girls, much too young, writhe and jitter, permanently anxious for their next fix. They are pretty enough to stand under the streetlights. Further along, others seek refuge in the half-light. Further still, almost cloakedin shadow, are the transvestites whose painted faces sometimes loom out of the darkness like carnival masks.
    Sophie lives a little further along still, in an area that is calmer but sleazier. The woman she thought of is there. About fifty, bottle blonde, taller than Sophie, with an ample bosom that probably attracts a certain type of clientele. Their eyes meet and Sophie stops.
    “Excuse me . . . I just want some information.”
    Sophie hears her voice ring loud and clear. She is surprised by her self-assurance. “I can pay,” she adds before the woman has time to answer and flashes the fifty-euro note crumpled in her hand.
    The woman stares at her for a moment, then glances around, smiles vaguely and says in a voice made hoarse by years