5

An hour later, there weren’t quite so many people in the gallery’s various rooms. I was looking at a photograph when I heard Marie’s voice behind me. Just like our first time. I loved this echo so much that I turned around slowly. But when I saw her, she was standing next to a man.

‘You still like it?’

‘Yes … yes …’

‘I wanted to introduce you to Marc.’

‘Hello …’

‘Hello …’

We shook hands, and Marc said he had a call to make, then left us alone.

‘Who’s that?’ I asked.

‘I didn’t want to tell you by text, but I met Marc a few months ago.’

‘Are you happy?’ I managed to ask.

‘Yes. We’ve moved in together.’

‘Already?’

‘It all happened very quickly, and …’

‘And what? You’re pregnant?’

‘Yes.’

‘…’

‘I didn’t know how to tell you.’

‘So now I understand why the exhibition’s called Happiness.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Well, congratulations. I hope you’ll be very happy,’ I said, trying desperately to conceal my true feelings.

‘Anyway, I’m really glad you came.’

‘That’s okay. I couldn’t miss this. But I should be going now.’

‘You don’t want to stay for a drink?’

‘No, I’m feeling a bit jet-lagged.’

‘Oh yeah … your story of the grandmother. I can’t wait to hear how that ends!’

We hugged goodbye, and I left the gallery.

Outside on the street, I read the title of the exhibition one last time:

HAPPINESS

6

I would have preferred a different ending for my book, but that’s life. I felt stupid for having believed my own fantasies. I walked home through the night, and for an instant I thought about calling Valérie and telling her what had happened. But there wasn’t much to say, really. I’d written a novel in my head. Marie and I had exchanged a few friendly text messages, and she’d told me it would make her happy if I could attend her private view. All perfectly pleasant. And that was all. But I had dreamed up a whole new chapter between us. Perhaps that meant I was capable of writing fiction again after all.