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I'm gonna come.

- Clémence? - Looking lovely, Josiane!

- Can you join us? - No.

Discipline, Michel. Discipline!

Have a nice day.

Paul? Come talk to Mum.

Hey there.

You should hear it for real. It's hell.

Paul, put down the recorder.

Come talk to Mum. She's waiting.

Hi, Mum.

There you are.

How many laps?

Two kilometres.

But my timing sucks, so I won't tell you that!

Who are you, Sir?

I'm the son of Darth Vader and Cleopatra.

I thought you were your mum's son?

Yes, that too.

But also Darth Vader and Cleopatra.

Fair enough.

Hey, Laurent?

I've spare tickets for the show we're seeing next weekend.

Like to come?

Next weekend, I'm in Normandy...

You've frozen.

And you look hideous.

There. Is that better?

Much.

Show me your sky?

Sure, hang on.

There. Can you see it?

Go on, faster!

Go, go, go!

Faster, faster!

POACHERS

We're in Place Dauphine. Outside.

It's the end of summer.

I dip my pepper-flavoured crisps in ketchup.

I've ordered a club sandwich. He, a croque-monsieur.

Shit.

"He" is my ex.

The first man I slept with and, for now, the last.

We're still married, as we never got divorced.

He and I lasted 20 years.

I left him three years ago.

His name is Laurent.

For our eight-year-old son, Paul,

we do alternate weeks, organised amicably.

There's never been a problem.

A few months ago, I switched to girls.

I want to tell him.

Hence the dinner.

We'll change piano teachers, right?

If you think it's important, sure.

I dunno...

He's not improving.

He's young.

Yeah, but she's a bit...

Cavalier?

Yes, she's too "cavalier"!

Cavalier, verging on "softie".

A pushover!

Well, I...

I've started seeing girls.

Seeing, as in dating.

Dating, seriously?

Sure, well...

You know.

The same again.

I just want you to be happy.

Thank you.

My new vice.

Only champagne agrees with me now.

It costs me a fortune.

You do look well.

I swim a lot.

It's not that.

You look beautiful. Really.

Truly.

I might take Paul to see my dad.

For Halloween.

- Cool. - Yeah.

He hasn't seen him since Easter.

He'll like that.

How's your father?

You know my dad. Still the same.

Still grumbling down the phone.

- He feels sorry for you. - Really?

Yeah. He says you must be lonely.

He's got a point.

Goodnight.

- No? - Definitely no.

I misread it.

Milady.

Bye.

Tell him to stop!

Stop it.

Dinner with me on Tuesday?

Can't we get divorced instead?

Stop turning me on.

I'm going home.

Goodnight.

- Send my love to Paul? - Sure.

Have a good night.

What's she doing?

Leaving already?

Laurent?

Everything okay?

He doesn't want to come.

I'm sorry.

- What do you mean? - He doesn't want to.

We can't force him. I'll change my plans.

Hang on...

Can I just...

Laurent, this is ridiculous.

I'll talk to him.

Hey, Paul.

Hey.

Last call for Paul Lévêque at boarding gate 14.

Immediate departure for the Moon.

Gate 14. The rocket will be leaving soon.

He doesn't want to see you.

Let's go have a juice.

I got tickets for the show you wanted to see.

I don't want to see you.

Come out of there. Stop this, come on.

I don't want to see you!

That's how it works. This is our week.

I've planned loads of stuff. Come on.

Come on.

I don't wanna see you. I hate you.

Go away!

Did something happen here?

Did you two have a row?

He isn't angry with me, is he?

You find this funny?

If he explains or changes his mind, call me?

Seems unlikely, but sure.

Bye.

Paul? I'll call you!

I love you.

Discipline, Clémence. Discipline!

Did you mention divorce again?

It wasn't the right time.

Turning your back on me isn't a punishment, you know?

You're relentless, Elisabeth!

I know.

I still don't get why you let him call you his "wife".

Actually...

I don't get why you ever married.

With a guy, to boot.

It's what we did, back then.

He's hot, at least?

Yes.

No, not really.

But we were a good match.

You're so bourgeois.

Now he knows you're a dyke, he's pissed.

Can you stop talking, please?

And if I don't want to?

I said "please".

So you did.

Can't you stay a bit?

It's still early.

Go back to sleep.

I'm going for a swim.

Have you seen the time?

Hi, Laurent. Could you put Paul on, please?

He's getting ready for school.

Could you put him on, please?

Hang on.

Paul, it's Mum. A quick chat before we go?

He doesn't want to talk.

He's a child, put him on.

As you wish.

Hello, Paul?

Sweetheart?

I know you're angry with me, but I don't know why.

How about we go for a soda and you explain?

Okay? Would you do that?

I told you. He doesn't want to talk.

But he's eight years old!

Since when's he the boss?

And you're the child-raising expert?

Excuse me?

Forget it.

Gotta get to school.

For several months,

I don't link the facts,

between father and son.

Perhaps Laurent is right.

Maybe Paul hates me,

it's my fault.

Maybe I'm guilty of something.

I try to understand what I did wrong.

Why don't you answer? I need to talk to Paul.

I don't even know what I'm being punished for.

All non-profits are the same,

the same profiles...

It isn't complicated...

I'll note it down.

What was that?

July 4th.

At 3 PM.

I understand.

Thanks, Vincent.

Don't worry. I'm fine.

Bye.

So?

So...

On July 4th at 3 PM,

he'll ask

for sole custody and...

for me to be stripped of parental responsibility.

On what grounds?

That's absurd.

He accuses me of incest and paedophilia,

directly or by third-party association.

What the fuck?

How long since you saw your son?

Six months.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

I have to write.

Alright.

It'll be fine.

Chin up, friends.

Why won't you just give me your door code?

You don't want to undress?

No.

Just your jeans?

What's going on?

Nothing. I want you.

Great.

I forgot your birthday or something?

Look, I'm on my knees for you.

What did the lawyer say?

Well?

I want you.

Dissociate if you want, but I don't have to dissociate too.

Seriously? Is that a line from a TV series?

- You're a jerk. - No, wait.

- I'm sorry. - Well?

It's...

Yeah. Bye.

Here's a passage from one of the books found at Mrs Delcourt's home.

By which I mean a book Paul might easily find there.

"I had met Vincent in 1982, when he was still a child.

He remained in my dreams.

I had to resolve that once he became a man,

I'd love him for what he no longer was."

Please note, Your Honour,

that this is one of the less explicit extracts.

But my client didn't write this!

Near enough.

In this photo,

you can see a child, in the arms of a scantily clad man,

leaning on a table

on which there are numerous glasses of alcohol.

Gay Pride...

And in the other image, a "joke",

I suppose.

Of dubious taste, with regards to your own child.

I'll end with this letter,

by Paul, which I will now read to you.

Can we avoid further humiliating my client?

Please summarise.

Fine.

I'd simply like to say

that the child describes the intolerable context

of living with his mother.

That she is, and I quote, "nuts".

He doesn't want to see her.

Thank you, Your Honour.

Thank you, Counsellor.

I see it noted in the file

that you discussed your love life with Paul, Mrs Delcourt.

And your new book

will recount your numerous affairs with women.

Can you tell me more?

Yes.

I introduced Paul

to one person with whom I had a stable relationship.

You speak in the past tense?

That relationship has come to an end.

You saw fit to introduce a passing conquest, notably, a woman,

to your 8-year-old child?

Your Honour, with all due respect,

I believe we are digressing slightly.

My client had a serious relationship with one person.

She chose to inform her son. That is perfectly normal.

And your housing situation?

I believe you're planning to move?

Yes.

Will there be a bedroom for Paul in your new apartment?

No, Your Honour. It's a place I've been lent.

I can't currently afford to rent a large flat.

I'd like to add that I haven't seen Paul for 9 months.

So it didn't seem an absolute necessity right now.

But, of course,

if things were to return to normal,

with the contract for my book, I'd...

Sorry to interrupt.

But I'd like to emphasise that Mrs Delcourt has a choice.

It is her choice not to return to her job as a lawyer,

which would provide the income she needs to take responsibility as a mother.

It appears to me that it's a choice.

She hasn't seen her son for nine months.

She's had nine months to prove...

NO POACHERS

Crazy About Vincent

I can pay 60 euros.

Okay.

Have a nice day. Goodbye.

The judge's ruling arrived a few days later.

She appointed a psychiatrist to appraise the three of us.

He has six months to submit his report.

As always with the law, this is an indicative timeframe.

It might take a year, two years, three years.

In the meantime, Laurent has sole custody.

I only have visiting rights, limited and supervised.

"Mediated", as the law says.

One hour every fortnight at a centre.

A neutral "Meeting Centre" near République.

Child specialists will be present when Paul and I meet,

like for a junkie mother or a violent father.

Even then, not always.

I appeal.

The appeal delays nothing.

The provisional ruling is enforced.

No further hearing for two years.

Two years is 1,000 years.

Two years is never.

There you go!

She's looking at you!

May I?

I avoid parks,

public gardens, around schools,

bakeries at snack time.

I take detours. I hide on no-school days.

Parent-Child Meeting Centre.

All of our operators are busy. Please try again later.

I hadn't noticed there were so many.

Children were everywhere.

I feel like they're there for me. To taunt me.

To remind me of what I try to forget, through discipline.

To tell me my discipline is pointless. My swimming,

all the girls I see.

I flee children as if they were cluster bombs.

As if they might blow up in my face,

riddle my body with metal shards.

I keep my distance, I dodge them.

But they are stronger.

I always get caught out in the end.

République Parent-Child Meeting Centre.

Hello?

My name is Clémence Delcourt.

I'm calling about making an appointment.

Last week, they told me to call back.

Could you give me your name and file number please?

I already called last week...

Name and file number, please.

Of course.

My name is Clémence Delcourt.

My file number is AF89

V377E12.

Okay.

How can I help?

As I said, I already spoke to your colleague...

We're a large team here,

so you'll have to explain again, to me, or I can't help.

Of course.

So,

it regards organising a meeting

between my son, Paul Lévêque, and me,

overseen by a third party.

I have a judge's ruling, dating from July.

And I've been calling you every week since then.

And we haven't found you a slot, is that right?

That's right.

I see.

I can't book an appointment

as it's a first meeting, right?

Yes.

It has to go through my manager,

who must meet you and the child.

He lives with his father.

I see.

We'd have to meet the child and his dad, then you,

before booking a meeting for you and Paul.

I'll give you my manager's email. Got a pen?

It's fine, I'll remember it.

So, it's R-P-C-M-C

at contact dot org.

Got it.

Anything else I can do for you?

Have a nice day, goodbye.

You too, goodbye.

He's born.

I saw him for the first time,

with his own face, his own body,

his own life, his own death.

He didn't really cry.

He looked a bit cross and I liked that.

I understood that he was exactly him.

Not a story we tell ourselves.

I said his name was Paul.

He has his dad's surname, but his name is me.

This doesn't exist in other loves,

choosing the name of your loved one.

A first name, so they'll be loved by others.

Then one day leave.

They made little bracelets,

one for him, one for me.

They dressed him.

We went up to my room.

I was very hungry.

I was served a steak.

I didn't sleep much that night.

He cried a little, I was intimidated.

I held him against my shoulder.

I walked the corridors.

He seemed both very light and very heavy.

I remembered my childhood pups.

I'd seen how they did it.

Looking after their puppies,

without ridicule, without shame,

without losing who they were,

without giving up.

And, as they resumed hunting the following season,

I thought it was so simple.

No need for any doubts.

I'd do it my way.

Without womanish absurdity,

the obscenity of mothers.

Thank you.

That's it, I'm all done.

There.

Sorry, I was a bit brusque.

No, it's fine.

It's good to have you here, Ms Clémence.

It'll do your dad a world of good!

Got to keep our spirits up.

It's vital, isn't it?

See you tomorrow?

Yes, tomorrow.

- Can I have a quick word? - Yes.

Your dad's a bit down.

It would be good to get him outside a little.

A five-minute walk around the grounds...

He won't listen when I tell him.

You look skinny. You're eating properly?

Yes.

It's important to eat.

I'm off. I'm running late! See you tomorrow.

Goodbye.

Your mother was exactly your age when she died.

It's no mean feat to have loved a woman like that.

Yes.

It's no mean feat.

- Hello. - Mrs Delcourt, come in.

Firstly, I'll not keep you in unnecessary suspense.

Paul loves you, and you love Paul.

I've no doubt about that.

It's obvious that you're not crazy.

And...

my evaluation reveals that Paul

has been coerced by his father

and he doesn't mean a word of the letter addressed to the court.

Of course.

Now, I have to add...

that this happens a lot.

I get many cases like yours, every year.

However, usually it's the other way around.

It's the fathers who leave.

A mother leaving is rare.

For some, it may be considered more grievous.

Even unforgivable.

So...

You'll tell the judge that I'm fit to see my son?

I'll submit my report.

I'll underline your psychological and emotional stability,

your capacity to be a mother.

I'll underline that Paul misses you

and that this situation is hurting him.

But, I have to warn you

that my report might not make much impact.

If Mr Lévêque is still angry

and prepared to fight,

the case may take years.

You know as well as I.

But you mustn't give up.

You can't give up.

Your son is resourceful.

You built him strong.

Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world,

have mercy on us.

- Hi, Mouloud. - Hey, Clémence.

- It's moving day? - Yeah.

Do you want this for your son?

Come, Ismaël.

- I found it when sorting. - Hi, Clémence.

There's Mickey Mouse.

Thank you!

Hope to see you again.

I'm moving district, not country!

Yeah, true.

You know where to find us!

Alright?

- Say goodbye? - Goodbye!

Hello.

Come with me, kids?

Come on.

I'll bring them back in 30.

Coming, Timothée?

Dad's waiting. We'll join Mum here afterwards. Okay?

It's your first time at the Centre?

They took all three of mine, to meet with their dad.

Sorry. I'm just thinking aloud.

I always speak my mind, I'm...

as transparent as glass.

Or so my mum says.

That said...

you've gotta be there for them.

Seriously.

"Child Protection"?

Easy to say.

I don't know...

I don't know how it's "protecting" my kids...

exposing them to their father.

Even they couldn't answer that.

They've no idea.

It won't last anyway.

He'll be back in jail by Christmas.

At least, I think so.

Sorry, I'll shut up.

You're clearly a good person.

So why are you here?

D'you mind chatting?

Sure, it's fine.

I've got three.

They're the best thing in my life.

I saw right away that you were new.

You've still got hope in your eyes. It's nice.

Wanna come smoke?

No, I'll stay. I'd rather concentrate.

Good call. They hate mums who smoke.

I can't help it. Otherwise I'd go mad.

- Better smoke then. - Yeah.

It'll be alright.

We're chicks. We never give up.

If you prefer, we could call it "a break in the narrative"?

I read in your file that you write.

Fine.

Now is the time, and we're here to help you,

to re-establish the link regarding Paul.

To ensure a fair place for Dad and for Mum.

Starting when?

Going by the analysis in your file...

Excuse me.

Sorry. I don't quite understand your language.

"Mum" or "Dad"... I'm not "the mum", I'm his mother.

And I haven't seen Paul for a year and a half.

I don't know if you understand what I'm saying.

Paul needs to see his mother.

Let's not get angry. Okay?

We're here to help you

and above all to help Paul.

We're going to see Paul with his dad.

After that, we'll contact you for the first appointment.

But when?

It can be very quick.

Within a month or two.

A year and a half without him.

Two Christmases,

one of his birthdays,

one Mother's Day,

two of my own birthdays.

And all the other days.

What on earth's that?

It was the nurse's idea.

Did she do it?

No.

But she's desperate for me to show her that I want to live.

You did it?

Exactly.

It clearly shows I enjoy living, right?

Deadly clear.

Well...

- Merry Christmas. - Shit, you didn't?

Sorry. I've nothing for you.

Thank you.

I'm tired. Do you mind if I go to bed?

Goodnight.

Goodnight, darling.

My darling,

Don't listen to those who say it's bad we don't meet.

Don't listen to those who say you must miss me

and how unhappy you must be.

Nor those who look embarrassed

when I'm mentioned, or the situation, or whatever.

I know you know you shouldn't pay heed.

People talk nonsense.

You know how to look away

and ignore them.

As for your father and me, his anger against me,

and anything he has said about me

to the judge and to you,

don't be outraged.

Don't hold it against him.

It's commonplace, you know for former lovers to quarrel.

As old as the hills.

Throwing vitriol in each other's faces when we fall out of love.

To be honest, I prefer this

to couples dining out the day of their divorce.

I prefer the truth of war to the hypocrisy of peace.

I don't know if you hate me.

You don't have to answer me.

You have every right to hate me.

Hate is a necessary part of love.

There's no love without hate.

Those who say otherwise are liars or cowards.

It's a vital part of a child's love for its parents.

Especially a son for his mother, to hate her.

Yet many sons never manage it.

As a daughter myself,

who loved my mother like a son,

I don't know if I could have managed it.

I think that's why she died.

She knew I wouldn't have the courage to kill her.

You have to kill those you love.

Know that you are capable of it.

We always have that right.

Love is brutal.

Don't be sad if you think of me.

There's no point being sad.

But if you're sad anyway,

know that I think of you every day.

I'm your mother.

That's something that never stops.

Lots of love,

Mum.

"My darling,

Don't listen to those who say it's bad we don't meet..."

"My grandparents are dead.

The house has been sold.

My father is penniless.

For 15 years, he has lived alone in the former cook's house,

with no regrets."

Clémence, that was amazing.

Thank you.

- It was beautiful. - Thank you.

Thank you, goodbye.

What should I write?

Whatever you want.

Over there's the kitchen,

but the fridge is in the living room.

And may I introduce...

Odile, Clémence.

Clémence, Odile. There you go.

This is your room.

And if you pay for the cleaner and booze, then we're good.

Cool.

If I bring girls back, is that...

You're okay with that?

And if I bring girls back?

All good. That's cool. Totally cool.

Cool.

Cool. Then welcome to your new home.

Thank you.

You're sure I can take the table?

Go ahead, I don't use it.

Perfect.

It'll be okay.

See you at the café.

See you later.

Got a gift for him?

Yes.

A compass keyring.

- Great. - Yeah?

Definitely.

He'll love it.

You'll see, it will go fine.

Let's all sit down around the table.

Wait.

So, let me explain

how the meeting will proceed.

You'll see. It's very simple.

Can I...

Sorry. Can he sit on my lap?

Paul, is that okay?

Marie and I will stay in the room during this hour with your mum.

If you have any questions,

or a request, you can talk to us.

We're here for you. Okay?

We're here to reassure you, if you need us.

It's 11:10 AM.

That means the meeting will end around 12:15 PM.

We're not in a hurry, are we?

Pretend we're not here.

- Is this for me? - Of course!

It's a gift. A compass keyring.

- I haven't even opened it! - Yes, sorry.

Where in Paris are you?

Right now, I live in the Marais.

What direction is that from here?

It's...

south...

south-west, I think.

That way?

And in relation to Dad's house?

North-east.

There.

Have I grown?

Yes!

A lot.

Really?

You've not changed.

No? Is that good?

Yes, it's good. It's superb!

Thank you.

I saw your book in a shop, with your photo.

I showed Louis and said you were my mum,

you wrote it. He said that was cool.

Who's Louis?

Louis's my new friend.

My best friends are Louis and Camille.

Camille is a bit like you. She's very cool.

Really.

But she can't possibly be...

as cool as me?

No, no... But almost.

I wish we were by the sea.

Or at Grandpa's house, that'd be nice.

Do you know if Grandpa's alright?

- He's well. - We should visit him soon, right?

Yes.

Is that allowed? I mean...

Could you ask the father,

ask Laurent, if we're allowed to visit my father?

I'll pass on your request.

Can you tell me your news?

I've forgotten everything.

"Having homosexual relations

cannot be seen as a sign of psychological instability in our era.

Neither can writing books."

We received the psychiatrist's report in April.

Nine months after the ruling,

which had given six months to review our case.

I believe this sentence is in the introduction or the conclusion.

The doctor chose to clarify this point.

In case there was any doubt, you never know,

in the minds of the judge or Laurent.

The law is the law,

but, it turns out, it is still problematic.

At his school, in the sixth arrondissement,

the parents apparently said I was "ill".

Has the director received the psychiatrist's report?

I sent it, but she didn't reply.

No, I'm afraid I don't know.

I can make a note and ask her later?

Thank you.

Hey, buddy.

You look sharp today.

New headphones?

They're from Dad.

Very cool.

I brought this.

Am I allowed to feed him?

Yes, of course.

Like some? It's seeds.

I don't think I like them anymore.

Oh well...

How are things?

I don't know what to say to you today.

That's alright.

That's totally fine.

What'd we do if we were outside?

Eat an ice cream?

Or go to the cinema? That'd be nice.

Or both!

That would be great.

You know...

it's normal that all this is strange.

It's really weird.

For me too.

All that matters is that we see each other.

We can feel each other.

So you can see I'm here.

I've always been here.

Hello you!

What's up with you?

I'm just feeling jaunty.

Would you like some?

Just a little?

- She's pretty, right? - Who?

Ambre. With short hair.

Yes, very pretty.

Join us?

No, thanks.

No? Okay.

What can I say to her?

To who?

Ambre!

I don't know, my little bundle of joy.

She's an individual, I believe,

with her own dreams and interests. Just talk to her!

I'm going to write,

you drink some water, okay?

I'll do my best.

See you tomorrow.

- See you, Junior. - Goodnight.

It's their choice, all those who want to believe

that women have a link with the Moon,

with nature, with instinct,

which orders them to be guided by matter

and to give up being.

I have no interest in that.

"Mother" doesn't exist.

"Mother" as status, as identity,

as power or non-power,

as position of dominated, or dominant

as victim and executioner.

It doesn't exist.

Such things have never existed.

There is love and that's something else entirely.

Hello?

Where are you? I can't see you.

At home. He doesn't want to come.

What? Why doesn't he want to come?

Want to grab a coffee at Place Dauphine?

Okay.

I'll head down. See you shortly.

You still swimming?

It's nuts.

It's unbearable.

What? You want to discuss "issues"? You wanna fight?

Why do you always crave conflict? Conflict, conflict... It's mad.

You are so violent.

I didn't say anything, Laurent.

But...

Do you get how this affects Paul?

Stop. Paul's fine. When he doesn't see you, he's fine.

Great grades, he shines at school, good friends, he's happy.

Then he sees you and it's over.

As soon as he sees you, he gets upset, he feels torn.

Yes.

You want more responsibility. But are you trying to earn money?

You don't want to return to law, I hear.

I pay for school. You think it's normal I pay everything?

So, yes, my concern is Paul.

And you? You'd like alimony so you can

live your...

dream of being a tortured poet in a garret?

That's not selfish?

All this...

All this to write some stupid drivel?

That's causing a minor stir in your new "arty hipster" bubble?

You're pathetic, Laurent.

I don't recognise you.

It's not fair.

We all end up there anyway.

Anything else you want to say?

Then I'll settle up.

Do you ever miss it?

Miss what?

Living in the château.

I can't see myself playing tennis anymore.

We could take a walk in the grounds?

What next?

It can't be easy for Laurent. All your antics...

My antics?

Your affairs with women, in Paris,

you write about it in your book...

I understand he found it hard.

What? You "understand"?

Let me remind you that I can no longer see my child.

Alright?

"Understand" that.

Alright.

What time is it? She's late.

Who? The nurse?

Yes.

For my Subutex.

She won't leave it. Doesn't trust me.

Can you believe it?

Anyway. It's good your book is being published.

I want some plasticine.

It's not plasticine, it's sticky putty.

She can't... She can't see me.

I was so cute!

Tiramisu!

My first one. It was so good.

You liked it.

Remember the man by the hotel

who sold us the "Italian flag" t-shirt?

Yes, I remember.

It was very expensive but you got it for me anyway.

You liked it so much, I couldn't refuse.

You said: "The high life,

or not the high life?"

The t-shirt's a bit small now...

I kept it anyway.

Let's do a photo with my phone.

With your phone?

Yes, Dad bought me one for my birthday.

Really?

Well, that's great.

We can text each other.

Can I have your number?

Dad has it. He said I shouldn't just hand it out.

You have to ask him.

Come here.

It's fine.

Hang on...

I don't want to get your Virgin Mojito.

So, you've got a new one?

No.

Yes, you do.

No.

Besides, I'm stopping.

Always picking up girls...

It's too hard. It's hard on everyone.

And Paul?

Paul...

We meet.

He's sad.

And so am I.

Yo.

Hey.

This heat is hardcore.

Going swimming this morning?

Is the water cold?

Not bad.

Can I come?

No.

Didn't want to anyway.

How are you?

You good?

I'm on my fourth.

We've had two bottles!

- Take my glass, to catch up. - No, water's fine.

Anyway, how's...

A glass of red wine.

Not bad, right?

- Nice. - The Dunkirk house?

We said we'd drop it.

He wants to rent a house in Dunkirk,

but we don't want...

Have we lost you?

- What's up with you two? - Nothing.

Nothing?

How about you?

I'm fine.

Bye!

Have fun.

Let's get going.

Have a nice evening!

Goodnight.

You'll be good?

Goodnight.

Sweet dreams!

Sleep well.

May I?

They're like teenagers!

They're mostly just drunk.

Clémence.

Sarah.

Is this your café?

You come here often?

Yes, I live nearby.

You live near here?

Not really.

It depends.

It depends?

It depends.

This "mysterious" vibe usually works with women?

Yes.

Yeah, pretty much. Can't complain.

I'll guess what you do for a living.

No. You'll never guess!

I will. I swear, I'm really good at it.

And what do I win?

I've got three guesses, okay?

And you win...

I'll buy you a drink.

You buy me a drink

and give me your number.

I'll buy you a drink and take your number.

Okay, fine.

You're a DJ.

What?

Why not?

I look like a DJ?

It's your vibe... You aren't a DJ?

Not a banker either...

I'm offended!

You've got one last guess.

''Banker'' doesn't count!

Yes, it did.

- No, it didn't! - It did.

You're a gym teacher.

Give me your phone.

You're ballsy.

Yes.

Thank you.

You're a journalist.

How did you guess?

What do I win?

I think you've won enough today.

Calm down, Lone Ranger.

Call me.

Mum!

Hi.

Hi.

Gotta rush, I'm double parked.

Bye, champ.

Call me for anything, okay?

See you tomorrow, Dad.

- Wanna run? - Yeah, let's go!

Faster, faster!

What is it?

We'll get through this, Mum, y'know?

Yes.

We'll get through this, my love.

Watch the step.

You alright, champ?

It wasn't that long!

See you in a fortnight.

We'll go to the seaside!

Come on.

Want to catch a movie?

Let's go!

See you in a fortnight?

Now you're getting physical? Unbelievable.

Come in.

Fuck me.

Are you alright?

Is this okay?

I should go...

Why?

It's daybreak.

You'll turn into a princess if you don't leave now?

Maybe...

I'll take my chances.

Want some coffee?

No, don't touch me!

Stay away from me!

I hate all contact.

Join me if you dare!

Ms Clémence! I didn't know you were here.

Your dad's a lucky man.

- Tell him that! - I will, right away.

Dad?

Let's go!

You're always in my dreams.

They used to be complicated dreams.

Now, they are simpler dreams.

We're fine.

You're here with me

and on the other side is my life.

Girls who tell me they want to live with me.

It's strange, all these dreams of love, right now.

Quiet, calm dreams.

With nothing incompatible between me and you,

between me and them.

Of course, they're just dreams.

In reality,

you're not really here.

I'm here.

Okay.

Are you scared?

No.

You should be.

I'm formidable.

I can handle it.

Really?

I'll tell you a legend.

And afterwards,

if you're up to it,

we'll swim to the other shore.

I'm up to it!

A long, long time ago,

a terrible, but very wealthy squire lived here.

His castle was right at the centre of the lake.

One New Year's Eve, at midnight,

an old beggar woman rang at his door,

pleading for a crumb of bread,

a sip of wine to warm her bones.

The squire slammed the door on her,

mocking her ugly face and ragged clothes.

Immediately, the entire castle disappeared

to the bottom of the lake,

which appeared, thanks to the beggar's curse.

Since then, people say that at the heart of the lake

is an evil whirlpool that sucks down anyone who dares to cross it.

Can you introduce us, darling?

This is Sarah. My father.

My father, Sarah.

Nice to meet you. Thank you for having me.

Aren't you boiling in that?

No, I'm fine.

You're breaking my heart...

Yes, I know.

We're at your dad's house.

My father isn't a priest, you know.

Will you introduce me to Paul one day?

Yes.

Perhaps.

We'll see.

Sure you don't want to undress?

Yes. Certain.

I like being here with you.

You like hanging with senior citizens on Subutex?

Yeah, it's totally my scene.

The crumbling nobility vibe.

I said, I like being here with you .

Me too.

I like you.

It was cool living here. Treat girls nicely! Love, Clémence.

PS: I've left you my shirt, I know you love it!

Can we talk or do we avoid that?

We can talk.

I don't really do the open-relationship thing, etc.

I'm over that.

Okay.

Just "okay", or...

"okay, I accept"?

Okay, I accept.

Look.

The green's good, right?

Yeah. He likes green?

I don't know. I think so.

You think so?

Does he know I exist?

Green's good.

That way, it's not exactly the same as mine.

I'm going to pay.

50 euros, please.

The same as yours!

There.

Very, very nice.

- It's really cool. - Yep.

I chose well.

- See that? - Yes.

It's your initials.

I'll take your surname when I'm big.

You're sure? It's a name with baggage.

I want the same name as you and Grandpa.

Well, you decide.

How's the new school year going, Paul?

- Fine. - Yeah?

Are you still in Elementary?

No, Prep School.

Paul goes to a private school.

Mum...

Why didn't we go to the seaside, like you said?

Because Laurent didn't want me to take you.

But I waited for you.

I waited for you all summer.

I know.

I'm tired of both of you.

Besides, Dad's right. You're just selfish.

You wanna live your own life. You don't care about us.

No, Paul, that's not true.

I do care.

Paul, I know you're angry

and you're right to be.

But it's not because your dad and I separated,

that we don't see each other. Okay?

Laurent is very angry with me

and doesn't want me to see you.

He'll get over it. But, in the meantime,

we must do our best.

Make do with this. With what we have.

Okay?

I know it's horrible

and we deserve better, both of us.

And it's unfair.

But there's nothing I can do to change it.

I'm sorry.

I want to go.

Wait, Paul, perhaps we can talk...

I want to go!

I can see what's going on. You know that?

I can see.

- Really? - Yes.

- I can't see anything. - You can.

I took charge of your file this summer. I re-read it.

I'll take this and put it in the file.

We'll get there.

We will.

I'll give you a moment.

It's cold.

It's frozen.

It's disgusting.

It's cold, right?

Is that all?

Touch it. It's cold.

No, I believe you.

Try to book weekend with Paul. NO ANSWER.

Laurent cancels weekend with Dad.

Paul's birthday. NO NEWS.

Try to book weekend again. NO ANSWER.

Hello, Mrs Delcourt, it's Mrs Dureau from the Meeting Centre.

It's late, but I wanted to see how you are.

I'm sorry Paul's father cancelled again.

I shouldn't say this, but what he's doing is pathetic.

I've put a letter into your file.

It's not usual protocol, but...

I'm a bit worried about Paul.

I think it's urgent.

He didn't seem okay last time.

I thought maybe we should contact Child Protection...

But you never know how that will turn out...

They might put him in foster care

and it would take you even longer to reunite.

And once you start foster care, that means he's on file until he's 18...

So, on reflection, I think it's best not.

There's not much more we can do for the moment.

I'm really sorry.

Either way, I'll try contacting Paul's father again

and let you know.

Don't hesitate to call, if you need.

Have a nice evening.

She says that she's done.

That my life is hard and I'm hard.

She says she can't stand how I am with her,

how I leave at night,

disappear for a few days, then come back madly in love.

She can't take it anymore, the mad love then the coldness.

She's done with the cripple, the wild child.

She's fed up with my arrogance, my stupid sayings,

veering from better to worse.

She says one day she'll leave me.

Maybe it's because of the winter that we're like this.

And we can just go?

Yes, just like that.

You've got two hours.

Enjoy. Off you go!

It's beautiful!

Look out, Grandma!

What do we do next?

I thought maybe bowling?

That's a great idea!

Although...

No, it won't work.

It might make us late.

Sorry.

What about a movie?

No,

there's not enough time.

Another ice cream?

Fine by me!

What is it?

You're great.

I think you're great.

It's in our Delcourt blood.

Can you show me your place next time?

Yes.

Of course.

You'll see, it's nothing special.

Still, I want to see.

Maybe I could dump some of my stuff there?

Anything you like.

Remember how you always wanted to come here?

When you were in preschool.

No, I don't remember.

Well?

I didn't expect you.

I came to support you.

- Paul's still inside? - Yes.

Laurent is always late. He does it to avoid seeing me.

Shall we go?

I just wanted to see him.

But now I'm in deep shit!

Calm down. I just wanted to see Paul.

I find it very odd that I haven't met him.

I'm speechless.

I think it suits you, this "Meeting Centre" set-up.

You don't want me to meet him.

Even if you had a normal life...

What?

Do you hear what you're saying?

What if Laurent saw you?

A "normal life"? What does that mean?

This is my life.

I've been fighting to see my child for two years.

Paul...

is off-limits.

If you don't get that, then get out.

No one talks to me like that, Clémence.

Can you stay until I fall asleep?

Then we never see each other again.

Yes, hang on, sweetie.

Sorry.

Excuse me, Miss.

Can you help me?

It's blocked...

This thing never works.

Which photo?

That one.

That'll make a perfect bedroom for Paul.

Should I paint one of his walls?

You know how to paint?

No.

Leave those white walls alone, please.

Stick up some posters.

It'll be perfect, honey.

It's going to be great.

Next time, Laurent sends me an email two hours before, to cancel.

And again the next.

He also cancels our Saturday debrief at the Meeting Centre.

The Centre sends him emails.

He never answers.

It's because of the hearing.

They've set a date in February.

He's asked for Paul to speak.

I found out afterwards.

Paul told the judge that he didn't want to see me

and that he never missed me.

He didn't call me "nuts" anymore.

It was better than last time.

Hi.

- Haven't I seen you before? - Yes.

And there's no progress?

No, or I wouldn't be here.

Makes sense.

Perhaps I shouldn't say this, but...

you seem like a decent person.

Someone who understands reason.

Me and my paperwork won't change a thing, you know.

Ultimately, it's too late.

Children grow up and you can't win back time.

And that...

the bigwigs don't understand.

Childhood goes by quickly.

So, what is it?

Well...

at 11:10 AM,

I arrived at the home of my ex-husband, Laurent Lévêque.

I should point out that three months ago I won the case.

I'm now supposed to have custody of my son

every other weekend and half of the holidays.

A ruling that my ex-husband has not once respected.

At 11:10 AM, I arrived at his flat.

There, I found Gontrand Ducourt,

a friend, his lawyer...

who opened the door for me.

There were two other friends inside,

Isaac Hofmann and Guillaume Bloy.

Laurent said that this way,

I wouldn't be able to invent things,

because there were witnesses.

I asked to go and see my son.

I crossed the corridor, entered his room.

My son was lying on the bed, under his covers,

like last time.

Laurent was there too.

My son didn't answer my questions, didn't move.

I sat on the side of his bed,

I asked Laurent to help me.

He replied,

"I don't have to force Paul if he doesn't want to see you".

He spoke loudly so the others could hear.

I said he wasn't respecting my rights

and that wouldn't help Paul.

That I'd file a complaint.

At 11:20, I left my son's room.

In the living room, Laurent said,

"Eventually,

you'll get tired of all this rigmarole".

Do you have anything to add?

Yes.

This is the eighth time that I've filed a complaint.

I think

it's the last time.

Last night, cycling, I had a realisation.

I was returning to Belleville, crossing Paris,

and I realised the grieving was over.

Not regular moments of sadness, of course,

but that grief which permeates everything.

I realised that I'd mourned my son.

I realised: that's it.

I've mourned him.

I felt good.

It had been years since I'd felt so good.

It suddenly hit me.

Like waking up cured after a bout of flu.

Come to think of it,

I hadn't dreamed of him for months.

I almost called the lawyer to say I didn't want anything more.

Not even weekends or holidays.

Then I realised it was pointless, as it wasn't working out anyway.

There was nothing to say. Nothing to do.

I hardly see him anymore.

We don't know what to say.

We're becoming strangers.

It's bound to wither.

The memories of my life with him are fading.

Or rather, they're here, somewhere,

but they don't choke me anymore.

I can see other children without thinking about him.

I think they're cute.

It's not sad.

It's no longer a piercing jab.

Soon he'll be big enough to choose not to see me at all.

And that's okay.

Or perhaps he'll want to come back to live with me.

You never know with teenagers.

Translation: Tara Mulholland

Subtitling: TransPerfect Media France