She turned back to Dan. ‘What do you think he tells our father?’

‘How would I know?’ He looked into the bathroom. ‘It’s actually not too bad,’ he said. ‘Mind you, anything’s nicer than our bathroom at the flat.’

‘Our bathroom’s fine,’ said Bea, feeling hurt.

Dan crossed the room and opened a second door to another bedroom, similar to theirs, but with no bed.

‘Yay,’ he said, ‘a suite.’

3

Nothing about the Hotel Paligny was ready for business. Dan walked behind, as Alex showed them round. He seemed both proud and ashamed, and Bea was embarrassed for him. She ran out of things to say.

‘Ta-da!’ he said, entering the dining room. It had twelve bare tables. The windows had no curtains.

He ran to the back door, rattled the handle, then bent to unlock it with a spider key, fumbling and dropping it on the carpet. They waited, Bea refusing to catch Dan’s eye, and at last Alex threw open the double doors. Beyond the narrow terrace a stone path led down through tangled grass, studded with dandelions. At the bottom of the garden was the barn and log pile. The heavy buds of roses lolled over cracked flower beds.

‘What do you think of my garden furniture? It was dead cheap,’ said Alex.

Several tables and chairs were scattered about, they were brand new, with brash, brown matching sunbeds dotted chaotically between.

‘Is he taking the piss?’ whispered Dan.

In the kitchen Alex pulled the food from the plastic bags. It was not the kitchen Bea had imagined. Next to a wooden dresser there were two trolleys, like operating theatre trolleys, and a line of broken wicker chairs. There was an industrial-size range, with six gas rings, and a fryer, and three microwaves.

They ate in the dining room as darkness fell, with the other tables grouped jealously around them. He hadn’t asked anything about their journey, or themselves; being with him was like watching television, or a play.

‘It’s been cold at night,’ he said. ‘It’s nicer eating in the garden, obviously.’

‘Doesn’t that get to you?’ asked Dan, pointing to the blank glass. Alex jumped up immediately, dodging between the tables, and pulled all the windows open, with creaks and heaving.

‘You don’t need to –’ started Dan.

The gaping windows were as strange as the reflecting glass had been.

‘Not so creepy?’ Alex came back to the table dusting paint flakes from his hands.

Gathering the tumblers together, he poured the wine, gazing on it as it flowed from the bottle, shining like blackberries. It was the only thing so far to hold his full attention.

‘There you go. Cheers.’

‘Cheers.’

They drank. He had raided the charcuterie counter at the supermarket, and bought more than they could possibly eat.

‘I’ll cook for you tomorrow. Sorry. Sidetracked.’

‘Please don’t worry,’ said Bea. ‘Sidetracked by what?’

‘Oh, you know, hotel business. I think the building work is putting people off?’

Did he mean the dried-out roller leaning against the wall upstairs, the abandoned box of filler?