Morgan grunts. “Why can’t we keep on staying with Jean-Luc and Marielle?”

“That’d be nice, wouldn’t it, but—it’s too close. I feel like I can’t breathe, I’m always looking around, listening out for Thierry’s car. I want to put a million miles between him and us.”

“Collioure isn’t a million miles.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Why don’t we just kill him? Then we can keep on living here.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” says Rat, before realizing Morgan means it.

“He’s big. But there are lots of ways to kill him.”

She blows out her breath. “Nah, then we’d just go to jail forever. He’s not worth it.”

“To me, it is,” says Morgan.

“Well, I’m not willing.”

“I don’t want to go into Care,” says Morgan, suddenly, and Rat feels her breath disappear. Of course—that’s what happens when people find out a kid’s been abused at home; he goes into Care.

“You’re not going into Care,” she says, with as much authority as she can muster. “I’m old enough to take care of you.”

Morgan looks at her, clearly unconvinced. “Okay,” he says. “Now can I have my Arsène Lupin back?”

Sunday morning. Blazing blue of early summer. Just one or two white scars of snow left on the rock face of Mount Canigou.

The Cabreras have headed out for the day on Jean-Luc’s boss’s new boat. Rat and Morgan have opted to stay home.

No sign of Thierry.

When Vanessa comes back from the village with a loaf of bread, she finds her daughter packing. Both kids’ sleeping bags are on the floor, along with a microtent Rat’s borrowed from Laurent.

“Going somewhere?”

Vanessa looks over Rat’s pile of provisions. She picks up an old horn penknife with a fork and spoon attached.

“That’s not yours. Max brought that back to me from Switzerland.”

Rat opens her mouth in protest, then shuts it. A change of underwear, socks, T-shirts, and a sweatshirt for each of them. Already she’s searched the drawer in the kitchen dresser where Vanessa keeps official documents, retrieved her and Morgan’s passports from the Morocco trip, blessedly still valid. Taken sixty euros from Vanessa’s strongbox.

A windbreaker for Morgan, Florian’s granny’s boyfriend’s corduroy jacket for her. A toothbrush to share. Jérôme’s Indian spirit-catcher.

She’s been waiting for Vanessa to relent, to introduce a note of doubt that possibly Rat could be telling the truth. Instead, she can hear from Vanessa’s tone that her mother has, if anything, hardened.

“I can’t believe you, Rat,” Vanessa says. “You are turning into just the worst little lying fantasist. You have a sick mind, you know that? I asked Thierry about what you said happened. You know what he said, he said he heard Morgan crying in his sleep like he was having a nightmare, he came in to comfort him. Period.”