Morgan starts coughing an ominously deep croaky cough. Rat’s first shameful reaction is to hope Jane and Charlie don’t hear it. Gypsies is one thing, tubercular Gypsies another.

After what seems like a very long time, the man gestures to get their attention. It’s thumbs-up. The children come over. Jane and Charlie are both smiling. Even Morgan starts beaming.

“Look, we’re on,” Charlie says. “But this is the deal. I don’t fancy getting caught with a seven-year-old in my duty-free bags—”

Morgan’s smile vanishes.

“He’s nine,” says Rat.

“So sorry, Morgan. A nine-year-old. So this is what we’ll do. It’s much better to be straightforward. We’ll just bung you two in the backseat and try to look as if we’re an ordinary family returning from holiday. Just a family who happen to have two British parents and two French children, with three different last names. You said you had enough money, right? I don’t even have a clue what the fare is for children.”

Rat pulls the wad from her pocket. “I’ll give you the money right now. In fact, I’ll treat you two to the boat fare.”

“Later, my dear.” He examines her, mock-suspiciously. “Are you sure you’re really Gypsies? I’ve never heard of Gypsies lavishing money on non-Gypsies, one gets the impression that usually traffic flows the other way.”

Rat grins. “Well, if you’d said no, you would have found out fast whether we were Gypsies or not.”

Charlie screws up his eyes at her. “You’d have put a well-known Gypsy curse on us?”

“Well, Morgan’s pretty good at letting the air out of people’s tires.”

“Charming. And one more thing,” he concludes. “I don’t want to sound inhospitable, but when we get to the other side, you’re on your own. Our ways part there. I have no wish to meet the rest of your doubtless delightful family or be involved in your affairs ever again. Is that understood?”

Rat nods. She doesn’t much want to see them again, either.

The next morning, the cars line up for the noonday ferry, and Charlie spends a long time discussing with the man in the booth what kind of tickets he should buy, and whether they are likely to be coming back to France in the next six months. In the end, he buys a one-way pass.

“Funny,” Jane says, sadly. “When we came over, we were so sure it was for good.”

Charlie grimaces. “I could strangle that nice Monsieur Vollin. Voleur, more like. Now, Celia,” he catches the girl’s eye in the rearview mirror.

“Yes, Charlie.”

“I would suggest when we reach passport control, you children start squabbling in the back. You know, pull each other’s hair, poke each other’s eyes out. We must act like a real family, you know.”

“Have you got children?” asks Rat, curious.