Free Out of Sorts by Aurélie Valognes Page A

. . . At my age? It’s not worth it. And to save who?”
    “Me! If one day you turn on the gas and have regrets,” says Juliette, smiling.
    “Stop that nonsense, little one. Go on home now.”
    Ferdinand accompanies Juliette to the door.
    “I was just wondering, which is your favorite Pierre Bellemare story?”
    “The one with the black-eyed garbage chute. It scares your pants off. Ever since reading it, I haven’t dared use the one on the landing.”

Chapter Twenty
    Pardon?
    It’s extraordinary how people can take a smile for an invitation to chat. As Ferdinand returns home from the Franprix supermarket, laden with pickles, ham, and macaroni for lunch, he suddenly finds himself nose to nose with Mrs. Claudel exiting her apartment. He faintly produces the beginnings of an almost friendly smile, then turns his back to insert his keys in the lock when his neighbor says in her strident voice, “Hello there, Mr. Brun. How did you like Katia? Was she able to put the affairs of your late canine in order?”
    Ferdinand swallows wrong and coughs a little before managing to utter a few words. “Uh . . . yes. You could say she was very effective. Anyway, I think I should—”
    “I’m sorry to be impolite but I’ve got to run, Mr. Brun. My fitness class starts in fifteen minutes and I’m none too fast. However, I’d be delighted to hear more about Katia’s prowess. Come over for coffee today. But no niceties. Don’t bring flowers or chocolates. I’ll say toodle-oo, now, Mr. Brun. See you at two o’clock.”
    Ferdinand doesn’t have time to decline as his neighbor disappears down the stairs, without waiting for a response. As though it’s obvious Ferdinand is available, as though it’s obvious he drinks coffee, as though it’s obvious he feels like skipping his favorite radio program.
    The old man has no choice: he’s going to have to bite the bullet for half an hour in exchange for the assistance Mrs. Claudel provided. It’s the least he can do.
    The least he can do? Really, she didn’t make any unreasonable effort—she made a phone call! Ferdinand isn’t going to start compromising. Since his accident, the neighbor ladies have rushed—wittingly and unwittingly—into his life. First Juliette, and now Mrs. Claudel. He must face facts: he doesn’t scare anyone anymore and especially not those two. Just look at how they destabilize him and come back for more like a karate match. If Juliette has already racked up the equivalent of eight points (against Ferdinand’s zero), Mrs. Claudel achieved ippon in thirty seconds! No. Ferdinand must pull himself together. Regain the advantage. No one changes at his age. Let alone for the better.
    In any case, Ferdinand has been intrigued since setting foot inside the old lady’s apartment. All the more so since—as far as he can see through the peephole—Beatrice Claudel seems to have very interesting days. Much more interesting than his own. The invitation is a chance to verify whether his hypotheses about his neighbor’s activities are correct.

Chapter Twenty-One
    Great Caesar’s Ghost
    The clock in Ferdinand’s kitchen says 2:05. He’s standing on his neighbor’s doormat, wondering if there’s still time to retreat, when the door swings wide open.
    “Come on in, Mr. Brun,” Beatrice says. “Let me take your coat. Never fear, it’s not cold in here. But do my eyes deceive me? Chocolates?”
    “Uh, no, they’re licorice. I know you asked me not to bring anything, but I think that’s what you do when you’re invited over. I’m not really sure anymore . . .”
    “Oh, but you didn’t have to! You’ve positively splurged! And I love licorice. This makes me very happy. Thank you so much, Mr. Brun. Please sit down. Do you take sugar in your coffee?” Beatrice pushes a steaming cup toward him.
    “Um, yes, please. Your apartment is really quite lovely. Very different from mine.”
    “We bought it off-plan in 1957. I must still have the