I had taken out the notebook and pencil I still carried in the pocket of my skirt and began to write.

‘But that’s only an estimate,’ he said, glancing at the notebook. ‘The final addition could be more.’

‘Can’t you use the hinges and handles from the old cabinets? The nails?’

He bent to the pile of rubble in the corner and sifted through it, collected a few small bits and showed me. In his palm lay two twisted and rusty nails, like a pair of dead insects. ‘These were flimsy to begin with. Impossible to use again.’ He went back to the pile and raised the corner of a fallen cabinet with the toe of his boot. ‘I’ll recover these hinges, but the handles are out of fashion. Wouldn’t your Madame like to try something new? I can bring a catalogue, with drawings and everything.’

‘Perhaps we can sell the old handles,’ I said. ‘I’ll discuss it with Madame. Don’t throw anything anyway or purchase any metal finishings without consulting us first.’

He tipped his hat to me.

Simply because he had told me not to, and also because I was emboldened by the haggle, feeling very much that I had won, I remained in the doorway and watched while he used the hammer and crowbar to break away the plaster at the edges of the scraggy hole. As he did this, he tapped the wall, searching for where the damp ended and the dry, sound plaster began. Dust rose in the small space and I covered my mouth with my shawl, suppressed a cough. The plasterer hummed a tune of his own making and soon, my nose and the back of my throat became dry with dust. I could taste it. Eventually, most of the wall was exposed to reveal weathered laths running in neat, horizontal rows. I ran my eyes over the wall. Walked up to it and touched the bitumen-hard mud, pulled at a few strands of horsehair, brittle and orange. I sniffed deeply and discovered I liked the smell of damp wood and cold mud. Wouldn’t it be curious, I thought, to uncover something old and forgotten. A necklace that marked a betrayal, or bones, or a tooth. Something like that.

Nicolas spent the rest of the day filling sacks with rubble and clearing out the mess. I was grateful, dirty and worn out when he finally left at half past six in the evening. In spite of his belligerence, he’d swept and arranged his tools neatly in the corner of the kitchen, leaving nothing behind but some chalky boot prints.

On the fourth day, the new plaster dry and the cabinets almost complete, I asked Nicolas to give me the hinges and handles so I could sell them. The day before, I had asked Audette the laundry girl to sit with Madame, and had taken a stack of newspapers to five different boucheries, a walk that occupied most of the day. I asked each butcher if he knew where I might sell or trade old cupboard handles, and was given the name of a reputable metalworker whose workshop was not far away. Madame liked the idea of new handles for new cupboards, and I wanted to achieve this for her. And while doing all this I thought of Tante Huguette. Just watch how I can take care of things, I thought. And I thought of Axelle. Just watch how I can take care of you.