I was going to say yes to the drink, but I stopped myself. I thought of Louis. I hadn’t thought of Louis for twenty minutes. What was I doing? Forgetting my son? What right did I have to flaunt my alcohol-soaked breasts in front of a beau? A yawning abyss of guilt opened up and began to suck me in, punishing me for being capable of thinking lewd thoughts while my son was in a coma. My blouse was starting to reek like a filthy old dive. I found myself pathetic. I had to leave, right away.

‘No, thank you, honestly. I have to go. In any case, I’m not presentable.’

‘I assure you that you are much more than presentable. I insist. Let me get you that drink, then you can leave.’

‘I’m sorry. Have a lovely evening.’

I grabbed my coat and went, without even saying goodbye to Charlotte, who was on the balcony, chatting with a young man and chain-smoking. She’d missed the unfortunate beer episode. Good; at least I’d preserve a shred of dignity in her eyes.

What an idiot I’d been to accept. I wasn’t ready, I should have known. But I was so desperate to believe that my life could return to normal again. That I could return to normal. I’d been so wrong.

I was only five minutes away from home, but I needed to walk. For a long time. I couldn’t go back so early; Mum would bombard me with questions. She’d been even more excited than me at the thought of my going out. When I’d got back from the beautician’s, she’d fussed over me endlessly, reminding me how wonderful I was, saying I was allowed to carry on living, to be happy. I had almost let myself be persuaded, but I’d come to realize a little belatedly that my sole priority, my love, my burden, my pain, my joy, my hope was still Louis.

Alone in the street, I walked beside the Saint-Martin canal, which my son had so loved. Tears filled my eyes when I noticed that I was thinking of him in the past tense. I held them back, just on the brink. The Saint-Martin canal that my son so loves. Louis isn’t dead, Thelma. Louis is going to live.

The weather was mild for early February. I kept my coat open to dry my blouse, which gave off a very unpleasant odour. I’d gone from smelling like a filthy old dive to smelling like a club at around four in the morning.

I thought about my knight in shining armour. In the end, I’d learned nothing about him, but I could still feel the imprint of his hands on mine. I bit my lower lip, punishing myself for such inappropriate thoughts.