Her mother didn’t give her a choice this morning: the shopping chore, and Céline didn’t dare refuse – at the moment she’s trying to be positive, would like to send everybody to hell and yet also longs for a hug that would allow her to go back to being a child. And so mother and daughter are criss-crossing the Intermarché, each with a wheeled trolley and part of the list in her head. When she sees the teacher a few feet away, shopping trolley full, thin body and large chest resting on the handle, short-sighted eyes peering at the health-food shelf, Céline speeds up to find her mother, as if she could protect her from the old nutcase. As if her mother had ever protected her from anything at all. She skedaddles, hoping the old woman hasn’t seen her, but she’s already waving and forcing her limp, condescending presence on her.

“Céline!”

The girl reluctantly turns around.

Squashing her chest against the shopping trolley to move forward, the old woman moves quickly enough to come level with Céline, who doesn’t react and declines a handshake and an unwelcome kiss.

“So, darling, how are you? I heard about…”

Her smile is hungry for new information, her eyes glued to the girl’s belly. Céline wonders how the old bitch found out. She curses the indiscretion and speedy effect of inappropriate chatter, resolves not to tell her anything, not let anything on about what she’s feeling. She manages it quite well at the beginning, with her perennial insolent pout verging on a smile, her glorious mascara and dark eyelids.

The retired teacher studies her former pupil, now grown up, a woman, but still a bad sort, she thinks. “Are you pleased?”

Céline can’t help frowning slightly with an expression of incomprehension, so the teacher lets out a self-conscious little laugh, suddenly aware of her futile question. “I mean, is everything going well?”

Céline shrugs. She hesitates for a second, looks at the old woman intently and remembers her childhood, so recent. She doesn’t reply.

Despite the girl’s silence, the woman’s gaze slides to her trolley and assesses inquisitively the choice of goods, then travels back to her belly. Céline thinks about the little thing inside her.

“What are you going to do afterwards?”

Coming from the teacher’s mouth, it doesn’t sound like when Jo said it. Céline shrugs again, still says nothing.

“And the father?”