Marc was perturbed, but he was spotted by a waitress holding a tray of beers and she came over to ask what he wanted.

‘Just some water for a journey,’ he explained, as he pulled out a ten-franc note. ‘I’m cycling to Paris.’

The waitress told him to wait and after dropping off the beers she came back holding a large mineral water bottle with a screw-on cap.

‘How much?’ Marc asked, as he realised that another of his weaknesses was that he had little idea of what things cost.

‘It’s on the house for a sweet boy like you,’ the waitress said warmly.

As Marc took the cool bottle and smiled gratefully a great roar of laughter went up from the table beside him.

‘He’s a bit young for one of your toy boys, Sabine,’ a drunken man jeered.

‘Would you fancy a roll in the sack with her, kid?’ his companion teased, as he reached out and grabbed the attractive waitress’s bum.

‘Thank you, miss,’ Marc said, trying to ignore the remarks.

‘Leave him be,’ Sabine said, as she cuffed one of the drunks around the head. ‘You’re embarrassing the poor kid.’

The laughter dried up as an orange flash erupted in the distance, followed by three thumps that set ripples through the glasses of beer on the table.

‘Bloody hell,’ the waitress said, as she looked over her shoulder towards the light. ‘Sounded more like artillery that time.’ Then she looked at Marc again. ‘You ride safe, OK? And say hello to Paris for me.’

‘Thank you,’ Marc said for what felt like at least the sixth time, as he pulled open the draw-string of his bag and placed the bottle inside, nestled between a cloth and his dirty shorts so that it didn’t break.

After backing the bike out, he gave a quick wave as he pedalled off. When he turned to face the road he noticed a soldier just a few metres ahead.

‘Coming through,’ Marc shouted, swerving to avoid the scruffy figure. His chest was bare beneath a muddy army jacket and Marc guessed he was drunk.

But as Marc pedalled by the soldier kicked out. The bike clattered over and Marc’s knee banged hard on the stone as the soldier pounced on top and slapped him across the mouth.

‘Stay down,’ the soldier ordered, shaking his fist in Marc’s face as he ripped the bike away.

Marc was less than twenty metres from the café and the waitress and the two men who’d teased him came running. But by the time they arrived the soldier was pedalling off into the night.

‘Are you all right, son?’ one of the men asked, as he gave Marc a hand up.

He’d taken a nasty blow in the mouth and gasped with pain when he put weight on his knee.