I put away my phone and dive back into the boeuf bourguignon, smelling of the herbs that fill the hillsides around here. There is something so comforting about it, as if Mum had served it to me, made with love. We didn’t have much money when I was growing up, but Mum always cooked for the two of us, and nothing was ever wasted. She could make a chicken last a week. Although I tell myself I won’t, I wipe up every bit of the juice with the bread. I can’t think when I last enjoyed a meal out so much. I don’t have to worry about Ollie and his frustration, our dwindling finances, or watch his fingers twitch, desperate to get back on his phone as soon as the meal has ended.

Henri is taking payments and, as he passes my table, he tips the last of the wine in the little jug into my glass. I almost protest but then think, Why not?

‘Take your time,’ he says. ‘Now, for dessert.’ He pulls a face. ‘I’m afraid I only have ice lollies left. Actually, it’s all I had … vanille, fraise, chocolat.’ He goes to the chest freezer and pulls out ice lollies on sticks.

‘I couldn’t eat another thing, but merci.’

He puts the lollies away and shuts the door. Then he reappears outside. ‘Café,’ he says. He puts down a cup and saucer in front of me and another next to it. ‘May I?’

‘Of course.’ The little restaurant is practically empty now. He can’t make much of a living with such a small place. Small but perfect. I think of the bistros on the main road, fancy and expensive, especially the one with the terrace in front of the church that Ollie insisted on frequenting … mostly because it had a good Wi-Fi connection.

Henri bends down and rubs Ralph’s head affectionately, then sits in the cool of the awning and sips his coffee.

‘That was delicious, Henri. Are you sure I can’t pay you?’ I reach for my bag but he holds up a hand.

‘My pleasure,’ he says. ‘Like I say, it makes up for some of your lost stock.’ He nods to the boxes of biscuits.

‘I lost more to Ralph’s antics than I did to the shop-lifter.’ He only took a couple of biscuits. Ralph scattered most of the macarons over the ground.

‘Perhaps I should take the rest to give as dessert to my customers. They’re really very good.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, of course. I didn’t get the chance to tell you when we had the problem here.’ He points out into the road. ‘But it was very, very tasty.’

‘Here. Take them,’ I say, handing him the box. ‘I can’t use them for anything. And it’s only me in the house.’

‘You live alone?’ he asks softly.