It’s a large townhouse, higher than the rest and divided into apartments. Monique and Nicole are on the top floor. Usually, when we go to fetch them, we run up the four flights of stairs, and our footsteps resonate all through the staircase. Before we get to the top, under the glass roof, Monique and Nicole have come out and we can all barrel down the stairs immediately. But this Thursday morning, when Coralie and I get to the fourth floor, only Monique is out on the landing. “Can you wait?” she says. “Nicole isn’t dressed. Two buttons are missing from her blouse, Mother needs to sew them on. Or tell me where you’re going, we’ll join you soon.” Now her mother comes out too, holding a needle and thread. Her eyes look tired behind thick round glasses. “Come in,” she says, “I won’t be a moment, come into the kitchen and sit down. Would you like some coffee?” Coffee? For us? Monique has been loitering on the landing, but now she follows us into the kitchen, takes out three glasses, fills them with water from the tap, and sets them on the table.
