She started with the easiest one on the list, or, at any rate, the least challenging. It was to get into a taxi and then act totally crazy and yell ‘Follow that car!’ like in spy films. I’ve always thought that sounded super cool and I’ve always fantasized about saying it for real. Well, my mother did it – three times, because the first two were disastrous: she was booted out of the cab within seconds. But the third attempt worked. She had the bright idea of yelling ‘Police!’ first, and of printing and laminating a fake ID which could fool someone who didn’t look too closely, was stressed out by the urgency, or a bit of both. She flung herself into a taxi, brandished her ID and barked the words, totally into the role – eat your heart out, drama school, as she said. The driver shot off. He soon started asking questions, but she was prepared. Who were they following? Dangerous bank robbers. Why was she alone, when police officers always work in pairs? That was odd, wasn’t it? She’d infiltrated the gang, backup was on its way. Then the questions became more precise. Which branch of the police was she in? The fraud squad . . . Robbery prevention. He hadn’t heard of that department. Of course not, it had only recently been set up. Could he have her name and rank? She’d been caught off guard and had replied without thinking: ‘Superintendent Adamsberg.’ The driver was a crime-fiction fan and recognized the name of Fred Vargas’s hero. He slammed the brakes on and ordered her out of his taxi, otherwise he’d call the police – the real police. She obeyed. Even so, she’d had time to take a selfie inside the taxi, holding her ID, to capture the moment for me. I’d see that freaking photo when I could be bothered to open my eyes. I sensed a slight rebuke in that last sentence, which I put down to tiredness.

On Wednesday, 1 February, Mum came to see me with Grandma, to tell me about their adventures. The previous day, Mum had taken Grandma with her to ‘film the ticking off of two boxes’. At first, I hadn’t understood what she meant, but when she started playing the video on her iPad, I got it, and I felt as if I’d been there. They’d gone to the trouble of commentating on everything that was going on, to avoid leaving things unsaid . . . They were becoming real audio-description pros. To help you understand what follows, let me explain that the dialogue is between Madame Ernest, my maths teacher, and my mother. Grandma was holding the camera. Selected excerpts of what I heard:

‘Thank you for seeing me and agreeing to be filmed, Madame Ernest. It means a lot to us.’

‘You’re very welcome. I was deeply saddened when I heard about your son. I hope he pulls through.’