Each morning, she would wake very early and open the shutters, lean out into the garden to breathe in the dry pungency of herbs, and see the heat already shimmering on the bleached grass. She would pull on her shorts and tee-shirt and go to the bakery for bread and pastries. Then she would come back and sit outside with a pot of coffee, sometimes reading Great Expectations or one of the poems in her anthology, sometimes writing down random ideas or sketches in her notebook, more often just letting thoughts and feelings drift through her mind while the sun rose higher.

Juliet, who was sullen and puffy-faced in the mornings, left for the hospital by half past eight. Jem had a translation deadline, and disappeared into his small study shortly after, though he never stayed there for long. Irene washed clothes by hand, scrubbed the smooth stone flags in the kitchen, bought food from the local shops for the day and evening, played her violin, read, took slow and meandering walks round the village and into the fields beyond, where grapes were ripening on the vines and purple mountains rose up in the distance. She sat in the narrow garden in the early evenings, sipping cold white wine and listening to the rising static of night insects. Her French got smoother. Her face lost its pinched look. Her skin became faintly honey-coloured; her freckles spread into coppery smudges across her face.

On Tuesday, she and Jem ordered the wine for the party, the long roll of best beef that Jem was going to cook and serve cold before the wedding, and then they sat under the striped awning of a café and made a list of things they had to do that they never looked at again. On Wednesday afternoon, she biked into Montpellier, through its narrow streets, past its cathedral and ancient medical faculty, and met Juliet in order to choose a dress. Juliet ended up buying two – one was blue and chic for the wedding service; the other was a long silver halter-neck.

‘Wow!’ said Irene when she tried it on.

‘That’s what I wanted to hear – right, I’ll take it,’ said Juliet. ‘Shit, it’s expensive though. Never mind. We only get married once, don’t we? Oh God, or maybe some of us do it more than that,’ she added.

‘Don’t worry.’

‘Now, try this on.’

‘I’m fine – I’ve got a long skirt to wear.’

‘Orange to go with your hair.’

‘I couldn’t. Anyway, it’s far too bright.’

‘Too bright for what?’

‘For me.’

‘What colour’s your skirt?’

‘Grey.’

‘Ha! Try this on. Just see what it looks like.’

‘Honestly, I’m all right, Juliet. I’m not in the mood for shopping.’

‘Just this one. It’s my treat.’

‘Nonsense.’

‘You’ve got out of the habit of taking, haven’t you? Sometimes people like to give, you know …’

‘It’s not that,’ protested Irene.