The clouds, thickening, moved slowly, very close to the earth compared to the deep blue beyond.

‘I sometimes think the problem is the semantics,’ she said. ‘The moment we name the mystery “God”. Once we do that, we start thinking we know what He wants, and who He likes, and who is and isn’t acceptable, then we’re in trouble. Who am I to say what God is or isn’t?’

‘That’s what I mean.’

‘I love ideas. Not good with absolutes. If I have any belief system, it’s that I know I don’t know anything. Religious people think they know. Catholics particularly.’

‘It was the hypocrisy and paedophiles that put me off,’ said Alex, ‘but now you mention it presuming to know the mind of God is a bit wankerish. Your Simone Weil said something like – the only sin is failing to recognise how powerless we are.’

‘“Miserable”.’

‘Wretched, yes.’

‘It’s a better word,’ said Bea, ‘but it seems a bit harsh.’

‘She says the rich and powerful can’t be pure, because they can’t accept they are nothing. They can’t accept their wretchedness. Like our father. The rich man. The big I Am.’

She looked across at him. His eyes were closed.

‘Being nothing is all right,’ he said quietly. ‘Absolute attention. When I’m thinking how fucked I am. I think about that.’

‘That sounds good.’

‘I try. I try. But I fail. I just fail. I fail.’ The word repeated was like a nail he was driving into himself.

She touched his shoulder.

‘Yes,’ he said. He sat up, reached for his cigarettes and lit one. ‘Do you need to go and pacify your husband?’

‘He doesn’t need pacifying. He’s an adult.’

‘Cor,’ said Alex. ‘I wonder what that’s like.’

Dan was on their bed when she came in. He had a sketchbook out, but hadn’t opened it. He was playing on his phone.

‘Any luck?’ said Bea, coming in.

‘I registered us on Airbnb. No word from the tenant. Leanne thinks she’s back in Seoul.’

‘OK,’ said Bea, ‘nothing more we can do, then. Shall we go into town?’

‘Town?’

‘You know – sightseeing?’ She made a comedy face, but it didn’t take.

He shrugged. ‘If you want.’

5

Being back in the Peugeot was comforting, the smell reminded them of their long drive, ancient fag smoke and an edge of vomit. They rested their arms on the open windows, sunshine on bare skin, pastures roaring by in a stream of warm air, round the bends towards the village. They had come through Arnay the day before and seen almost nobody. Today the square was filled with market stalls which, even as they got there, were being taken down. The meat and fish on the shaded side of the square, the cheese, fruit and vegetables, all the way to the sweets and children’s Disney dresses on plastic hangers, all of it packed up, like a circus leaving town.

‘A market,’ said Bea.

‘We missed it,’ said Dan.

The terrasse of the Café de la Place was crowded. French families organised their shopping and children, and tourists watched like anthropologists. Dan and Bea found a table at the edge, hard up against the plastic awning, the only one free because it was in full sun. They both put on their sunglasses. Bea was uncomfortable in the heat. Other people felt cool and sexy in the sun, but it set her body into opposition with itself. A small shiny truck was picking up rubbish.