‘He let you stay up?’

‘Yes, and gave me supper, and made all his friends be nice to me. And the next day we had breakfast. It was just amazing. It was just the best.’

‘And your parents?’

‘What?’

‘I don’t even know where to start with this,’ said Dan. ‘What about the window?’

‘I told them I broke it – he wasn’t meant to be there. But the point is, it wasn’t anything bad. It was Alex. And he was lovely. And I felt this … joy.’

‘That’s your take-away, from being dumped by your parents and scared witless in the middle of the night? Joy.’

They faced one another in the awkward, private space.

‘I’m trying to explain how nice he is.’

‘I see he’s nice.’

‘We should have gone the other way from the square,’ said Bea.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said.

A radio above them somewhere was playing French pop, a man’s deep voice pronounced Europe Deux smoothly to the empty air. They stood close in the asymmetrical suntrap. It wasn’t picturesque. It wasn’t anything to do with their shared vision. It was just a place they had stumbled upon. He kept hold of her hands but looked at the ground.

‘Why is it’, he said, ‘that you feel lucky, and I feel unlucky? What is that?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Bea.

He touched her hair with his fingertips, where the sun was catching it, then her cheek, like a blessing, then the small blue stone hanging from the silver necklace he had given her for her thirtieth birthday. They were going to kiss. The radio started playing Ed Sheeran. They started laughing.

‘Boy. No escape from that,’ said Dan.

‘Seriously.’

He pulled her head into his chest and pushed her hair aside to kiss the flame tattoo. They walked back the way they had come and in a few moments they were out in the square again. Already there was almost no trace of the market, just bareness, and scraps of litter eaten up by the small truck as it went back and forth. They went back to the cafe, with the feeling it was their cafe, now they were there a second time, and found a table in the shade and ordered ice cream.

‘About your art,’ she said, pouring the hot chocolate sauce.

‘Let’s talk about it another time.’

Art. Even the word came more easily to her than it did him. A notion of fulfilment which had expectation at its core.

‘I’m thirty,’ said Dan. ‘The runners are already on the track. They’ve started and I’m laps behind.’

‘It’s not impossible,’ she said. ‘Just doing it. Just doing it would make you happier.’

He watched her scooping up the chocolate sauce and melted vanilla ice cream, and licking her fingers.

‘Messy girl,’ he said.

He made her feel adorable for spilling ice cream on her hand. She didn’t know how he did that.

They walked around the village and looked at the shops, but didn’t buy anything, then went back to the car. Bea remembered the way to Paligny and Dan remembered to drive on the right. When they got back to the hotel, it was six o’clock.