Then I thought of my blackbird in his box full of cotton wool, with his little yellow beak half-open and his heavy, beating heart clinging on to life.

The square was now completely empty. The boules players had gathered in a little smoky café and were chatting with the fairground people. Their life seemed simple and untroubled.

“But still, you know, it’s going to be a challenge to pretend there’s nothing the matter…”

As I said this, something occurred to me.

“So in that case,” I said, “when you gave me the maths answers at the beginning of term, you were already thinking … I mean, it was so that I would help you when you couldn’t see any more?”

“Not to start with. I gave you the answers because there was something about you that amused me, something a bit old-fashioned. You remind me a bit of—”

“Clark Gable, I know. I’ve got the vintage touch. And then what happened?”

“Stop looking at me like that, for heaven’s sake… What happened then was that I realized you were resourceful. And generous. And sensitive. And I felt sure that you would help me and not let me down. Then I fell in love with you and stopped thinking about anything at all.”

I wondered if I’d heard right and if this was the end of exile. I nearly asked her to repeat it, but since she was blushing a bit, it seemed best to say nothing. I stared at the bunch of flowers, wondering what their names were, with my heart exploding into little pieces. For no particular reason, I began to count the petals. Then we looked at the clouds for a while. All I wanted to do was to run away as fast as possible without looking back. I don’t know why, but I found myself remembering the TV programme about concentration camps that I’d watched with Dad.

Marie’s determined voice broke into my thoughts.

“OK, let’s sum up the situation. Firstly, in a few days’ time, or at the latest after the Christmas holidays, it’s going to be curtains…”

“Like Helen Keller?” I butted in, wanting to make a cultural reference.

“Like Helen Keller, exactly. Although I can still hear. Secondly, I need your help to stop anyone noticing at school. My marks mustn’t drop, because the music school only accepts brainy people. But I can’t do it on my own, so you’ll have to be like Ariadne’s thread and lead me through the labyrinth. Thirdly, why don’t we go to the funfair together tomorrow? Now let’s go and have lunch. Mum’s made lasagne and an awesome dessert.”

Marie showed me into a huge living room, flooded with light from tall bay windows. Her mother came in and I held out my bouquet. She buried her nose in it.

“There’s no point in doing that, Madame, they’re made from fabric. I thought they would last longer. And also that they would be more elegant.”