The Red Notebook by Antoine Laurain Page A

compensation enough, but then it could no longer make up for it. The gap between his ideal and his reality was too great. The weight turned into an anguish which was succeeded by the intolerable idea that he was wasting his life – or even that he had already wasted it. Laurent backed away from the railing then turned towards his colleagues. He contemplated them, aware that something momentous had just taken place: he had coldly considered climbing over the railing of an office block at La Défense.
    ‘I’m going to change jobs,’ he told Claire that evening – without telling her about the strange impulse that had come over him as he stared into the void. ‘I’m going to open a bookshop.’
    She had spoken to him for a long time about it, had asked him to think about it carefully. Then she had said nothing more. Laurent had negotiated an amicable departure from the bank. Claire was promoted; the word ‘deputy’ was no longer appended to her title as marketing director of a frozen food brand. Laurent had bought the commercial lease of the Celtique, and the same week, Claire had announced that she was pregnant. A new life began.
    The end of the dream never changed: he climbed over the railing and as the thrill of the fall took hold of him, he woke up. The cat leapt from his lap. The phone in the study was ringing. Laurent rose and went into the room. The answer phone had been activated. A button with a little envelope on it began to flash on the keypad, then stopped. Laurent hesitated then pressed on the envelope.
    The loudspeaker said, ‘You have one new message. Messagereceived at 8.46. “Good evening, Laure … It’s Franck. I haven’t heard from you; you’re not answering your mobile, so … I know I was awkward last time, but … well, it’s up to you. This will be my last message … I won’t call again if you don’t ring me. So that’s it.” To listen to the message again press one, to save it press two, to delete press three.’
    Laurent looked at the machine and pressed three. ‘Your message has been deleted. End of messages. To return to the main menu press nine; for other options press two.’

     
     
    ‘Hélène … Hélène, look … the line on the monitor’s rising. I’ll stay with her,’ said a female voice.
    ‘Call Doctor Baulieu,’ replied another woman’s voice. ‘Tell him there’s movement in the left hand.’
    A prickling sensation. Vague at first before she pinned it down. The tips of her fingers and toes. She had gradually become aware of her own body again. She could hear the blood beating more and more loudly in her ears. The vast, sweet universe she had been floating in had shrunk to fit within a single room. Although everything remained dark, she could sense she was in a space enclosed by walls and a ceiling. Her mind could roam around the room; it didn’t take long to explore. Wherever she was, it was a quiet place to be lying in. She opened her eyes. Everything looked blurry, too bright and fuzzy, like a camera out of focus. A shadow moved towards her, hazy around the edges as if behind frosted glass.
    ‘Hello,’ said the shadow. ‘You’re waking up.’
    The shadow came closer. Its face was still blurred but she was beginning to make out eyes, a nose, a mouth and blonde hair. She had heard this woman’s voice before, while she was asleep.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘there’s no lasting damage. You’re not hurt.’
    Her mouth was not moving in time with the words. The sound was a good second behind.
    ‘Everything will look a bit fuzzy,’ said the blonde shadow. ‘Don’t try to talk. Blink twice if you can hear me and understand what I’m saying.’
    Laure blinked twice.
    ‘That’s great,’ said the shadow encouragingly. ‘You’re coming out of a coma. You’ve been in hospital for two weeks. Do you understand?’
    Laure opened her mouth to reply.
    ‘Sshhh,’ said the shadow, putting a finger to Laure’s lips as if to stop her spilling a