Her buttocks against the sink, she slides her hand to her sex without removing her pants: a pretence – the fabric barrier against her hand gives her a sense of innocence, of being secretive with herself. Lips swollen and moistened by the to-ing and fro-ing of her fingers, she thinks about the couple downstairs. And a little bit about Saïd. Jo arches her back and clenches her legs at the same time, and breathes deeply but without moaning – she knows the art of concealment. Sharing a room with her sister for fifteen years, she’s had to learn to be discreet. Fifteen years of not having a place to herself, of hearing everything through walls as thin as cardboard, fifteen years of dreaming about intimacy. Now she knows how to do it, anywhere, anytime. She’s even on occasion made herself come in public when she’s really bored in class, by gritting her teeth and clamping her thighs together. But sometimes, when there’s the chance of an empty space, a room just for herself for a few minutes, she takes advantage.

“Get in.”

Saïd looks at the two men, unconcerned. His friends are on their way, he’s feeling strong. He doesn’t answer and shakes his head, laughing.

“Get in, I said.” Hoarse, raspy with hostility, Manuel’s voice bursts out in the darkness. Holding the handle of his pick-up truck door, it’s as though he thinks Saïd will obey if he raises his voice like with a spoiled kid. He nods at the inside of the truck, teeth gritted. “Do we have to come and fetch you?”

“I’m not moving from here and I swear —”

Manuel lets go of the door. Before Saïd can see anything coming, Manuel’s foot crushes his balls violently. Blinding pain: he bends in half, breathless. The pain is such that he staggers and falls to his knees, hands cupped over his genitals, eyes welling with tears. In his head are a thousand insults, unable to come out because he’s drooling and on the verge of fainting. Patrick lifts him by one arm, Manuel by the other. They pull him to the pick-up, feet and knees dragging in the dust. Hands still securely at his groin, Saïd opens his eyes wide despite the tears. It’s all very quick. The two men heave him into the front; Patrick walks around and sits on his right, while Manuel starts the engine.

“Motherfuckers!” Saïd finally hisses, curled up between the two builders.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Manuel drives fast, eyes on the road, the yellow lights sweeping the asphalt.