I did as he told me and accompanied him.

Outside it was calm and clear. We walked briskly, as if we were on our way to work the night shift somewhere.

When we got to the house I automatically stretched out my hand to ring the bell, but Oscar stopped me, asked if I’d lost my mind and quietly rattled the letter-box cover.

My niece, one of Oscar’s daughters, let us in. Inaudibly she closed the door behind us and told me to just go upstairs, which I did, following behind Oscar. I’d taken my hat off, something I didn’t usually do in Mother’s house.

My brother, my three sisters and Madame from upstairs all sat together in the kitchen, next to the room where she was no doubt lying in bed. Where else was she going to be?

An old nun, a cousin of ours, shuffled silently back and forth between the room in which my mother lay dying and the kitchen.

They all looked at me as if to reproach me for something, and one of them mumbled a word of welcome.

Should I stand up or sit down?

If I stood up, it would look as if I were ready to leave any minute. If I sat down, they’d think I’d resigned myself to the whole situation, including Mother’s state. But since they were all sitting down, I grabbed a chair too and sat myself down at a little distance, away from the glare of the lamp.

There was an unusual tension. Maybe because they’d stopped the clock?

It was hellishly hot in the kitchen. And then those women with their swollen eyelids – as if they’d been peeling onions.

I didn’t know what to say.

I couldn’t ask how Mother was, since everyone knew she was slipping her moorings.

Crying would have been best, but how to go about it? Suddenly let out a sob? Or take my handkerchief and dab my eyes, wet or not?

That wretched pale ale was only now beginning to take effect – I suppose because of the heat in the tiny kitchen – and I was breaking into a sweat.

In order to do something, I stood up.

“Why don’t you go and have a look?” said my brother, who is a doctor.

His voice sounded normal, not too loud, but clear enough for me to know one thing for sure: my nocturnal outing wouldn’t be in vain.

I followed his advice, as I was afraid I was going to be sick, what with the beer, the heat and the atmosphere in the kitchen. They might have blamed my nausea on my emotional state, but just imagine if I’d actually started to throw up.

It was cooler in there and almost entirely dark, which was a relief.