‘It’s no problem,’ she says. ‘I can pick it up from you now. Actually, I have some good news.’ She points to the small car as the doors open and a couple just a bit older than myself step out and scan the house. ‘Monsieur et Madame Jarvis from England are looking for a holiday home in the area.’ Then, more quietly to me, ‘Just like this one! And they are cash buyers.’

‘Cash buyers.’ I nod.

‘It’s … quaint,’ says the woman, with a broad south-of-England accent, not taking off her sunglasses. She’s wearing white jeans and wedge-heeled open-toed espadrilles. ‘Just what we want. Quaint and picture … picture … Cute-looking. And we have friends in the village, a whole group of friends now, actually. A right laugh that crowd are. It’s perfect, innit, Keef? Just out of town, but walkable when you’ve had a few gins!’

I think of the crowd at the ‘pub’, drinking their gin and tonic, standing out with their British ways. And then I think of Fabien.

‘Yeah, great for walking back from town after the pub,’ says her husband, pulling his belt up over his belly. ‘I hear quiz night in the pub’s a right laugh.’ My heart sinks. It’s no wonder that local people feel ‘invaded’. I don’t know why I thought Ollie and I were any different from the rest. We were just like them, moving to France and trying to make it our own, instead of blending in. We went to quiz night in the ‘pub’. I shudder.

Just then, a truck comes down the drive, piled with furniture. It’s Fabien. I’m embarrassed to be showing another British couple around the house. My stomach tightens.

‘Bon après-midi,’ he says, as he jumps down from the cab. He kisses me three times on the cheeks as if we’re the oldest of friends, then turns to the estate agent.

‘Carine,’ he says, and kisses her three times too. Ralph is barking like crazy as Fabien shakes Carine’s clients’ hands. Then he steps back and looks at Ralph. ‘Oui, et toi. Bon après-midi.’ He laughs.

Ralph stops barking and sits, his tongue lolling out as if he’s smiling. Then he raises his right paw in Fabien’s direction, and Fabien takes it and says, ‘Enchanté.’ I can’t help but laugh. I’ve never seen Ralph like this before. From the cab of the truck, a small, wire-haired Jack Russell pokes her head out to see what she’s missing.

‘So,’ says Carine, regaining control of the situation. ‘The house.’ She holds out a hand to Le Petit Mas, and I feel strangely protective of it. As if, somehow, I’m letting it down by selling it. Ridiculous, I know.

‘Looking forward to seeing it,’ says Keef.

‘May I?’ says Carine to me.