Hunting and Gathering by Anna Gavalda Page A

guy, you know that?”
    Â 
As he went out the door, he added, “Hey! Have a look in the fridge, I brought you something. I can’t remember what it is, some duck, I think.”
    Â 
Philibert said thank you to a draft of cold air.
    Franck was already in the hallway, cursing because he couldn’t find his keys.
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He took up his station in complete silence, did not flinch when the boss took the pan from his hands in order to show off, clenched his teeth when an undercooked magret was sent back, and rubbed his heating plate so hard, it was as if instead of simply cleaning it he were trying to scrape off fine iron filings.
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As the kitchen emptied, Franck waited around for his buddy Kermadec to finish sorting his tablecloths and counting his napkins. When Kermadec found him in a corner leafing through Bikers’ Journal , he gestured with his chin. “What you want, chef?”
    Lestafier tilted his head back and wiggled his hand in front of his mouth.
    â€œI’m coming. A few more odds and ends and I’m all yours.”
    Â 
They had meant to do the rounds of the bars, but by the time they left the second one Franck was already dead drunk.
    That night he fell into a deep hole, but not the one from his childhood. A different one.

18
    â€œOKAY, well, I wanted to say I was sorry about, I mean sorry for . . . I wanted to ask you . . . ,” said Franck.
    â€œAsk for what, dear?” said Yvonne.
    â€œFor you to forgive me.”
    â€œI’ve already forgiven you, forget it. I know you didn’t mean what you said, but you should mind your manners all the same. You have to be good to the people who behave right toward you. You’ll see, when you get older, that you don’t encounter many of them.”
    â€œYou know, I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday, and even if it’s hard to admit it, I know you’re right.”
    â€œOf course I’m right. I know old people, I see plenty of them here, all day.”
    â€œSo, uh—”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe problem is, I’ve got no time to take care of it, I mean to find her a place and all that.”
    â€œSo you want me to take care of it?”
    â€œI’ll pay you for your time, you know.”
    â€œDon’t you start being vulgar with me again, young man; I’m willing to help you, but you’re the one who’s going to have to tell her. You have to explain the situation to her.”
    â€œWill you come with me?”
    â€œIf it makes it easier for you. But, you know, she’s perfectly well aware of what I think about the whole thing. She’s been getting herself into such a state ever since I first brought it up.”
    â€œYou have to find her a really classy place, okay? With a nice room and beautiful grounds all around.”
    â€œIt’s very expensive, you know.”
    â€œHow expensive?”
    â€œOver a million a month.”
    â€œUh, hang on, Yvonne, what are you talking about? We have euros now, you know?”
    â€œOh, euros. Well, I’m talking the way I’m used to talking and for a good home, you have to pay upwards of a million old francs a month.”
    There was a silence while Franck did some mental arithmetic.
    â€œFranck?”
    â€œThat’s—that’s what I earn.”
    â€œYou have to go to the social services and ask them for housing assistance, see how much your granddad’s pension comes to, then put together an ADHP application and send it off.”
    â€œWhat’s the ADHP?”
    â€œAssistance for dependent and handicapped persons.”
    â€œBut . . . she’s not exactly handicapped, is she?”
    â€œNo, but she’ll have to act the part when they send the assessor over. Mustn’t look too sprightly or they won’t give you much.”
    â€œAw, fuck, what a hassle . . . Sorry.”
    â€œI’m blocking my ears.”
    â€œI’ll never have time to