In short, when I felt ready to take all of that on, I left for boarding school and Hildegarde went home. We spoke often on the phone, and when I received my study allowance and my room at the university residence I left my island, because if I hadn’t, who knows what else would have happened to me. And so I went to live in Paris, where she was living, and ever since we’ve seen each other almost every day.

Juliette.

My daughter with the big, bright, serious eyes.

One night when some old mates from uni were having a party in their apartment to celebrate several birthdays at once, I got so wasted I would have – and I use the conditional quite deliberately seeing as it’s a hypothetical situation we’re talking about – I would have completely blanked the fact I banged a guy standing up against the bathroom cabinet. In those days, I was scared of finding myself all alone in my little maid’s quarters room, so I often went out and left parties much the worse for wear; I was almost always the last to leave, when there really was no more hope of anything happening. A month and a half later, I felt so ill I went to see a doctor, who told me just by looking at me: ‘Come now, young lady, you’re pregnant!’ He sent me off for blood tests and when the lab technician told me he was right, I was stunned. That’s when I did some cross-referencing and ended up with the day of that joint birthday party.

Somebody thinks they saw me disappearing into said bathroom, hence my inferred memory, but nothing could be less certain. It must be said that I’d had several other partners in the meantime; scars on my back, orthoses, ankle boots, mini-skirt, who knows why men have always found me sexy with my legs and their apparatus.

I sat down in the nearest café to the pathologist’s rooms and called Hildegarde to tell her to come and meet me.