Happy People Read and Drink Coffee by Agnès Martin-Lugand Read Free Book Online Page A

you’d better apologize right now.”
    I could feel myself turning redder and redder with anger. He still didn’t deign to look up from his stupid paper.
    â€œThat’s enough!” I shouted, grabbing the newspaper from his hands.
    He took a drink of beer, put the pint down and sighed deeply. He clenched his fist so tightly that one of his veins stood out. He stood up and stared straight at me. I wondered if I hadn’t perhaps gone too far. He grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the counter and headed for the smoking area, a terrace out back. He shook a few people’s hands as he walked by without ever saying a word or even smiling.
    The door to the terrace slammed shut. I’d been holding my breath since he’d stood up. The whole pub was silent; the entire male population always met there and had all witnessed the scene. I slumped onto the nearest barstool. Someone had to teach him a lesson sometime or other. The bartender shrugged his shoulders and glanced over at me.
    â€œCan I have an espresso, please?” I asked.
    â€œWe ain’t got that here.”
    â€œYou don’t have any coffee?”
    â€œSure we do.”
    I’d have to work on my accent.
    â€œWell then, I’d like to have one, please.”
    He smiled and went into a corner of the bar. He put a mug down in front of me: it had filtered, watery coffee in it. So much for my idea of good coffee. I didn’t understand why the bartender was still standing in front of me.
    â€œAre you going to watch me drink it?”
    â€œI just want to get paid.”
    â€œDon’t worry. I intend to pay before I leave.”
    â€œHere we pay before we start drinking. The English idea of service.”
    â€œOK, OK.”
    I handed him the money and he gave me my change in a friendly way. Prepared to burn my mouth, I quickly drank my coffee and left. What a strange country: everyone was so nice and welcoming, with the exception of that brute Edward, but you had to pay for your drinks right away. In Paris, that charming bartender would have been put in his place before he knew it. Except that in France, the same bartender wouldn’t have been friendly, he wouldn’t have chatted to you, and as for cracking a smile, dream on.
    I’d gone back to my old ways. I didn’t get dressed anymore, ate whatever was around, whenever I felt like it. I slept for a good part of the day. If I couldn’t fall asleep, I stayed in bed watching the sky and the clouds, nice and warm under my duvet. I sat comatose in front of inane TV shows, which turned into silent movies when they were in Gaelic. I talked to Colin and Clara, staring at their photos. I was living as I had in our apartment, in Paris, but without Felix. And yet, the sense of comfort I desperately longed for remained out of reach. The heaviness in my heart did not diminish; I felt in no way liberated. I didn’t want to do anything, I couldn’t even cry any more. Time passed, and the days seemed to grow longer and longer.
    One morning, instead of staying in bed, I decided to bury myself in the large armchair that looked out onto the beach. After days of staring at the sky, I was going to amuse myself by watching the sea. I gathered together my stock of coffee and cigarettes, wrapped myself in a robe and shoved a cushion behind my head.
    The sound of barking broke through my haze. Edward and his dog were going out. It was the first time I’d seen my neighbor since the incident in the pub. He had a large bag over his shoulder. To see what he was doing better, I moved my armchair closer to the window. He was headed to the beach. His brown hair was even messier than before.
    He disappeared from sight when he went behind a rock. He reappeared half an hour later, put his bag down and started looking for something inside. I would have needed binoculars to know what he wasfiddling with. He crouched down; all I could see was his back. He stayed in the same