The fish sparkled on their beds of ice across the market stalls, silver, pink, grey, their gills and tails still twitching. Some of them were veritable monsters of the deep, and with bemused expressions on their faces as if, Esther decided, her heart going out to them, their minds were still half on whatever business they had been about when the fishermen’s nets snatched them from the water. Beside her, in a floppy straw hat and faded gingham shorts, her black bikini top visible through her white linen T-shirt, Viv showed no sign of such sentimentality, bargaining with the vendor standing guard over a vast barrel of mussels in her enviably fluent French.

They were to have the mussels for a late lunch, in white wine and herbs, along with hunks of the wholemeal sourdough bread Brian had made that morning, baking rather than cooking being a new passion, as he’d explained when Esther had bent close to admire the loaf. ‘I like to do things well if I can,’ he’d admitted simply. ‘It’s good to have you out here, Esther,’ he had added warmly, giving her a quick half-hug with one arm. ‘We should have done it long ago.’

Esther followed Viv as she moved along towards the meat stalls, aware of walking in the relative cool of her shadow and also of a dreamy state of relaxation of which she had forgotten herself capable. Day three of not having to be in control. Not having to make decisions. It was bliss. They had also been tasked with the purchase of chicken and sausages for that evening’s barbecue, a subject discussed with vigour during the course of a hearty breakfast of pastries, sliced strawberries, kiwi, and platefuls of scrambled eggs. The family’s easy collective capacity to eat ravenously while discussing future meals had reinforced Esther’s appreciation of what a coherent unit it was. As the house guest – the outsider – she had felt some awkwardness about joining in, dropping her gaze to her plate and dabbing at the croissant flakes with a fingertip while fighting off an unedifying ripple of envy.

It was the force of Viv herself that made everything work, Esther had decided, leaving the table to see to the washing-up. Brian might bake bread and be devising a grand kayaking trip for the morning, but it was Viv who quietly inserted the provisos about beds being made first and Finn and Amber sitting out the treat this time in order to make inroads into their respective holiday work assignments. She had emerged with a cool bag of drinks to join the final moments of the send-off in the drive, looking strikingly petite beside her children – all lanky, like their father – and praising Brian’s expert strapping of three bright yellow kayaks to the roof-rack of the hire car, between issuing reminders to the younger two about not taking their phones and remembering to reapply sun-cream.