Patrick laughs, plants a kiss on Séverine’s temple; she barely lifts her head so she doesn’t miss a detail of her programme – girls dancing on a stage and then getting insulted by their coach. One of them is crying in her dressing room and you can see her sniffing in close-up, lipstick spread over her wet cheek.

Over the years, Patrick has seen her dressed even worse, so a pair of leggings and a sleeveless top aren’t exactly going to give him a heart attack.

“Where’s Valérie?” Séverine asks.

“At home, but she’ll join us, if that’s OK.”

“Of course she can come for a drink; I’ve also got some leftovers.”

A beer in his hand, Manuel comes to stand right in the middle of the living room. “We have to be up early tomorrow.”

Patrick is in the process of texting his wife to tell her to join them. “Don’t worry, we’re not about to camp here all night…”

Séverine rolls her eyes, creating a complicity with Patrick against her husband, such a square. “Did you buy the beer just for yourself?”

“Be my guest.”

Patrick sniggers and goes to fetch two beers, one for himself and one for the wife of his mate, the great lord. Picking off bits of silicone stuck to his fingers, Manuel asks if the girls are back.

“Céline’s in her room.”

“What about Jo?”

“Not yet. She’s hanging around with a new friend and spends her time in Avignon.”

“A new friend?” Patrick, who’s known the girls since before they existed, asks.

Séverine turns her head towards him – the dancers on the screen are tackling a routine, dressed like Texan whores. “Yeah, a new friend who goes to the Lycée Saint-Joseph.”

The two of them snigger. Not Manuel. “You find that funny?”

“Well, yeah. What’s with you and the long face? Can’t we relax a little?”

“I’d also send the child to Saint-Joseph, if I could.”

“Stop that bullshit. She’ll do very well at Cavaillon,” Séverine says sharply.

“So she ends up like her sister?”

“I don’t see the connection,” Séverine replies, more harshly.

“You don’t?”

“You think posh girls don’t get knocked up?”

Patrick goes to the door while drinking his beer. He pretends to be looking out for Valérie and walks through the plastic curtain as if on his way to meet her. In actual fact, he strolls a few feet and looks at the Luberon river, which is turning orange at this time of day. But he can still hear their voices.

“I don’t know, perhaps they realize it sooner.”

“Can we just not talk about it for one evening? Do you think that’s possible?”