The town seems busier than usual as I walk along, watching an unusual amount of traffic arriving. And now I know why: there’s a market, not like our usual Monday market but for antiques, a brocante market. I can hear chatter and bargaining from the riverbank as I walk towards the town square. This is an amazing route into town. I knew this path existed but haven’t walked it before. Ollie always insisted on driving: he didn’t want to walk back with shopping. At the end of the path, I pass a clearing with what looks to be a small hut. Fairy lights are strung from it to the trees, and a blue velvet settee, with gold trim and legs, has been placed under a huge pine. Its beauty takes me by surprise. There’s a table and chairs too, with two men playing chess, so intent on their game that they don’t notice me.

I smile as I walk towards the busy market. I’m not thinking about last night, or yesterday, the months that led up to it, or what I’m going to do next. I’m just here, walking in the sunshine with all the other Sunday browsers. The bells I can hear from what was our house, Le Petit Mas de la Lavande, are ringing as church-goers pour out. I watch as a group of short women, dressed in black and smart court shoes, kiss each other three times on the cheek, then head off in different directions, probably going home to prepare lunch for the family. I feel a twinge of envy: there’s no family waiting for me. I think of my mum and the gaping hole her death has left in my life. I need one of her hugs to tell me everything will be okay. Will it? I wish I was here with Mum, Ollie and our child, getting ready for Sunday lunch at home. But I’m not. I’m here on my own.

The sun is warm on my face as I walk around the stalls filling the square, the streets and side streets of the town. I don’t think Ollie would have liked it: he doesn’t like ‘second hand’. Although Le Petit Mas de la Lavande was picture-perfect, he wanted to replace all its original features with new. It needed work, but I liked it as it was, flaws and all.