French Leave by Anna Gavalda

a whole string of little ones with big Mickey Mouse ears. We started counting how many people were arriving late, and cheered a choirboy who was streaking breathlessly across the square, tripping on his robe.
    When the bells had fallen silent and the locals had returned to their oilcloth-covered tables, Simon said, “I’d like to see Vincent.”
    â€œYou know, even if we call him now,” said Lola, picking up her bag, “by the time he gets here . . . ”
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    Just then a kid from the wedding party in flannel trousers and his hair parted on the side ran by. Simon called out to him.
    â€œHey kid, you want to win five rounds on the pinball machine?”
    â€œYeah!”
    â€œThen go back and sit through mass and come and get us at the end of the sermon.”
    â€œWill you give me the money right now?”
    Can you believe it. These kids nowadays are just too much.
    â€œHere you go, you little crook. And no cheating, okay? Come and get us?”
    â€œDo I have time for a round first?”
    â€œYeah, go on,” sighed Simon, “but then after that head straight for the organ.”
    â€œOkay.”
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    We sat on for a moment and then Simon said, “What if we go and see him?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œVincent, of course.”
    â€œBut when?” I asked.
    â€œNow.”
    â€œNow?”
    â€œYou mean: now?” echoed Lola.
    â€œAre you off your head? You want to take the car and go there now?”
    â€œMy dear Garance, I think you have just perfectly summed up what I mean to say.”
    â€œAre you crazy?” said Lola. “We can’t just get up and leave like that.”
    â€œWhy not?” (He was hunting around for change in his pocket.) “Right. Are you girls coming?”
    We didn’t react. He raised his arms to the sky: “We’re out of here, I said! Let’s go! Time to cut and run, make a break. Take French leave, as they say.”
    â€œAnd what about Carine?”
    He lowered his arms.
    He took a pen out of his jacket and turned the beer coaster over.
    We have gone to visit Vincent’s château. I leave Carine with you. Her things are in front of your car. Hugs.
    â€œHey, kid! There’s been a change of program. You don’t need to go back to mass, just give this to the lady in gray with a pink hat, her name is Maud. Got it?”
    The kid nodded.
    â€œHow you doing?”
    â€œTwo extra balls.”
    â€œRepeat what I just said to you.”
    â€œI write my name up on the honor roll and after that I give your beer coaster to a lady with a pink hat called Maud.”
    â€œKeep an eye out, and give it to her when she leaves the church.”
    â€œOkay, but it’ll cost you more . . . ”
    He chuckled to himself.

 
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    Y ou forgot to leave the vanity case.”
“Oops. Have to go back. She would never forgive me.”
    I left it out in full view on top of her bag and then we took off in a cloud of dust. As if we had just robbed a bank.
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    At first, no one dared say a thing. But there was this nervous, happy excitement all the same, and Simon looked in his rear view mirror every ten seconds.
    Maybe we thought we’d hear the sirens of a police car hot on our heels—compliments of Carine, rabid and foaming at the mouth. But no, not a sound. Dead calm.
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    Lola was sitting in front and I leaned forward on my elbows between the two of them. All waiting for someone to break the awkward silence.
    Simon switched on the radio; the Bee Gees were bleating, And we’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive. Ha ha ha ha . . . stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive . . .
    Well what do you know. It was too good to be true. It was a sign! The hand of God! (No. It was from Pattie to Danny to celebrate the anniversary of the day they met at the dance in Treignac in 1978, but we only found that out afterwards.) We all started wailing in unison, “HA HA