I like this name. This will be his name. He was a meticulous, no thoughtful, no, precise, yes that's it. I forgot who he was supposed to be. Leila's father. But does her name fit? Not very French, non? He enjoyed a sense of order. Shirts pressed. Starched. White shirts hanging together. He only had two shirts of other colours. One grey, one off-white, for festive occasions. He liked his children to be at the dinner table on time. Five, six, no eight o'clock sharp. He was French after all. He didn't take his meals too early, even though the discipline of his training had taught him differently.