This gets a chuckle out of Alice, and I have the sudden urge to throw the drink at the waiter’s back as he saunters off.

‘When you’ve finished that,’ she says, nodding at my cup, ‘we should get going.’

‘What’s the first stop?’ I ask, taking a sip, already knowing the answer.

She smiles. ‘Le Dodo Manège.’

Chapter Twenty-Six

When I experienced this day originally, I think I was pretty surprised that Le Dodo Manège was Alice’s first stop on our Christmas itinerary.

I thought I had her pegged as this big-shot marketing executive whose idea of a good time probably involved sipping Instagram-friendly cocktails in some exclusive members’ club. And yet here she was, leading me through the beautiful Jardin des Plantes, just a stone’s throw from the banks of the Seine, towards what appeared to be a children’s fairground ride. It was a nice surprise, to be honest: it made me realise that no matter how much she seemed to have changed, she still had that fun, silly streak I’d been so attracted to at uni.

That said, though, Le Dodo Manège isn’t just any children’s fairground ride. I later learned that it’s a bit of a Parisian legend: a Victorian-era carousel on which, instead of the usual brightly painted horses and carriages, there is a cavalcade of exotic, endangered or extinct creatures. Huge lifelike models of giant pandas, sabre-toothed tigers, various kinds of dinosaurs, willowy gazelle-like things and, of course, a plump, slightly angry-looking dodo.

‘Voilà!’ she says, as we push through the iron gate and it appears before us in all its glory. ‘Le Dodo Manège.’

I nod, and then remember that I am supposed to be seeing it for the first time. I quickly feign excitement and surprise.

‘Oh, yeah! Wow! It’s incredible!’

Alice wrinkles her brow. I may have slightly overdone it. It’s only a merry-go-round, after all, not the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. But then she gives me a smile, apparently convinced that a) I’ve never seen it before, and b) I am suitably impressed. ‘It’s cool, right?’ she says. ‘Come on, let’s get on.’

The carousel is already pretty much full as we arrive – heaving with excited kids and their weary-looking parents. As we clamber up onto the main platform, I see there are only two riderless creatures left. The first is a pretty striking golden mountain lion, which Alice immediately hops up on and straddles, looking vaguely Napoleonic. The other is a giant turtle – fat and squat and about ten inches high – whose seat is basically a small trench that’s been hollowed into its enormous shell. I attempt to retain some dignity as I lower myself into it, but after kneeing myself painfully in the face, twice, I’m not totally sure I manage it.