A Clean Pair of Hands (18 page)

Soon after her parents’ separation, when Lydia Bodin was in her fourth year of the five year Masters course at Sciences Po, she had to be brought home sick to her mother’s apartment. At first Michel stayed away and showed little concern, but later, he paid a visit to check on Lydia’s progress. When in the toilet, he noticed residual blood stains that had resisted flushing and he raised his concern with Charlotte.

“Has she got piles or something, or is it some feminine disorder?”

Charlotte explained that she had called the doctor to examine Lydia and would know more when he reported. That evening, after the doctor had left, Michel returned and asked again what was wrong with his daughter. Charlotte made him sit down and prepared him for what must be a shock. She then summarised what the doctor had told her.

Lydia had suffered an anal fissure, probably as a result of insertion of a large object that had exceeded the limit of flexibility of her anus.

“Lydia told me that it happened at the university and it seems there is a culture of abuse of female students in this way.”

“Are you saying she was raped?” burst out Michel, jumping to his feet.

“There is some doubt about that. She was probably coerced, but she was probably drunk at the time.”

“How can it be treated?” Michel started nibbling a finger nail in irritation and embarrassment.

“The doctor advised that it may heal over a couple of months, but if that doesn’t work she will need to have surgery to repair it.”

Michel sat down again, looking at the floor. He couldn’t focus on what he felt. Anger that such a thing should have happened to his precious daughter, anger at the authorities for allowing it to happen, and anger at the perpetrators. Michel was also pondering on how violence was taking the place of sex in his own life. However, in his mind there were rules and there was a big difference between what he did with other consenting adults and this.

Next morning, before Michel and Charlotte had decided what to do, there was a phone call to Michel’s home from the university. He listened and made some notes. He had a very concerned look when he ended the conversation. “Yes we’ll be there. Thank you.”

He picked up his piece of paper and immediately telephoned Charlotte.

“I just had a call from someone called Ségolène Ravel. She is a member of a joint committee at the institute responsible for life on the campus. She wanted to know how Lydia was and she told me that another girl has complained about the abuse that goes on and described what had happened to Lydia as one example. We are invited to discuss it with her this afternoon.”

Ségolène Ravel was a very large lady who only just fitted in her chair. The degree of compression necessary for this feat was measurable in the columns of bulges that protruded
on both sides between the bars supporting the arm rests. Her ingratiating and sympathetic smile on greeting the Bodins faded suddenly to a look of deep concern resembling that of an undertaker as she addressed the parents. She first apologised for what had happened to their daughter. Then she went to some length to explain the event and repeated, several times over, that the assault occurred off campus, but the university authorities believed that there was a wider problem of drink-fuelled violent behaviour among the students that must be addressed.

“If undergraduates drink themselves silly, they must take the consequences. But the University is a caring organisation and wants to encourage dialogue between parents, students and the authorities to reduce the problem.” Ms Ravel continued, “We know what goes on, and we feel in particular that the ritual humiliation of women undergraduates is an extraordinary erosion of personal liberty, coupled with massive disrespect.”

Michel had a simpler way of describing it, but kept his temper and asked what action the university could take, other than report matters to the police, thus facilitating prosecution. Ms Ravel frowned and admitted that the university had only planned to go as far as expelling known offenders. She referred again to her argument that if students drank excessively and lost control, they could easily become victims. It was unlikely that in those circumstances a prosecution would succeed. A defence lawyer would make a laughing stock of anyone claiming they were a victim. Michel agreed to talk to Lydia when she was well enough and discuss what to do next. In the meantime he was considering a private investigation, to be followed by making examples of the perpetrators.

It was several weeks later, when Lydia appeared to be
making an almost complete recovery, that parents and daughter discussed the situation. At first Charlotte tried to keep Michel away, thinking that it would inhibit Lydia, but he insisted and as usual had his way. He arrived early and expected to be waited upon, but Charlotte put a coffee pot on the table and left him to serve himself. It was a new experience for him to get up to fetch the sugar, rather than ask for it to be brought to him.

Lydia described the event as she recalled it. A group of about ten students had gone to one of their watering holes to celebrate a birthday. They assembled in a separate room, normally reserved for private functions, because that night the landlady wanted the rowdy students out of the bar and she let them have their privacy. At some point, when all had drunk enough to kill a horse, the birthday girl started to dance and strip to the encouragement of the mainly male audience. That particular cabaret turn ended with the girl having sex on the floor with beer being poured over the participants to cool them down. Then, as the only other female present, Lydia was invited to entertain with her own turn. At first she resisted, but help was provided in the form of many hands to remove her clothing and place her on a table to perform. All she could do was wobble uneasily with her arms across her chest, while the group whistled and booed. Then she was pushed forward into a crouching position and something was rammed into her. She screamed, the barmen came running and the place was cleared. The landlady arranged some form of first aid dressing and Lydia was taken back to her apartment to recover. Next day she phoned for help and Charlotte came to collect her.

Charlotte repeated the essence of the conversation she and Michel had had with Ségolène Ravel. Lydia shook her head.

“I don’t want to go back there, Maman. There’s no point in following it up. I couldn’t face them and I wouldn’t feel safe whether I report it or not.” Both parents reluctantly agreed that their daughter should not resume her studies, but should find a job and rebuild her young life from this tragic setback. Michel relented from taking vigilante action only because Lydia was firmly against it. She was such a genuinely sweet girl that nobody was to be blamed for anything. Lydia found a job with one of the large grocery retailers and, on the surface, seemed happy in her new position as a marketing trainee.

Nothing about this incident caused Michel to question his own attitudes and behaviour.

December 2011 Press Item:

‘A French court has given former President Jacques Chirac a two-year suspended prison sentence for diverting public funds and abusing public trust.

Mr Chirac, 79, was not in court to hear the verdict because of ill-health but denied wrongdoing.

He was accused of paying members of his Rally for the Republic (RPR) party for municipal jobs that did not exist.’

Several years after Lydia Bodin’s sudden departure from the Sciences Po, the Miltons had an opportunity to meet her again when Annick Bodin came to stay with them at Branne as she often did during her visits to Europe from the USA; this time Annick announced that she had persuaded her sister Lydia to join them, so it was set up to be a combined business and social break. Normally during Annick’s visits they enjoyed discussions about the family and Annick helped the Miltons get the most out of their business information systems, an art in which she excelled.

The Miltons had not seen Lydia since she left Sciences Po. They knew she had no regular boyfriend and was still working with the grocery retailer in Paris where she had received several promotions. When they saw her again at Branne, they could hardly hide their dismay at the metamorphosis from golden girl to the caricature before them. Lydia was painfully thin, her face narrow and grey, with deep creases between her eyes. Now still in her mid-twenties, she had already lost the poise and the glow of youth, was a restless chain smoker of cigarettes that she rolled herself, and her routine language was foul even by French standards and full of crude clichés. She wore tight, torn jeans with frayed bottoms covering skeletal thighs, scruffy trainers with trailing laces, and a shapeless off-the-shoulder top that only partially covered her underwear, showing there was little to reveal underneath; her hair was drawn back tightly and held in a band from which hung what looked to be a bunch of hairy caterpillars, only partially covering a tattoo on her neck. Her facial expression was one of repressed anger and vindictiveness. Lydia paced up and down as she spoke with her arms folded tightly across her chest, or gestured sharply with a cigarette between her fingers. She had become the kind of person who could make anyone share her nervousness.

George and Thérèse learned that Lydia had advanced to become a buyer with the grocery retailer, with responsibilities for the flow of goods into the retail supply chain. She demonstrated, in George’s opinion, a new low standard of appearance and manners for retail management. Her conversation was vituperative in the extreme, and it was hard to fathom how she held down such a responsible job, judging by the attitude she expressed towards her employers and their suppliers. George concluded that she must be one of the Rottweilers used by retailers to beat
down supplier prices. In other circumstances she might be fired for transgressing company limits of decency and mutual respect in business dealings. George recognised the same characteristics in several senior media executives, bankers, and ‘celebrities’ currently on trial in the UK for misdemeanours to which top management had turned a blind eye. Lydia looked and sounded like a patsy in waiting, but of course, he remembered, things were different in France.

The visit passed without sparks and after Lydia had left for Paris, the Miltons had a couple of hours with Annick, to compare their impressions before she flew back to the US. They packed up and loaded Annick’s affairs into the car and continued their conversation all the way to Bordeaux Merignac airport. They started by commenting on how Lydia had changed.

“Does she dress like that for work, do you think?” asked Thérèse with a pinched mouth and puzzled expression. Without waiting for a reply, she asked Annick about the causes of transformation in such a promising girl.

Annick explained that immediately after the attack at the university her sister had maintained her positive attitude, but it took long and painful months before she completed her medical treatment, during which further tests discovered that she was also suffering from infections in her reproductive tract, possibly due to damage as a result of abuse which threatened her ability to conceive. George and Thérèse were mortified to hear this. They knew there had been problems, but were still deeply shocked to hear Annick’s synopsis of what had transpired.

While still at Sciences Po, Lydia had found a boyfriend, supposedly a builder, who stunned the family by his lack of any perceptible compatibility with Lydia, yet she said she was going to marry him. Michel was at first close to
combustion but later softened, hoping that Lydia would soon tire of whatever she saw in the young man. They didn’t marry, but Lydia had become pregnant while still a student. There followed a miscarriage, which was carefully concealed from Michel and Charlotte.

When, after starting her new job, Lydia did announce that she was pregnant (again) there was a predictable howl of dismay from her parents and strong pressure from Michel for her to have an abortion.

Charlotte took Lydia to receive specialist counselling, hoping that she would be persuaded to have the abortion, but after the consultation, Lydia announced that she could not have a termination. It was only after probing that her parents found out about the previous miscarriage and her overall medical condition. In the event, Lydia had a second miscarriage and was advised that she must avoid any more pregnancies.

At that time, Lydia and her mate were still living in the student studio flat that Michel had bought for his daughter when she first went to university, and soon after the miscarriage, Lydia told her parents that her salary and the fact that she and her partner were living rent-free were not enough to prevent her getting into serious debt to the tune of about €25,000 that she was prepared to admit. Michel and Charlotte were dismayed and baffled by this revelation and although they wanted to know how they could help, they insisted on full disclosure as to how Lydia had got into such a mess.

Lydia’s boyfriend Eric had not worked for over a year. Nevertheless, he had expensive tastes which he financed by dipping into their joint account to feed his Range Rover and gambling habit. Lydia knew that he had lived with other women in the past and had children by some of them. She thought it was possible that he was still seeing
other women and possibly had children by them too. She loved him and was prepared to do anything for him, but now felt she had reached the limit of her stamina for emotional punishment.

Whereas in the past, Michel might have leapt in with threats and bombast, he now asked Lydia coolly what she wanted to do. Lydia explained that she wanted to clear Eric out of her life once and for all. She would be happy to settle her debts and continue living in her apartment alone, within her own space, and really focus on her job as the outlet for her talents and energy. She wanted to be challenged and thought that once the distractions of her present lifestyle were out of the way she would seek more recognition at work and take on more responsibility. On hearing this, Michel agreed to settle her debts and wipe the slate, relieved that she had not succeeded in bringing two more children into the world.

About six months later, Michel was cruising across Paris on his motorbike when he realised he was approaching Lydia’s apartment. It was around dinner time, so he stopped to buy some food, intending to have a quiet
tète à tète
with his daughter, and walked to the entrance of the building with a carrier bag of goodies. It occurred to him suddenly that he should have announced his visit, so he called Lydia on his mobile.

A slightly dazed voice answered, “Where are you?”

“At the main door.”

“Christ, you don’t give me much notice!” The phone went dead. At that moment another resident came to the security door, dialled the code and Michel smiled, picked up his bag of food and walked in with her. He rang the doorbell at Lydia’s apartment and waited patiently. A long time passed without any movement, so he rang again. This time the door opened to reveal a ghost-like
figure with strands of dark hair hanging down across her face, wearing unbuttoned over-sized pyjamas and nothing on her feet. The place reeked of smoke that Michel recognised was not tobacco.

“What’s going on? Are you OK?” Lydia turned her back on him without greeting and he followed her into the small bedsit. Stretched out on the sofa/bed was Eric, in a daze. He was wearing a tee shirt and nothing else. Michel carefully put down his package of food on the galley worktop and turned to face Eric. Eric waved a hand limply. Michel took a deep breath and seized him by the shirt, lifted him up, thumped his head against the wall and was about to continue pounding this drone to pulp when Lydia intervened.

“Papa, stop! Let him go. Please.” Michel was breathing heavily. His head was spinning and he felt murderous. He grabbed Eric again, twisting the shirt, and dragged him unresisting towards the entrance door. He continued dragging him across the granite floored lobby, opened the front door and threw him out into the street where his body slapped limply against the wet paving. He sat in his nakedness, leaning against the outer wall of the building with his legs outstretched. It had started raining again and passers-by paid him no attention from under their umbrellas. Michel returned to Lydia and they sat for some time in silence before he regained his breath and composure. When he spoke, it was quietly and deliberately.

“Is this really what it was all about in the first place – drugs?”

Lydia said nothing, her vacant expression and rolling eyes said it all. Michel was faced with a serious problem. His daughter needed help and above all, supervision. In a normal family unit he would take her home where Mum would take care of her. What could he do now? He
decided that Charlotte’s apartment was the only option, so after phoning his wife, he went outside and stopped a taxi, planning to return later to collect his motorcycle. As he loaded Lydia, now wearing a dressing gown and trainers, into the car, Michel noticed that Eric had somehow crawled or been carried away.

When they arrived at Charlotte’s, the distraught mother put Lydia to bed, so the parents were able to discuss the situation privately for several hours. They would contact her employer and try to maintain her job. It was clear that Lydia would have to attend a detox clinic, and finally Michel must track down Eric and put the fear of god into him so that he never came near Lydia again. Michel felt he could call on some reliable contacts for that mission. Meanwhile he walked back to Lydia’s apartment, retrieved the take away dinner and his motorcycle and drove home feeling completely humiliated.

The next day, Michel called at Charlotte’s apartment in the late afternoon. As Lydia regained her wits, Michel insisted on knowing how her drug habit started, and who her supplier was. If it was Eric, he was determined that Eric would meet with a serious accident.

“Oh Papa,” Lydia began wearily, “don’t you know? Remember when I was a kid I used to do my school homework in your study at Maisons-Lafitte? One day I needed a stapler, so I opened a desk drawer and found a black draw-string bag. Sounds familiar?”

Michel felt as though the blood was slowly draining from his body.

“I used to take a handful and smoke it outside. Then, when I left home I used the same contacts as you.”

“Who were they?” Michel thought he knew the answer.

“Estelle’s friends, Zu and Ahmed. Ahmed has done well since those days when you used to finance him. He drives
around in a Porsche Cayenne now,” she laughed. “It’s his company car and he has it registered in Latvia, where the names of company directors are not recorded, so the French police can’t trace the driver of the car when he gets caught by a speed camera.” Despite Lydia’s apparent glee, Charlotte lowered her head slowly and put her hands up to her face. Michel felt a terrible pressure across his chest and his mouth was dry. He said no more, but left Lydia with Charlotte. He needed air, so he went for a long walk, winding his way through small groups of people on the wet pavements and crossing side roads as they were going out for the evening or taking their dog for a walk. He was unconscious of anything around him. He didn’t even notice that the rain had started again, because he was so deep in his own gloomy thoughts, but eventually he arrived back at his point of departure, Charlotte’s apartment building, where he had earlier left his motorcycle. His first instinctive thought was that he wanted to go back inside and be with Charlotte. He punched in the entry code and crossed the silent hall, but on reaching Charlotte’s front door he half raised a hand to the doorbell, paused and moved his hand to his top lip. He must have stood there for a minute, head hung, unmoving. Then he turned and slowly walked back to his motorcycle, distractedly wiped the glistening raindrops off the seat and windscreen with a gloved hand, put on his helmet, and without looking around, drove away on the shimmering wet street into the busy evening traffic, leaving a faint whiff of oil smoke in the still, damp air. A car alarm went off nearby, its doleful tone adding to Michel’s mournful mood.