On their way out, Florian buries his cell-phone chip in the remains of last night’s kebab, and dumps the paper bag in a campground bin. Then they drive down to the ferry terminal. It’s a massive zone like a military camp, acres of barbed wire, surveillance cameras, floodlighting. Customs and immigration officers. Florian is looking more and more unhappy. The guy really has no luck.

Rat goes into the ladies’ room to wash and brush her teeth, change her clothes. When she comes out, Florian is on a pay phone.

“What’s happening?” she asks.

“I don’t know. I can’t seem to find out.”

“Why don’t you head on back to Perpignan? Unless it’s a good time for you to get out of the country.”

“No way,” says Florian, casting a nervous look at the over-muscled border police posted at the corner. “I’m not walking right into their jaws now. You gotta be in the right frame of mind, real Zen, real relaxed, otherwise, they smell the fear. Besides, I got all my shit stuffed in a shoe at the bottom of my closet. I gotta hide it somewhere more devious.”

“Well, go on back now. Hide your goods. We’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? I brought you all this way, might as well finish up the job right, get you safe on the boat.”

“It’s been great,” says Rat. “Best trip of my life. You really saved our hides. But you get going now, we’ll be fine.”

“You want to see if you can get on the noon ferry?”

“No, it’ll be fine.”

“Listen, I’ll wait for you outside till eleven. If it’s no go, come tell me and I’ll bring you back to my granny’s, we’ll find another way.”

“Okay.”

He makes to kiss her. “No biting, all right?”

Awkward kisses. Florian musses up Morgan’s hair. “Let me give you my granny’s number. Call her and tell her what’s happening. And here,” Florian reaches into his tracksuit pocket, pulls out his wallet, peels off three yellow fifties. “That’s for your trip.”

“Thanks, Daddy.”

“Don’t mention it, sugar-pie. Anything for my little girl.” He winks at Morgan. “You, too, buster. Stay cool.”

He starts walking towards the automatic sliding doors. “I’ll wait here till eleven. After that, you can call my granny, if you need me to come back and get you.”

“Good luck.”

Rat watches the scrawny little bantam rooster strut out the door, watches him turn once and wave. Then she and Morgan shoulder their backpacks and head over to the ticket office.

A youngish man in uniform, brush-cut hair, but nice-looking.

“Two tickets on the twelve o’clock, please.”

“Foot passengers?”

“Yeah.”

“Round-trip?”

“One way.”

“Do you have any special discounts?”

“I’m a student, my brother’s nine,” she says.

“Let me just check on the fares.” He taps on his computer.