The bodywork had been quivering under her feet and a cool wind had accompanied this exceptional, luminous Saturday. Patrick’s erection against her buttocks had been at once a shock and a relief – a confirmation. Jo didn’t see anything, too filled with wonder at the flamingoes in flight, the bulky beauty of the bulls, her senses in turmoil because of the smell of iodine as they approached the salt pans. They had carried on laughing, accomplices of the forbidden, carriers of a huge, silent secret. They knew. It was now just a matter of time and opportunity. Céline couldn’t care less if the age difference was a problem for Patrick, or the fact that she was his best friend’s daughter and only fifteen years old. In time, she would even realize that this side of things had made it more enticing. A very typical emotion, as if being desired by a man could turn all young girls into women. Make up for their naivety and their silly little-girl dreams. She’d arched her back slightly. She had nothing with which to compare the excitement that overwhelmed her at that moment. A combination of terror and absolute joy. It was new, it was a world.

On the beach, Patrick had behaved as usual, competing with corny jokes with his friend Manuel, holding Valérie, running after Jo or Céline to splash them, like an uncle playing at being an imaginary monster. Céline had even ended up doubting herself.

On their way back, he had sat behind the wheel of the 205. Valérie was scratching the sand from her ankles and trying to get Jo and Céline, silent and slumped on the back seat, to talk. Despite her efforts, she’d never managed to establish a very warm bond with them even when they were little.

At one point, Patrick had run over a coypu, killed the animal on the spot and stained the road with blood. The girls had screamed in disgust.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

“Right. My foot…”

“Perhaps, instead of your foot, you’d better start using your pussy a little more.”

Jo smiles in the night and thinks about Saïd’s naked chest, about the warmth in the bathroom, and the sickening smell of ether.

Her smile broadens and she hands the bottle to her sister – might as well.

“Don’t worry, it’ll happen.”

The Decorative Pond

The Decorative Pond

The guys whistle with admiration. Even Gypsy shows respect after seeing how much the work has progressed.

“Did you two do this?”

“Yeah, we stayed behind last night to get ahead,” Patrick explains. “We made the cast and laid the welded wire mesh.” “And the concrete?”

“We got here early this morning and poured it into the mould.”