But when Jo finally comes back up and walks into the room with an armful of cans, she’s not alone. A woman is with her, a woman who gives at once an impression of great weariness and great kindness. Ageless but attractive, a smile trying to be reassuring, her loose neckline falls over her shoulders and gives you the urge to nestle in its softness, in a wool you feel like touching. Her leather shoulder satchel makes her look like a student despite the grey hair among the brown on both sides of her face. While Jo hands out the cans, the woman shakes Céline’s hand, then those of her parents. She says she’s a social worker, that she has been notified by the school nurse, that she had been planning to contact them sooner but had had too much work. She says she was informed of the birth by the doctor from the Mother and Baby Council. She says she’s pleased to meet them all. She says they’re going to get to know one another but also do an assessment. Her voice is deep, a smoker’s voice with a cheerful tone.

“What kind of assessment?” Séverine asks, far from pleasantly. Not at all pleased to meet her.

“An assessment of the situation.”

“What situation?”

“Your daughter, and you.”

“We didn’t call you.”

“I know you didn’t. I work for children’s social services and when such a young teenager gets pregnant, it’s part of my job to investigate. Especially since the first report was made as a result of a beating.”

Her speech is very polished, and she delivers it with warmth and detachment; this woman is the epitome of ambivalence. You want to push her away and be liked by her.

“Well, OK, but she’s not exactly a battered child either,” Séverine says, indignant.

“I don’t know. It’s my job to determine that, Madame.”

“We’ve nothing to say to you,” Manuel grunts.

“We don’t need anybody,” Séverine insists.

The social worker approaches Céline. “Was the birth all right?”

The girl nods.

“Are you planning to go back to the lycée, afterwards?”

“No.”

“It’s none of your business!” Séverine shouts. “Why are you asking her this?”

“Because it’s my job.”

Séverine loses her sense of proportion and raises her voice a notch. “You know what your job is, bitch? It’s a shitty job! Sticking your nose in other people’s lives… You think you’re better than us?”

The social worker gives a little sigh, she’s heard this a thousand times. The change in tone, the aggressive name-calling. “That’s not the issue, Madame.”

“Oh, really?”

“I came to meet you, but I’m going to leave you all together for a moment.”

“That’s right, leave us alone.”

“I’ll call you to make another appointment.”

“Get out, fuck off!”