“At your home would be good, perhaps.”

Séverine is visibly swelling with anger but Manuel puts a hand on her shoulder to appease her. He knows social services because he also remembers Patrick’s mother, and it’s people like this woman who helped his friend, a long time ago. He knows they can be effective, sometimes even nice, but when they get the bit between their teeth… The law is on their side. So better not rub the social worker the wrong way, he knows that. Manuel isn’t as much of a moron as Séverine might think.

The woman gathers her hair and twists it at the back of her neck, a gesture that makes her look younger than she is. “I’ll call you next week.”

After she leaves and the door closes on her and her unbearable calm, they’re left behind, the four of them, for the first time in ages. Séverine is still angry – it postpones the unease and the moment when they will talk about what happens next. Moreover, it binds them closer together, having a common enemy. Even Jo, who dreams of running away, can’t stand other people criticizing her family. Only she has the right to think they’re total idiots, brutal or insane. Besides, she’s never wanted to have a different family, just not to have one any more, and above all not to owe them anything. But she doesn’t like it when a stranger comes to stick her nose in their business, it doesn’t suit her. They don’t need anything or anybody.

Séverine finally shuts up, squeezes the armrests of her chair with rage, and can’t make up her mind whether to put her anger and the responsibility for the situation on her husband or her eldest daughter.

In the silence of her mother’s hesitation, and since nobody has yet thought to ask, Céline announces, “Her name’s Jolene.”

Séverine then smiles. “Like the song?”

“Which song?” Manuel asks, but no one enlightens him.

Mother and daughter look at each other, assessing each other outside their conflict zone for a moment.

“Yes, like the song,” Céline replies to her mother.

The Summer She Was Fifteen

The Summer She Was Fifteen