Queen of the Trailer Park (Rosie Maldonne's World Book 1) (13 page)

35

I was stuck. I’d really made him mad. How was I going to get things back on track?

“OK, wait, stop.”

He continued sulking and whispered, “Whenever you’re ready, we’re out of here.”

“No, look, let’s talk, it’s cool. We’re getting to know each other better and we’re not in a public place. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

He relaxed a little. I pointed toward a door. “Is that the bedroom?”

“Why do you want to know that?”

“Because, we’re talking, we’re getting to know each other. I want to know everything about you.” I spoke with an ironic tone to my voice. I love the whole sarcasm deal.

“Do you want the guided tour? Looking to buy the place?” he asked, the same tone in his own voice. He opened the door and announced, “The guest room.”

He showed me inside. It was painted yellow and orange. Apart from the colors, it looked like a gym. There was a bench, some dumbbells, and a stretching bar. Captivating stuff. In the corner, there was a laptop computer sitting on a small table. Papers strewn across a shelf. On the wall, a corkboard to which he’d pinned photos, documents, business cards, articles. There was a sofa bed in another corner. Maybe this was why he’d given it the pompous title of “guest room.”

He continued the tour, opening another door. “The main bedroom.”

The colors were less bright in here. Gray and blue tones. It was messy. It all looked pretty average. He closed the door and turned to face me. “Are we leaving now?”

He took me back to the hotel, looking downcast. When I wanted to kiss him good-bye, because I was starting to regret my awful behavior and hoped I hadn’t totally blown it, he pushed me away. I went inside, shrugging as I walked away.

I was right. Who did this guy think he was? What, he couldn’t even read the papers or go to the movies? He’d played me. Trying to hook up with me like we were in a Woody Allen film or something. Shit. I was so lame. I needed a straightforward man in my life. Someone like me. You wanted it? Yes. You didn’t want it? No. That was it. No mind games.

My latest conquests included an old eccentric and a young nervous wreck.

I was spoiled for choice.

When I entered the suite, everyone was sleeping. I didn’t have the heart to wake Mimi. She was snoring loudly. There was an opened bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand.

I fed Pastis. Then I settled down on the couch in my room and wrapped myself up in some spare blankets I’d found in the closet.

Pastis immediately jumped up onto my belly and began purring. I think seeing me on a couch reminded him of being back home in our trailer.

I couldn’t get to sleep. All the events of the last few days were running through my mind.

I imagined being in poor Véro’s shoes. How do you survive when your child goes missing? How do you stop yourself from giving up? I wondered whether it was even possible. I thought about that Alexandre/Luc guy. Was it him? Had he taken Pierre? If so, why? And why did Michel think Véro was to blame for it all? Had she really abandoned Pierre on the sidewalk?

As soon as this thought struck me, a wave of shame crashed over me.

How could I even think that of my best friend?

But the feeling of doubt stayed with me. I started adding up a whole load of little signs that might prove that Véro had lost it.

But I ended up laughing it off. If someone were to do the same for me, they could list a heap of signs to prove I was nuttier than Véro. It would be easy as pie to find them. I often acted weird.

No. Véro hadn’t lost it. She was a courageous woman in her own way. Even though it wasn’t her most obvious quality. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d wanted to nurture her, to help her. She was so pretty, so fragile, so vulnerable.

I regretted not having made that bastard Michel talk for longer. I’d treated him as if he were a liar without a second thought, but maybe some of what he’d said had been true.

Just as I thought I’d maybe go find him and force some more info out of him, I remembered I’d whacked him with the pan and that right now, he’d be a pile of dust, lying among the fragments of my old trailer.

Before finally dropping off, I decided that I’d head down to the trailer with the tots the next day. Then I thought how terrible it would be for little Simon to see his father in that state. What a stupid idea.

I fell asleep with no clue what to do.

Saturday: Room Service

36

The chickies must have gone to bed late, because they didn’t wake up until around eight. For them, that counts as sleeping in. The twins came over and sat on my head to say hello. I opened my eyes and noticed that Mimi had already left.

I was still feeling the effects of my most recent dream. Unbelievable. Despite my worries, the anguish I was feeling over my missing friend, the danger I was in with those crooks who were after my money, I was still having steamy dreams. Ooh la la.

The sexy antics from the night before last had continued to play in my subconscious, but this time there was an extra character: the foxy lady from city hall. No question that she had a certain charm about her . . . Let’s leave it at that.

That morning, my mother sent me some Phil Collins: “Another Day in Paradise.”

It had been with me since waking up. Did my mom know what I’d been dreaming about? I could feel my face getting hot.

It was screwy. I must have been feeling really frustrated, that’s all I could say. I couldn’t even meet someone new without handing them a starring role in my fantasies. And I wasn’t even separating them. They were all piled in there together.

Usually of course, I was crystal pure. No, that’s not the right expression. Clear as crystal. Crystal clear. (I can’t say as pure as the Virgin Mary because that would be going a step too far, that’s for sure.)

I had to put the dream and the song in the back of my mind as the children were jostling me around, kissing me, and squashing my nose.

I climbed into the big bed and all four nippers piled in with me. I called room service and ordered up a massive breakfast for everyone, including two pots of coffee for me.

It was unreal, being able to give orders like that. I could just relax and make the most of hanging out with the kiddies rather than having to get up and make breakfast for everyone. Just have fun with them. While we were waiting for our vittles, I changed the twins’ diapers, and after they bugged me a while, I told them a scary story about a witch who liked to eat children.

Sabrina and Simon helped me out with the storytelling. The twins listened, their eyes round, horrified, and greedy for more. They didn’t move a muscle.

Simon added a couple of his own strange details. An ogre who was walking around the kitchen, bawling his eyes out.

Ogre?

“But why wath the ogre cwying?” asked Sabrina, puzzled.

“Be . . . be . . . be . . . cause,” Simon said. “Not his fault . . . the Lord . . . mommy ogre, munch munch baby!”

A shiver went down my spine.

“How do you know the ogre said that, Simon?”

“Be . . . be . . . be . . . cause me, I was there,” replied Simon breathlessly.

“Where?”

“House. Me, under table.”

“Lucky the ogre didn’t see you then!” I said.

Sabrina seemed impressed with Simon’s drama. I was alarmed.

“The ogres said sorry . . . they was crying. Mommy ogre, the Lord munch munch baby.”

“Who’th mommy ogre?” asked Sabrina.

“The Lord . . .” said Simon.

He clammed up again. He didn’t want to answer any more questions. I’d never heard him say so much all in one go.

To distract him, I played the role of the witch. I let out a loud holler and threw myself at the first kid I could catch, tickling them like crazy. They all shrieked, letting out giggles at the same time. There was a knock at the door. Room service.

We all sat eating on the giant bed for quite a while. It was like a party.

After breakfast, I put them all in the tub together and then let them watch TV while I fixed Sabrina’s hair. It’s so long and straggly. The only solution was to throw them all in front of the box while I untangled it.

By the time we’d finished, it was already midday. Time to eat again. I was getting tired of not having a kitchen of my own, of having to schlep the kids to different places to eat all the time.

We all went to a pizzeria. The babas were a tad grouchy. They were tired of restaurants too. They had to be on their best behavior, not goof around, be polite—well, as much as they could, anyway. It was starting to get them down.

“Mommy, when are we going home?”

“Monday, when you come home from school, you’ll see our new trailer for the first time. It’s huge. We’ve got two rooms just for you kids. There are at least three bunks in each one, and I have a big bed in my own room.”

“Yeah! Let’th go now! Let’th go now! Let’th go now!”

“Not before Monday.”

“We want to go now!”

Even Simon was joining in.

As we left the pizzeria, we all turned naturally in the direction of the old train station.

We played on the grass at first. Luckily it was great weather. When they were all absorbed in their games, I discreetly slipped inside my trailer. I had to check out whether or not I’d actually gone and killed that schmuck. I breathed a huge sigh of relief: Michel’s body wasn’t there. Nobody was there. No body lying on the ground, just the remnants of my furniture.

I jumped suddenly, hearing a noise come from the cubbies’ room.

37

Was it really coming from the bedroom?

I approached the door and opened it slightly. There he was. Slumped at the end of the bunk bed. Michel.

“What are you still doing here?”

“Oh! It’s you. I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“You know the cops are looking for me?”

“They just want a statement from you. You should go see them.”

“Don’t start all that again, Cricri, or I’ll bust you up big time.”

“Do you think I’m scared of you, Michel? What’s wrong with you? Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s my fault,” he murmured, his voice trembling. Then he started to blubber.

“Oh, shit, Michel! Stop with the waterworks. That won’t help. Tell me what you know.”

“It’s my fault. I was the one who didn’t watch over him. Guilty but not responsible. That’s what that guy said . . .”

“So why is it your fault?”

“If I’d been given custody of the children, none of this would ever have happened. I’m such an idiot. I never get anything right. I even lost my own kids. It’s just not fair. I love my kids. They’re my babies!”

“Why did you beat on them, then? And their mother? Every time you came home drunk?”

“I’m warning you. If you’ve come looking for trouble, you’re going to find it with me!”

“Oh, stop messing with me. If you don’t want to tell me anything, it means you’ve got nothing to say.”

“I could tell she wasn’t her normal self. Her eyes were all red. She seemed confused. When I got down to talking about custody, she didn’t react like she normally does. She threw the stroller onto the sidewalk and walked off, saying, ‘You want him? Take him! At least you’re his father!’”

“What does that even mean? What did she mean by ‘at least’?”

“I thought it was a weird thing to say too. I even asked her, ‘What’s all this
at least I’m his father
talk?’ It’s not the sort of thing you go around saying. I’m glad I’m the father! It’s normal that a father would want to see his kid.”

“How long did this all go on for?”

“I don’t even know. I caught up with her. She was losing it. She asked me if I’d seen some guy called Alex. Said she absolutely had to talk to him. Do you know this Alex?”

“It’s her new honey.”

“Oh, she has a new boyfriend, does she?”

He was quiet for a few seconds, then continued. “At one point, she stopped walking and just stood there, staring at me, as if she didn’t know who I was.” He paused again. “Cricri, you know, don’t you? That Véro’s being treated?”

“Treated? By who? What does that mean?”

“So you didn’t know? Right. She didn’t want to tell anyone. See, when she was a teen, she went through a major bout of depression. It was pretty serious, suicide attempts and everything. She was admitted to a psych ward for a while. Anyway, she got out of there, but she still had to go through the treatment. She had to take meds . . .”

I could hear Simon and Sabrina calling me. They wanted me to help them climb down from a tree. When he heard Simon’s voice, Michel lost it completely.

“Is Simon here?”

“Yes, but I don’t want you to see him. Not in this state. Not now.”

“He’s my son. I have every right to see him.”

“Have you taken a look at your face? You’ll scare him half to death.”

He continued to repeat himself. “He’s my son. You don’t have the right.”

In the end, I thought maybe he had a point. I told him to go shave, clean himself up a little, and we’d be waiting for him outside. I added that I didn’t want him scaring the crap out of Simon. This kid already had nightmares every time he went to sleep, and it would just make things worse.

He accepted my conditions, and I played outside with the cubbies while he washed up.

After some time, he came out of the trailer. When Simon first saw him, he took a step back. He then made his way toward his daddy and threw himself into Michel’s arms.

“Daddy! Are you staying?”

I was the one who answered. “No, your daddy just came for a short visit. He wanted to say hi.”

“And Mommy?”

“She’ll be back soon,” said his father, his voice faltering.

I gave him a dirty look. He needed to get a grip, get a hold of himself. Simon’s cheeks reddened. He wrinkled up his face and whispered, “You save Mommy!”

“You don’t have to worry,” replied Michel, his voice stronger now. “Daddy’s here.”

Right in front of our astonished eyes, Simon went ahead and treated us all to the longest speech of his little life.

“Yes, I am worried,” he said. “There’s an ogre. He wants to take her. Lord munch munch baby.”

But his father wasn’t paying attention to the meaning of the words. He squeezed the boy tight without speaking. I intervened. I could see it was all about to get out of control.

“It’s better if you leave, Michel. Go to the cops and give your statement or go home. Somebody will be dropping by on Monday to pick up my trailer.”

We went our separate ways. I watched him walk away, weary.

The babies and I headed off to the playground at McDonald’s.