But did he have the courage to go knocking on the doors of Radio-Canada producers, to experience the humiliation of being told that his CV wasn’t very impressive (one season of children’s shows and a ton of film and television walk-ons wasn’t a very solid basis for a young actor’s reputation, even if it did gain him entry to the artist’s union) and that he was very pretentious to turn up so ill-prepared? And then the audition scenes he’d have to work up (and with what actress as his partner?) before confronting the theatre ­directors . . . He was sure he had talent—his teacher, one of the best and strictest in town, had been encouraging him to try his luck for a year now—but not so sure of his ability to persuade anybody to listen to his sales pitch. The hardest thing to do in this profession, he knew it, was to sell ­yourself . . . He was giving himself two years then—the duration of the contract to make his breakthrough, ­otherwise . . .

Jean-Marc was snoring loudly that night. Mathieu had pushed him gently, then harder, so he’d change position. Half-awake, Jean-Marc apologized, went back to sleep—and started up again.

Mathieu lit a cigarette. He hated smoking in bed but he didn’t feel like getting up. With the ashtray on his stomach and his arm outside the bed, he watched the smoke rise to the ceiling.

Helping Jean-Marc through this business wouldn’t be easy either, he knew that. The second choice he’d made, to stay with him regardless of the difficulties, filled him with satisfaction and relief, because he really did love Jean-Marc very much—even though he’d almost left him, thinking, I’ll get over him, nobody’s irreplaceable, why put myself through all that?—but still he refused to impose anything on Jean-Marc, either his concerns about the new job with all the unpleasant memories of Luc it could stir up, or about his son who, for the moment, represented more trouble than joy for both of them. Of course they’d talked a lot about it in recent days, with Jean-Marc agreeing about everything, but still Mathieu sensed a hesitation in him that he ­couldn’t quite define, despite all their conversations: was Jean-Marc simply afraid of the problems created by Sébastien’s visits as he claimed, or was he terrified of embarking on what seemed to be turning into a drama that might last a long time? Wasn’t Sébastien, finally, merely a pretext by a ­confirmed bachelor to get around an awkward situation?

As if he’d been reading his mind, Jean-Marc woke up completely.

“Can’t you sleep?”

“No.”

“Still the same goddamn things bugging you?”

“That’s it. Original, eh? I wish I had a collection of ­complicated problems so I could move the pain around, but where my problems are concerned I’m steady . . .”

Jean-Marc pressed himself against him.