Blood Wedding Read Online Free Page A

Blood Wedding
Book: Blood Wedding Read Online Free
Author: Pierre Lemaitre
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items from her handbag, there is even a tampon in the pile. What must she look like? At the bar counter, the waiter is talking to two men. Regulars, she guesses. They are probably talking about her. They glance over at her. She cannot stay here. She has to leave. She quickly scoops up everything on the table, shoves it into her bag and runs for the door.
    “One euro ten!”
    She turns back, the three men are looking at her strangely. She fumbles in her bag, takes out two coins, sets them on the counter and leaves.
    The day is beautiful. Unthinkingly she notes the movement on the street, the strolling pedestrians, the passing cars, the roaring motorcycles. Walk. Keep walking and think. This time, the image of Léo is very precise. She can picture every tiny detail. It was not a dream. The boy is dead and she is on the run.
    Thecleaner will arrive at noon. There is no reason for anyone to be in the apartment before midday. But at that point, the child’s body will be discovered.
    So she has to get away. She must be vigilant. Danger could come from anywhere, at any moment. She cannot stand still, she has to keep moving, to keep walking. Collect her belongings and get away before they find her. Get away until she has had time to think. To understand. When she is calmer, she will be able to figure things out. Then she can come back and explain. Right now, she has to go. But where to?
    She stops dead. Somebody bumps into her from behind. She stammers an apology. She is in the middle of the pavement, she looks around. There are a lot of people on the boulevard. The sun is sweltering. Life loses a little of its madness.
    There is the florist, the furniture shop. She needs to move swiftly. She catches sight of a clock in the furniture shop: 11.35. She rushes into the entrance of her building, hunts for her keys. There are letters in her mailbox. No time to waste. Third floor. More keys, first the mortice lock, then the Yale. Her hands are trembling, she sets down her handbag, it takes her two attempts, she tries to calm her breathing, the second key turns, the door swings open.
    She stands on the threshold, the door yawning wide: at no point did it occur to her she might have miscalculated. That the police might already be waiting for her. The hallway is silent. The familiar light from her apartment falls at her feet. She stands there petrified, but all she can hear is the beating of her heart. Suddenly she flinches, a key turns in another door. Along the landing on the right. Her neighbour. Without thinking, she hurries into her apartment. The door slams behind her before she has time to catch it. She freezes and listens intently. The empty silence, sooften depressing, is reassuring now. She moves slowly about the only room. One eye on her alarm clock: 11.40. More or less. Her alarm has never been exactly accurate. But is it slow or fast? She seems to remember it runs fast. But she is not certain.
    Everything happens at once. She pulls a suitcase from the wardrobe, opens the dresser drawers, stuffs clothes higgledy-piggledy into the case, then runs to the bathroom, sweeps her arm along the shelf and everything tumbles into a sponge-bag. A glance around. Her papers. She runs to the desk: passport, money. How much does she have? 200 euros. Her cheque book! Where is the damn chequebook? In my handbag. She makes sure. Another quick look around. Jacket. Handbag. The photos! She retraces her steps, opens the top drawer of the writing desk, snatches up the album. Her eyes fall on the framed wedding photograph on top of the dresser. She grabs it, tosses it into the suitcase and snaps it shut.
    Frazzled, she presses her ear to the door. Once again the only sound is that of her heart beating. She presses both hands flat against the door. Concentrate. Still she can hear nothing. She grips the handle of the suitcase, throws the door wide: there is no-one on the landing. She shuts the door behind her, not bothering to lock it. She races down the
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