Love on Notes

1

Dr Ramon even went to fetch my Arthur umbrella. I was worried because nobody would want it because of its sentimental value — you have to love it.

The Life Before Us, Romain Gary

And these were the last words of a fourteen-year-old boy who had just lost his guardian. Romain Gary had this talent for writing the truth so purely that it became poignant. I took a long breath, closed my eyes, and reread the last sentence of this masterpiece before closing it.

Comfortably sat in my armchair, I put the novel on my lap and looked around my living room. I smiled when I saw how tidy it was. I had my manic side to thank for such satisfaction. I'd been lucky enough to find a flat that I really liked, quite spacious but cosy, right in the centre of Lille, and at a reasonable rent. I was paying half the usual price for an accommodation of this type. The owners were an old couple with no financial worries, quite the opposite in fact. They rented their flat to me because it was collecting dust as their office residence. They weren't interested in money and were looking for someone who wouldn't damage their property. I fell in love with it because of its enormous living room and well-appointed bedroom. My job as a writer for a women's magazine meant that I could work from home at my leisure. I spend most of my time here, so I took great care with the decor.

Suddenly realising that it was almost midday, I quickly changed my clothes to go for my Friday jog, in a rather cool breeze for September. As I gradually made my way along the route, I nodded to all the regulars I passed by. Regimented as I was, I'd see the same people buying their lunch from the stall at the bottom of my block of flats and the same people crossing the park near my house to have lunch in the same bistro on their lunch break. Some people think it's bad to constantly want to be in control of your life with such a routine, but in my opinion it's much more productive and prevents distractions. It's a simple question of time management.

After a good hour of feeling a deliciously soft wind caress my hair, I went home to shower and make myself something to eat. As I put Frank Ocean's Moon River on my speaker, I sat down, a salad in hand, at my kitchen counter and started working on a new article for the women's section: Yoni eggs.

As I was going through my information sheet, I received a call from Charlie, my eldest brother by four years.

— Hi Liz, he said loud enough to be heard over the din of the people around him.

I was delighted.

— Hey Charlie! How are you?
— I'm fine, how are you?
— Yeah I'm good thanks. Where are you now?
— I'm at the station! he shouted as I heard the squeal of a train approaching.

He seemed to take a deep breath before continuing:

— I'm calling to tell you that Mum is sick.
— What do you mean "sick"?

Frightened, I gently put down my fork and started pacing in my living room while I waited for Charlie's reply.

— Don't worry, Lizzy, she's just got a cold, but she's been in bed for three days.
— Three days! I exclaimed, raising my left hand in shock that I hadn't been informed sooner. So it's more serious than that if she's stayed in bed even though she hates it.
— Well, I think she's got the blues too, and as you know, she enters depressive episodes sometimes. But don't worry, she's fine.

Even if it meant that she wasn't at her best emotionally, I was relieved not to have to worry about her physical health. She was regularly on emotional rollercoasters.

— Should I go and see her?
— No, Lizzy, stay in Lille. And don't worry, Harry's going tomorrow and he'll look after her. You know him when it comes to Mum.