The guests froze, staring at Marc, forks suspended. He had spoken so loudly he surprised himself, not having been able to get a word in edgeways all evening. Although, apart from his strange revelation about Agen (an overstatement in any case – he had spent barely a few hours there a decade earlier), he had had absolutely nothing to say. Several times, out of politeness, he had tried to make a casual quip, to join a conversation, any conversation, but his dining companions seemed to be deaf to his voice. They, in turn, had nothing to share besides profound platitudes, but at least seemed able to understand and respond to one another. As Marc tuned in and out of his fellow guests’ exchanges, they began to break down into a senseless hubbub, the mangled fragments of sentences clogging his ears until he could barely make out a single sound. When someone across the table had mentioned the town in the south-west of France, he had grabbed it like a life raft: ‘I know Agen, too!’

The hostess coughed into her fist to break the vast silence that had greeted his booming pronouncement and the dinner resumed to the sound of clinking cutlery, slurping and chewing, forced laughter and incoherent rambling. He did not utter another word until he left, thanking his hostess for a wonderful evening as she gave a strained smile and looked away.

The car smelled of a blend of contradictory scents: pine, lavender, bleach and Maroilles cheese. It was the cheese, accidentally left in the boot, that had started it: Chloé had been forced to empty several cans of aerosol of various kinds in a vain attempt to neutralise its heady aroma. Her profile was outlined like a transfer on the dark window.

‘What on earth made you shout “I know Agen, too!” like that?’

‘I don’t know. I was trying to be friendly.’

‘Friendly? Nobody cares that you’ve been to Agen.’

‘No. Me neither.’

‘You’re being very odd at the moment.’

‘Oh. How so?’

‘Distant, like you’re somewhere else. Is there something on your mind?’

‘Not really. Did I embarrass you?’

‘No. It’s just you shouted so loudly, it was as if you were waking up from a nightmare. Everyone wondered what the matter was.’

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s OK. I doubt we’ll see them again anyway. They’re so bloody boring.’

‘You think?’

‘Don’t you?’

‘Maybe. I expect you’re right. The langoustines were very good.’