I watched her as she came into the playground, walking mechanically like an automaton. But her steps were hesitant: she must have sensed that everything was in disarray. One, two, three, right… one, two, left. She bumped into a cone, stood motionless for a few seconds like a robot recalculating its route, and set off again purposefully in the opposite direction – only to stumble straight into a go-kart. At the back of the playground a policeman was watching her suspiciously. I don’t want to sound smug, but I’d seen the catastrophe coming. Mind you, catastrophes aren’t that hard to predict, you can usually bank on there being at least one in the offing. Experience has taught me that, too.

Marie was hopelessly lost between a fake red light and a fake one-way sign. Everything around her was fake. She was going round in circles: she must have been calculating and recalculating, but she wasn’t getting anywhere. She was like a pinball bouncing off one thing after another. The worst of it was that the other kids in the class, and presumably in all the classes that looked out over the playground, were beginning to enjoy the spectacle, like ancient Romans at the arena, waiting for a bloodbath. They were nudging each other, sharing their amusement. We were done for: it was glaringly obvious that she couldn’t see anything. And then, as if I was spring-loaded, I jumped to my feet and before I had time to think I was standing stiffly in front of the teacher.

“I’ve got to go, I’ve got diarrhoea,” I said.

“Diarrhoea?”

“Yes. A bad case of the runs. Never happened to you?”

My words took a little time to filter through to his brain, partly because of the hearing aid and partly because of the surprise. And then it looked as though a head of steam was building up behind his eyes, obscuring his vision.

“You asked for details, so I gave you details!” I said.

Perhaps he was waiting for instructions from the ancient kings of France to come through his earpiece. So in the end I just left.

I headed towards Marie in the playground. There were faces pressed up against all the windows, watching us. It was complete pandemonium in the classrooms and the teachers were in a state about the lack of respect for their authority. As I walked into the arena, I could almost hear the public baying for our death. Sometimes it’s useful to have historical references at your fingertips.

I followed the lanes laid out by the road safety guys and caught up with Marie at the end of a cul-de-sac. She must have heard me, because she said, “Is that you, Victor?”

“Yes, it’s me, it’s Ariadne’s thread. Your very own path finder.”

She looked relieved. Maybe it wasn’t all over between us.