Even so, I continued questioning him in the hope of finding something to write about.

‘So you really don’t have any hobbies?’ I asked casually, trying not to make it sound like an accusation.

He shrugged. ‘Well, you know …’

‘Um, not really. Could you explain what you mean?’

‘I mean, like, I don’t really have hobbies.’

‘Okay … But you like music, right? Your posters … Do you like Angèle?’

‘Not especially. I made some holes in the wall when I was younger, so I covered them up with posters.’

‘What do you listen to?’

‘Nothing comes to mind.’

‘And what do you do in your spare time?’

‘I play online with some mates.’

‘…’

‘And I like watching TV series.’

‘Ah, okay. What do you watch? Could you recommend a show for me?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know? What do you mean?’

‘Nothing comes to mind.’

‘…’

Apparently, TV series were just a landscape flashing past the window of his mind. Fleeting images, forgotten as soon as the next episode began. But Jérémie could surely have made a bit of an effort, come up with a name at least. Instead I had to keep posing more questions, asking him to be more specific. It was exhausting, this one-way conversation. Suddenly, to my surprise, he tried to fill the void into which our little talk had fallen.

‘There’s a girl at my school who tried to commit suicide.’

‘Ah … that’s terrible.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Did you know her?’

‘No. Just her face.’

‘Do you know what happened?’

‘To start with, everyone thought she was being bullied. The teachers are always going on about that. We’re supposed to tell them immediately if we see someone being picked on or whatever.’

‘But that wasn’t the case for this girl?’

‘No. They found a letter in her bedroom.’

‘And it explained why she’d done it?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What did it say?’

‘It was really weird.’

‘You don’t want to tell me?’

‘Yeah, but …’

‘What?’

‘She said it was Satan’s wish. She heard a voice … the voice of the devil telling her to kill herself.’

‘She wrote that in the letter?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Are you sure, or is that just what you heard?’

‘No, I saw the letter. There’s a copy going round the school. It’s an incredible letter.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘I made a copy of it. Do you want to see?’

‘Sure,’ I said, trying to mask my morbid excitement. Against all the odds, an interesting and unexpected development had emerged in Jérémie’s story arc. Maybe I could make a copy of the letter and put it in my book.

Jérémie went over to his desk, opened a drawer, then abruptly turned towards me.

‘Did you really believe me?’

‘What?’

‘I invented all that. For you.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. You looked disappointed by what I was saying, so I thought it’d make you happy.’

‘Make me happy? I don’t know what to say … You’re a surprising person. But no, I wasn’t disappointed at all; I’m sorry if you thought that. I want to get to know you, to find out what makes you tick. How you see the world today, and the future. You don’t need to invent stuff for me. Although I have to admit you did a very good job. You really had me going there.’