She gave up. There was no point asking questions when he was in this mood. And why should she, anyway? He had arranged everything perfectly so far, and a little mystery made everything more fun. More exciting. Although she would have much preferred to eat a burger at a local pub this evening.

“It’s interesting, I’ll grant you, but it’s not exactly homey, is it?” she said, looking around demonstratively. The room was now flooded with sharply dressed people, but it was still as brightly lit as the freezer aisle in a supermarket.

“Not everything has to be,” answered Werner. “It’s a trendy concept, and they’ve executed it without making any concessions. Kind of fun to experience something like that. They say it’s the best restaurant in the region.”

“It must just be me, then.”

“Sometimes it’s good to step outside your comfort zone,” he said.

Course number six was brought to the table by a young chef with a South Asian background who listed the ingredients one by one. He had a friendly smile, but his explanation—delivered in brisk English—was lost amid the noise from the kitchen and the background buzz of the restaurant.

Helen peered at her plate. Its contents resembled a collage made of bath foam, flower petals—purple and yellow, were they violets?—and a few cubes of a glistening substance.

“Looks amazing, doesn’t it?” asked Werner.

“Very interesting. But is it edible?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

She picked up a petal from her plate and placed it on her tongue. It tasted of petal.

28

28

Ralf drove away from the terminal building, which had the words “Port de Calais” painted on it in black lettering. There were still long lines of stranded travelers waiting inside. Truck drivers, businesspeople, students. Everybody was hoping to buy tickets for the next crossing, but the ferry companies had all sold out. The later sailings were all full too. Ralf was relieved that they’d managed to get hold of some tickets, even though the boat wasn’t departing for eight and a half hours. At least their place on board was guaranteed.

“Are there any potato chips left?”

Sara shook her head. “They’re all gone.”

Ralf looked around. Nothing but cars, tall fences, barbed wire, concrete. Not a KFC or a McDonald’s to be seen.

“I think we have to go through customs first,” said Sara. “After that, I’m sure there’ll be a café somewhere selling sandwiches and stuff.”

Ralf followed the signs for the ferries. The word “customs” made him uneasy. It had felt like such a good plan when he’d been packing his things at home, but now that he was confronted with all these grim fences, cameras, and uniforms, it suddenly seemed a lot less clever. Naive, even.