Strangely, whenever I have tried to express this feeling, things have gone awry. Out of superstition, I make it my habit never to say how happy I am.

Given the state she was in, I thought it a good idea to accompany Valérie to her door. Absorbed in our conversation, she hadn’t even glanced at her phone all evening. So she hadn’t seen all the (increasingly anxious) messages from her husband. Patrick was waiting for her in the living room, looking furious. He bore no resemblance to the man I’d had lunch with earlier that day. He charged at me, yelling: ‘You’ve come here to destroy our family!’

‘What?’ I gasped. ‘No … that’s not–’

‘I should have known better. Why the hell did I agree to any of this? Go on, piss off home!’

‘You can’t talk to him like that! Calm down!’ Valérie said, belatedly losing her temper, as if it had taken her a few seconds to register her husband’s hysteria.

‘Don’t you start! What the hell do you think you’re doing, coming home drunk with a man at one in the morning!’

‘I just walked her home,’ I said.

‘Shut your mouth! Go home and leave us in peace. You can write your stupid fucking book without us!’

‘Stop it!’ Valérie yelled.

‘You keep out of it. This is between us. Go to bed!’ Patrick said, grabbing his wife’s arm.

‘Don’t touch me!’

Just then, the two of them turned to discover Jérémie and Lola standing in the hallway, faces frozen in shock and fear.

Valérie went over to them.

‘Go back to bed, it’s all right.’

‘But you’re yelling, Maman. What’s going on?’

‘Nothing. Your father’s going crazy!’

‘Oh, I’m going crazy? Jesus, I’ve heard everything now! As you can see, your mother’s the one who’s losing it. She’s drunk. Anyway, go back to bed like we told you!’

‘Are you sure it’s okay?’ Lola asked, glancing anxiously at her father.

‘Yes, of course!’ said Patrick, trying to speak more calmly this time.

The two teenagers didn’t budge. In the end, Valérie walked them back to their bedrooms, speaking to them in a quiet, reassuring voice. So I found myself alone with Patrick, who glared at me. I had a simple choice: leave or get punched in the face. I decided to take the first option.

53

So I left the Martins’ apartment without even saying goodbye to Valérie. I stood on the dark landing outside the door for a while, just to make sure that the situation was under control. Oddly, I wasn’t worried. Patrick had flown off the handle, but I didn’t really believe he was violent. Eventually I heard Valérie say: ‘Don’t say a word!’, presumably as she came back into the living room, and then there was silence. Things seemed to have calmed down; I imagined them each retreating to a corner. I had the feeling that I’d been the trigger for what might be their final row; the kind of row you can’t get over. I imagined Valérie brooding. What should I do? Send her a message? Or send one to Patrick? Apologising for what he must have thought, trying to calm the situation. I felt lost. Finally I decided it was better to let the storm pass. Or was it a hurricane? I wasn’t sure what level of climatic metaphor to plump for.