On A Day Like This by Peter Stamm

couple from Perpignan by the name of Cordelier.The woman was pregnant, and looked rather teary. The man had black hair, a tanned face, and a brutal expression. He said he worked for a wholesale florist, and had been moved to Paris to give things there a bit of a shaking-up.
    “He’s been promoted to assistant director,” said the woman, visibly proud of her husband.
    Andreas stayed in the kitchen while the realtor showed the couple around the apartment. He heard little exclamations of delight. Finally the three of them arrived in the kitchen.
    “It’s such a bijou apartment,” said the woman.
    “A bit on the small side,” said the man.
    The realtor said they wouldn’t find anything bigger for that money, not in that neighborhood.
    “Prices have risen steeply these past years,” he said, “and they’re continuing to climb. The apartment is a great investment.”
    Andreas was surprised that they didn’t ask him why he was moving. The woman asked about playgrounds, kindergartens, and schools in the vicinity. Andreas said he didn’t have kids. There were a couple of little parks nearby, said the realtor, and the cemetery of Montmartre was just around the corner. Of course, it was nothing like Perpignan.
    “Your first?” he asked.
    The woman nodded eagerly, and said they’d been married just a year. She leaned against her husband, and he wrapped his arms around her neck and kissed her on the cheek. It looked as though he was strangling her.
    “I love the furniture,” said the woman, “it’s very stylish. Don’t you think, Hervé?”
    “We’ve been staying with my wife’s parents up until now,” the man said.
    “They have an enormous house,” she said, “and a big garden with old trees.”
    Andreas said he didn’t need the furniture anymore. If they wanted any of it, that was something they could talk about. Suddenly, the woman’s expression turned sad. The man put his hand on her belly, and said everything would be fine.
    “It’s all so new to me,” she said, “the baby and the city, and all the things we need to get.”
    “Just take a look around,” said the realtor. “I’ll leave you alone, so you can discuss it together in peace.”
    The couple took another turn around the apartment. The realtor nodded at Andreas and made the thumbs-up sign. Then he rubbed the fingers of his right hand together.
    “The fellow’s a bit dim,” he said quietly. “The company he works for belongs to her parents. That’s where the money’s coming from.”
    Andreas offered him coffee, but the realtor declined. He put his hand on his stomach, and asked if he could have a glass of water. They waited in silence. After a while, Andreas stepped out into the corridor and looked in at the living room. The couple were standing by the window, kissing. The man had dropped to his knees, he had pushed up the woman’s skirts, and was stroking the inside of her thigh. Andreas crept back to the kitchen. The realtor looked at him questioningly, and Andreas made a face.
    “It really is a lovely apartment,” said the woman, coming back into the kitchen. The man was still in the corridor, and seemed to be studying the fuse box.
    “Well then, shall we?” said the realtor. He said they had another apartment to see. He shook Andreas’s hand. “You’ll hear from me.”
    The hamburger was stone cold and tasted disgusting, but Andreas ate it anyway. Then he went and lay down. He lay on the sofa, and imagined the Cordeliers moving into his apartment. He stood in the yard, lookingup at the lit windows behind which the family was living. The kid went up to the window, and pulled the curtain aside, and looked out. He was a little boy of about five. While Andreas watched him, he seemed to grow and get older. His mother came up behind him, pushed him away from the window, and drew the curtain shut. Her face looked worn and tired. Then Monsieur Cordelier—Hervé—came down into the yard. He was carrying two bags full of empty