“Have you been waiting long?”

“It’s OK, not too long.”

Charlotte plants three kisses on her old friend’s cheeks and collapses into a chair with a sigh. Her sunglasses overwhelm her face but when she takes them off, the make-up under them is perfect. Not too little or too much, in good taste. It’s because of this kind of detail that Séverine hates her. Bitch. Perfect bitch.

“You look amazing.”

“Don’t, I look like a vampire. Luckily, I’m staying with my parents for a few days, so I can recharge.”

Recharge with what? Séverine wonders. She can’t see anything except the green river Sorgue and the tourist-packed Sunday market. It’s where she lives, not a Zen retreat. Recharge, my ass. Talking about asses, Charlotte’s is still nice and firm and appreciated, judging from the owner, who affably makes a beeline for their table.

“What can I get you, girls?”

“White wine,” Charlotte commands. “Two.”

Séverine swallows, hating herself for saying nothing, but then who gives a shit? It’s always been like this, so why would it change?

Charlotte decides, Charlotte lays down the law so naturally that there’s no room to take offence or fight back. She’s won from the outset. She often did before, but since she left it’s got worse. You’d think she’d lose out on something, a point of reference or an advantage, but it’s actually the opposite that’s happened. She’s got ahead while the other two have stayed here, stuck on repeat like the track on the Tarantula. Whenever Charlotte returns it’s always as a tourist, always more or less single. For a time she lived with one of her university lecturers, then there were others, but they didn’t stick around for long.

Séverine listens as Charlotte tells her about her latest love affair, some guy she met in a live music café and who dances like a god. Men here don’t dance. They just stick to the bar and that’s it. Or, if they do, then it’s so they can rub themselves up against a woman rather than for the delight of moving, the solitary pleasure of a body spinning. That’s for women. Charlotte goes back to her adolescent body language as she takes small sips of her white wine, pulls faces and rolls her eyes. After a while, Charlotte finally asks about Séverine, who raises her voice and laughs loudly as she emphasizes her domestic happiness. She talks about her job and says a few things about her daughters. She’s not sure whether or not to mention Céline. Then Charlotte suddenly fixes her beautiful, perfectly made-up eyes on Séverine’s, narrows them slightly and leans forward the way she used to when she was about to confess a truth or share a secret. Slowly, almost deliberately, she gently shakes her head and tousles her fringe with her fingertips. “I don’t know how you do it: two teenage kids and twenty years with the same guy. Honestly, I couldn’t handle it.”

Something stirs inside Séverine, like a wave. Without letting go of her brilliantly untruthful smile, but with a slight tremor in her chesty laugh, she tells the bitch that she loves her life and wouldn’t swap it for anything in the world.