The policeman listens to Séverine’s remarks. He probably finds her attractive and sympathizes with her concerns; he, too, has a daughter and he wouldn’t want her to —

“What was the nature of your relationship with him?” the second policeman suddenly asks Jo and Céline, interrupting their mother’s babbling laced with everyday racism.

“We’ve been friends since school,” Jo replies. “Me more than Céline.”

Céline nods, backing her sister’s statement. “Yes, I like him, but he’s particularly into Jo.”

“You’re such a bitch.”

“What? It’s true, Saïd’s been in love with you for years. The guy would do anything for you, drives his car six miles to do you a favour, always at your beck and call whenever you need him. I can’t think of many people who’d do that.”

Now this seems to interest the police, and they immediately turn to Jo. “Mademoiselle, has he given you presents?”

She laughs, embarrassed by the Mademoiselle. “Not many, he hasn’t got much money. But when we were little, he made me things. Mangas he’d draw himself and staple in the middle.” She makes a gesture with her hands, mimicking a book with pages you can turn, and stops.

“What do you do with him?”

“What do you mean?”

The one who started this doesn’t take his eyes off Johanna but doesn’t go into detail, while the other one looks embarrassed – maybe he’s putting it on to reassure the parents.

“Well, we go to the river, we hang out. I mean, this year we haven’t been to the river, he was working too hard, doing stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“I don’t know, working, seeing his mates, usual stuff. Besides, I haven’t been around much.”

“Where have you been?”

“In Avignon, at the festival. But he drove me there when I needed it and came to pick me up. When I had difficulty with buses.” She smiles at her sister. It’s true that Saïd’s reliable.

Séverine intervenes. “Wait, what’s all these questions? My daughters haven’t done anything. You’re interrogating them as if they’ve done something wrong.”

“Not at all, they haven’t done anything wrong. We’re just trying to get a clearer picture.”

His colleague smiles at Manuel, seeking an ally.

Manuel can’t understand how things could have escaped him to this point. He feels a void inside, as painful as a fall from a great height. He goes to fetch a beer from the fridge, offers one to the policemen, who decline with a gesture. Séverine, however, demands a beer.

“Are you a little more than friends … Johanna?” the first policeman insists.

“What’s the difference?”

Jo stands up, tense. She’s sorry for having given away a piece of her friend, and has the impression everything she says will be soiled and turned into something else.