The lady has been joined on the beach by a man. Together they look around, and finally spot the boy. The man heads over towards his son, then catches sight of Rat and Jérôme, who are peering over the edge of the bunker.

“Tiens,” the man says, laughing. He is wearing a black shirt and white jeans. “Come eat. Didn’t you hear your mother calling?”

He flicks his chin up at the bunker. “What’s that?”

“It’s a German bunker,” says Rat.

“Oh really?”

“The Nazis built them during the war.”

Her desire to impress is so fierce it’s like a pain in her chest. “Do you want to see me jump from the top?”

“No, I don’t, thank you.”

“Your son doesn’t climb very well,” she says.

“He’s a city kid.”

“Paris?”

“No, actually we live in London.”

Rat’s heart pounds. For one crazy moment, she thinks, This is my father. He’s come back to find me. “You speak good French,” she says, testing.

He laughs. “I am French; I just work in London.”

Rat still stares, reluctant to give up. Maybe he just doesn’t want to say it. “I’ve been to London. Lots of times. My daddy lives there,” she pursues. “He’s a city kid, too.”

“Oh really?”

“My daddy’s English.”

The man smiles condescendingly. “Do you speak English?”

“Yes. Very much. His name’s Gillem McKane. Do you know him?”

“It’s a big city. César, dinnertime.”

“When I go to stay with him, he drives me around in his red Ferrari. He lives in a great big house next to Buckingham Palace. You don’t know him?”

“Sorry … It’s a big city. César, dinner.”

“Everybody knows him. My granny was a top model,” she insists. “I go to stay with them every vacation.”

“Really? Come on, César. We’re eating. When your mother calls, you come the first time.”

“Why did you name him César? Isn’t that a dog’s name?”

“Not really. It’s the name of a man who built bunkers on this coast long before the Germans.”

Rat rolls her eyes at him for thinking she’s so moronic she’s never heard of the Romans, but he’s not looking at her anymore. César shakes himself as if awoken from a dream and crouches down to fasten his jellies.

“Say good-bye to your pals,” says the man. César casts them a glance of unexpectedly intense hatred and says nothing.

“You got the time, mister?” Jérôme shouts, when they’re almost out of hearing.