“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.”

“That’s a total lie, just like everything else he says. Did he tell you how I whacked him with the bedside lamp, when I caught him trying to jump Morgan, and how he ran away, crying? I bet he didn’t,” says Rat. “I’ve been warning you he’s a perverted sicko for years now. You didn’t believe me then, you don’t believe me now. When are you going to believe me? When he murders some little kid?”

“Morgan says it didn’t happen, either—that Thierry never tried to touch him.”

“That’s not what Morgan says. Leave Morgan out of it.”

“You are so damn jealous it’s sick,” says Vanessa.

“What?!” Rat stops, dumbfounded. “Jealous of what? That it wasn’t me Thierry tried to rape?”