I perched myself on the fountain near the church and watched Léon positioning his men, quick and decisive. On corners. In pairs. He was young to be in such a senior position of command, but the war had snatched so many of Serriac’s men that it opened up opportunities for those who were left. I noticed the way his men treated him with respect, even those who were older than he was. He studied the huge crowd of protesters with quick eyes, picking out troublemakers. They moved the way a shoal of fish moves, tight together, jostling shoulders. Safety in numbers. Their rage so intense that all it needed was a match to set it on fire. I could see that Léon was determined there would be no match.

A van full of officers came racing in from Arles with police reinforcements to block off side streets and help keep the peace. They formed a human barrier between the demonstrators and the locals who resented this unwelcome intrusion. Insults were hurled. Tempers rose. Few residents of Serriac could stomach the air base because they knew it made them a target for a Soviet nuclear attack, so I couldn’t blame them even though I knew they were wrong. But at the same time they didn’t want this invading army marching through their town.

‘Eloïse Caussade,’ a woman’s stern voice shouted out as she marched past me, swept along by the tidal force of the crowd, ‘you and your father should be ashamed of yourselves for selling your land – French land – to the capitalist overlords from America. You are traitors to your country.’

It only took me a second to find the owner of the familiar voice and I felt my cheeks burn the way they had always done when she used to reprimand me when I was young. It was Madeleine Caron, the headmistress from the school I used to attend, tall and unforgiving. But before I could respond she was gone. Is that how the town thought of me? Of Papa? It saddened me and the urge to explain was strong, but how could I explain when I didn’t understand myself?

I saw a hand in the crowd rise as a tall man reached up above the heads around him, and my heart tightened. His fist was wrapped around a chunk of rock. It swung back and then with explosive force shot forward. A shop window shattered.

One of Léon’s police officers dived into the crowd, seized the culprit and hauled him out into the back of a police van parked across one of the side streets. But another hand went up, another rock. Violence erupting. The quiet world of Serriac was fraying at the edges.