The answer’s inaudible. Rat and Jérôme watch the man and boy saunter through the long grass back to the restaurant. The man slings a casually proprietary arm around César’s shoulder. Rat feels hungry just thinking about the dinner that’s waiting for them. They serve good food at Chez Ernest, though not good enough to warrant the prices.

“We should be heading home,” says Jérôme. “It must be way past nine.”

It’s late enough so even Vanessa will start worrying, but Rat’s not ready yet to tear herself away from the night sea, the flamenco music coming from the restaurant, the sound of laughter. The sky is navy blue and the moon’s casting a pale yellow moon-path across the water.

Between here and home, there’s the highway underpass to cross, which is spooky even in the daytime. You never know who you might meet in there, or whether your bicycle’s going to get mired midway in mud, a double nuisance for Rat, who is barefoot.

“I still think César’s a stupid name,” she says.

“It’s a good thing he didn’t want to see you jump off the top, you would have broke your fucking leg,” says Jérôme.

They both laugh. Rat leans over the straight side and spits. “Don’t you find it a bit stupid, César?”

“Is it true your daddy has a Ferrari?”

“Yeah. Like Michel’s.” Michel owns the catamaran company where Jérôme’s father is manager. “A red convertible Ferrari. That’s the kind my daddy has.”

“That’s not a Ferrari, jerk-head, that’s a BMW,” says Jérôme, affectionately.

That night, safely home, Vanessa says Rat can come sleep in her bed.

Rat, drifting off to sleep to the sound of the television, pictures the man in white trousers being her father, his loose lordly arm around her shoulder. But it’s too strange to imagine herself on the other side of the looking glass. If she too became a “city kid,” would she forget how to climb the bunker, would she fight over whose turn it was to swing in the hammock, would she suddenly get scared of spiders?

“Vanessa,” she says.

“What, sweetie?”

“Do you think someday we could go meet my dad?”

No answer.

“Why don’t we call him up and ask if we could go see him?”

“In London?”

“Why not?”

Her mother laughs.

“Why don’t we?” Rat insists.

“Your father’s an odd guy. He’s kind of a hermit,” Vanessa says finally.

“What’s that?”

“He doesn’t see anybody. He doesn’t answer the phone, he doesn’t answer his letters.”

“That’s pretty weird.”

“Oh, I guess he got sick of people swarming around him just because his mother was famous.”