Jim's Story (Le Roman de Jim)

I'm Aymeric.

I was born in '76 in St Claude in the Jura.

Friends say I've a knack for twisted deals and sick stories.

Especially with girls.

At 14, in middle school, I dated Jenny.

At 18, in high school, we were still together.

I'd recovered my father's old Canon camera.

Printing cost so much, I stored the films in a box.

Jenny left me in early June,

without a word, without a tear.

I paid for my first colour print. A photo of Jenny I carried on me.

You ok?

I'm ok.

I dropped out of uni and went back home

to St Claude where I did temp work at the SPAR supermarket.

I was 20.

I forget what I was like.

JIM'S STORY

SUMMER 1996

Jenny's not like that. She wants to teach.

You know her, Titi.

Maybe I'm the problem.

Aymeric…

Come with us.

Where?

For a fairground ride.

It's World Music Day.

Loosen up.

The crowbar…

Keep watch, ok?

Put your gloves on.

Here you go.

We don't do slow.

Good news.

The stoup sold well.

By the kilo?

I know who bought it, we'll get it back.

Rémi, how's it going?

Have a good one.

What's up?

Hold on…

I think this is yours.

It suits you better.

- Is it good? - Fantastic.

Breakfast as late as possible.

That'll be 10:30.

What do you drink?

Coffee. A nice long one.

Room 3, third floor.

You'll never see me naked.

Neither you, nor anyone.

How so?

That's how it is.

Wild.

Draw the curtain.

Sure.

I was like an actor. That was the problem.

Where are you?

Over here.

The play had to end.

It did six months later, early one Saturday,

in the room where we met every Friday.

No way.

I've seen you naked asleep.

Impossible!

There's no sense in it, Léa.

No one's more beautiful.

Who is it?

The gendarmerie, open up.

The gendarmerie?

Yes, open the door, please.

I'm not alone.

Yes, we know.

Are you Mr Aymeric Bailly?

No.

Aymeric, we know everything.

Drop the weapon.

Sorry.

Know why we're here?

Yes.

Get dressed.

No criminal record.

a broken heart, an error of youth, but I got 24 months

in the Lons-Le-Saunier jail.

I finished the film, but don't know how to get it out.

- You took photos? - Yes.

Self-portraits of me.

In the nude.

I used the timer.

Alright.

- You rewound it? - Yes.

Thanks.

For everything.

Goodbye, Aymeric.

But, Léa…

I need to X-ray it.

Goodbye.

I got out after 18 months, for good behaviour.

My sister came to fetch me in a friend's Twingo.

It was no Al Pacino movie.

That's worse.

The local paper did one tiny article.

"The Student Burglar".

With no photo or name.

Two years ago.

18 months.

WINTER 2000

That evening,

it wasn't a total stranger who approached.

She'd been on the SPAR checkout.

How about that!

You vanished overnight.

Four years ago?

- More or less. - We worried.

Actually, I left shortly after.

I retook all my exams

at 30,

then studied nursing.

Now I'm a nurse at the hospital in Oyonnax,

but live here in St Claude.

Aymeric, right?

Yeah.

Remember me?

Florence?

Flo…

It's funny, I thought of you,

a while ago now,

when I heard about that student burglar.

I thought of you for some reason.

Yeah?

Was it you?

It was you!

You're a bandit?

Tonight's bandit, want a drink at mine?

Just a tiny beer for me.

Been out long?

Six months now.

Six months too.

No father.

Well, there is, Christophe, a health auxiliary.

Two kids, married. He knows, but won't leave his family.

I never asked him to.

I was never in love with Christophe.

Love is pretty rare actually.

I could've had kids with Martial.

I left home at 17 for Martial, a stone-cutter.

A stoner, more like!

We lived in a van for 10 years.

10 years of odd jobs, concerts, encounters and everything.

Too much of everything. We killed each other a hundred times.

Why on earth am I telling you that?

Guys say I'm shameless.

It suits you.

Funny, I hate being photographed.

Does my bump scare you?

No.

You're gentle. I like you.

Come on, my bedroom's more comfortable.

We'll have a drink after.

I see you face on, from behind and in profile.

Yeah, it's cubist fucking.

Never tried it?

No.

Come.

It's tough, men don't look at me now.

I miss that.

Well, I missed it.

I really like your bump.

It scares ghosts off.

You're kind.

People often say I'm kind.

Maybe it's true, but I'm no exception.

Most people are kind.

I attract complicated stories and dodgy deals. No idea why.

Because you're kind.

Mean guys never sleep with pregnant women.

There's a barn there.

Dad sold his cows off,

restored it to make a gîte,

and then he died.

My mum, Monique, runs it alone.

It earns her a living. It's a bit old, but people come for the scenery.

And for Monique.

Sorry, I was in the shower.

A hunting accident.

Look at you, my girl!

Giving birth at the farm?

Hi.

Meet Aymeric, my boyfriend.

Boyfriend…

Hi, Aymeric. I'm Monique.

Hello.

Alright.

We'll fit the window before coffee.

Aymeric… That's a Breton name.

Yes, my mother was born in Brest.

So who'll take care of the little lad, or little lass?

Me, of course.

With the guy who's there when I pop.

Yeah.