The Red Notebook Read Free

and attract attention. He was carrying something that wasn’t his, that had no business being on his shoulder. Another woman had looked down at the bag then back up at Laurent.
    As he made his way up the boulevard, his discomfort increased. He felt as if everyone he passed was covertly watching him, having instantly grasped what was wrong with the image: a man with a woman’s bag. A mauve one. He would never have imagined that walking about with it would be such an uncomfortable experience. Yet he remembered how sometimes Claire had given him her bag while she went back up to the flat to get her cigarettes or went to the loo in a café. So he had found himself on the street holding a woman’s handbag. He remembered that he had felt a sort of amused embarrassment but it had never lasted long. Claire would immediately reappear and reclaim her bag. On those rare occasions, Laurent saw that there were women who noticed that the bag belonged to a female, but he had never seen any suspicion in their glances, just amusement. He was obviously a man waiting for his wife. It was as evident as if he had been wearing a sandwich board reading ‘My wife will be back shortly’.
    A group of girls in jeans and Converse parted to let him pass and he heard a giggle followed by them all laughing. Were they laughing at him? He preferred not to know. Having attracted suspicion was he now a figure of fun? He crossed over and made his way to the police station through the back streets.

     
     
    The waiting area had putty-coloured walls and a frosted-glass window with no handle. This space with its plastic chairs, Formica table and two offices with their doors wide open, where the public came to report the theft of personal belongings, seemed to be no more than a sort of limbo for missing handbags. Five women of various ages sat in silence. In one of the offices, an old woman with a walking stick and a plaster above her eye was sobbing as she recounted the theft of hers. The man with white hair who was with her didn’t know where to look. Laurent found himself in one of those purgatorial places one hopes never to have to enter – accident and emergency, customs offices at airports, rehabilitation centres … The kinds of places you pass thinking you are better off outside, even if it’s raining.
    ‘Anyway, our bags will never turn up,’ said a small dark woman who was reading Voici .
    A young sergeant appeared, carrying several photocopied sheets.
    ‘Excuse me,’ Laurent said to him. ‘I’ve come to hand in a bag.’
    The five waiting women looked up.
    ‘You’ll have to speak to one of my colleagues, Monsieur,’ the sergeant replied hastily, indicating one of the offices.
    A stocky man with a shaved head and little sunken eyes got up to show a woman out. He glanced at Laurent, who held out the mauve handbag.
    ‘I’ve come to hand in a bag that I found in the street.’
    ‘That’s a fine act of citizenship,’ replied the man. He spoke in a powerful voice, adding, ‘Come and see this, Amélie.’
    A plump little blonde woman came out of the same office and went over to them.
    ‘I told this gentleman that he’s performed a fine act of citizenship’ – he seemed pleased with his expression – ‘he’s brought us a handbag.’
    ‘I agree. Well done, Monsieur,’ responded Amélie.
    Laurent felt that the young policewoman approved of a man who would take the time to hand in a woman’s bag.
    ‘As you can see,’ the powerful voice went on, this time with a hint of weariness, ‘these ladies are waiting. I’ll be with you in, let’s say …’ looking at his watch, ‘about an hour?’
    ‘At least an hour,’ corrected Amélie softly.
    Her colleague nodded his agreement.
    ‘Perhaps I’ll come back tomorrow morning,’ suggested Laurent.
    ‘If you like – our offices are open from nine-thirty to one o’clock, and from two o’clock until seven,’ the man said.
    ‘Or you could go to the lost property office,