For them this was worse than being told there wasn’t any water. They looked at Franck with a mixture of anger and incomprehension. They were annoyed with him, as if it were his fault.

Lise came back with a jug of cold water with some flowers steeping in it.

‘It needs to infuse first. In the meantime, come with me and I’ll show you your room.’

She took them up to the room just under the roof, a strange space that was as much an attic as a bedroom. She had managed to sort out some sleeping arrangements, using the two old beds that were up there and putting her yoga mats on top. Franck didn’t know how she she had managed it. She could do anything. She could have turned a cellar into a palace, a picnic into a banquet, a fleeting instant into a moment of grace. He could hear her talking to them, full of genuine kindness and generosity, and he thought to himself that she was truly the best part of him. He couldn’t remember which artist had said ‘My wife’ in response to the question ‘What is the best thing about you?’ In this instance he wanted to believe it because if Lise represented the best of him, he could be his worst self and not feel bad about it; he would be as hard, cruel and violent as possible.

Lise showed them the upstairs rooms and the balcony. Alpha stayed with Franck. He seemed to be waiting for an instruction or an order so he would know what to make of the two newcomers. Were they wild boar or squirrels? Was he supposed to be good and gentle if they decided to stroke him, not barking, and behaving like a pet? Or should he growl if they held their hand out to him, frighten them and treat them like wild boar?