The connections’s cutting them off, so she tells Jérôme they’ll call him when they stop for the night.

Florian’s eyes are on the road, but he’s smiling. “So what’d he say?”

Rat snuffles, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. “My dad? He gave me his telephone number, and said to call him when we get to London. I can’t believe I’m saying that as if it’s something completely normal!” The tears are running hard now, dripping from her nose.

She feels small warm hands on her shoulder. Morgan is leaning forward from the backseat and is trying to hug her from behind. “Congratulations, Rat,” he says.

She swivels round to stroke his cheek. Wipes her nose and eyes on the back of her hand. “I don’t know why we’re all acting as if I just won the lottery. He should have got in touch with me fifteen years ago!” Now laughter mixes with tears.

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t have had much to say, would you, aside from ‘goo-goo ga-ga,’” Morgan points out.

“What can I tell you,” says Florian. “Guys are shits. I have a two-year-old daughter, I try to make sure I see her every month or so, she’s the cutest, but I don’t always make it.”

“I didn’t know you had a kid, Florian.”

“Yeah, she’s a total cutie-pie. Megane, she’s called.”

“Nice.”

Florian takes her left hand, examines the back of it where she’s scribbled the number in blue ink. “I guess you’re not going to wash for a few days, huh?”

“My father,” she says to herself, wonderingly. “First word I’ve heard from him in my whole life! So he really does exist, that father of mine. Vanessa didn’t just cook me up in a home science kit. I got a real live father of my own, and he’d be happy to see me. He fucking better be happy to see me, after all these years!”

They reach Dieppe at nightfall, check out the ferry terminal, and then go in search of the closest campsite. The next morning, they’re awakened again by Florian’s cell phone. He takes a look at the incoming number, jumps out of the car in his underpants, wanders off to where he can’t be overheard.

It’s a good twenty minutes before he’s back, not looking happy.

“What’s the matter, Florian?”

“The police have arrested a supplier of mine coming across the Spanish border.”

“Shit.”

“Shit is right. He had, like, eighty kilos of hash on him.”

“What’s it mean for you?”

“Well, the stupid fuck’s probably got my number on his cell phone. It’s not good.” He glances at his watch. “Let’s go, let’s get this over with.”