I had failed. My second goal was totally screwed. One thing was now certain: I would not be carrying on my career as before. I thought I’d be feeling really bad, but, from the next day, my shoulders were lighter and I was able to spend entire days at Louis’s bedside. I told him about my performance, the way I’d put that vile pig of a C.E.O. in his place. I really went to town, acting out the scene, making the nurses laugh – especially Sophie Davant, who whispered confidentially that there was a lot to be done on that front in the hospital too, that the place was full of misogynists and that hearing my story gave fresh hope to all the women, humiliated daily, in that testosterone-fuelled environment. I wanted to tell my mother all about the incident, and, for the first time in years, I reckoned she’d be proud of me. But I quickly stifled that notion. I had no wish to see her rock up in my life; she was persona non grata. I’d given her permission to visit Louis, but had carefully avoided running into her. I decided we’d take turns to sit with him.

Louis was still unresponsive. I wanted to let him know that I wouldn’t be defeated, and tried to brighten up his days as much as possible. The doctors had been clear: it was very unlikely that he could hear anything, but there was a tiny chance, so I clung to that and wanted to show him that his mother was fighting, that his mother hadn’t given up.

When I got home in the evenings, anxious to wind down, I’d sink into a profound despair. Then I’d allow myself to cry, a glass of red wine in hand, followed by another, and then the entire bottle. I felt better afterwards, drifting in a state of reverie. In my recurrent daydream, Louis manages to stop in time on that damned kerb, and he turns around and begins to laugh, making a skateboarder’s signal, meaning, All good, Mum. We laugh together and set off again in the direction of the Gare de l’Est, arm in arm. In the morning, in real life, I’d wake up with a hangover, gulp down a couple of paracetamols with my coffee, ignore the phone messages and emails from my mother, and leave for the hospital.

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