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Back The Martins Save as PDF
Contents (99)
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  93. EPILOGUE
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‘Thank you.’

There was a silence. Deep down, I knew I’d made a bit of a fool of myself, churning out all those clichés about Jérémie and adolescence. Now, though, his eyes seemed to light up. Not with a big flame, just the glow of a distant candle. But it was more than I’d expected from Jérémie. A promising start.

29

An hour later, the five of us were sitting around the table, in the same configuration as the previous evening. Since they knew I’d made films, they started asking me if such-and-such an actor was a nice person. I trotted out a few well-worn truisms about each of them because I didn’t want to risk revealing anyone’s neuroses. We ended up trading equally dull generalisations about the weather and politics.

The Martin family often had dinner while watching television, particularly the current affairs talk show C à vous. Valérie was especially fond of the presenter, Anne-Élisabeth Lemoine, whom she’d met once at a flea market in Paris’s fifteenth arrondissement. My presence had put paid to this relaxing ritual, forcing the family to speak to one another. Even I felt quite embarrassed by this. I didn’t dare meet Patrick’s eyes, lest he read in my expression the secret his wife had shared with me. I had never been very good at keeping secrets.8 During this second evening, my project took a strange turn. I had the impression that I was in the middle of a reality TV show, minus the hysteria.

At last Patrick spoke.

‘I don’t mind talking to you so that you can follow our lives, as my wife has suggested, but I don’t think you should have dinner with us every evening. Surely the best thing would be to meet with each of us individually.’

‘Actually, I think you’re right,’ I said.

‘Come and have lunch with me tomorrow. I’ll show you where I work. You’ll see it’s not as nice as being a writer.’

‘I’d love to. Thank you for helping me.’

‘What about you, Lola?’ Valérie asked her daughter, already knowing what the answer would be.

‘I haven’t changed my mind. I don’t give a toss about being in a book. And I don’t want my private life put on display like that.’

‘Please don’t be vulgar. Personally, I think this will be a wonderful record of our lives. Maybe people will still be talking about us a hundred years from now.’

‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ I said, worried that she was somewhat overestimating me. ‘If people are still talking about my book two weeks after it comes out, I’d be happy with that.’

‘Besides, we’ll be able to read the manuscript before it’s published, won’t we?’ Valérie asked, probably to reassure her daughter.

‘Sure,’ I replied, while thinking that the book would lose all its interest if I had to submit it to them for approval. I was afraid that, seeing the words on paper, they would try to stop me publishing it at all. So, obviously, that was out of the question.