“But this Paris school,” I pressed home the question. “What about that? Is it expensive?”

“Very expensive,” Dad said. “But your fees and expenses for the term are paid for. That’s what a scholarship means.”

“So you don’t have to pay anything?” I went back to the menu. “What are l’escargots?”

“Snails,” Dad said. “Dare you to order them!”

I wasn’t falling for that. I got burger and chips – in French it was called steak haché and frites. I could read the menu a little. I had taken French this year for the first time at school, and Dad always joked that the only words I seemed to retain in my brain were about food.

I squirted tomato sauce all over the frites as Dad explained to me about the scholarship.

“How will it work, though?” I asked. “If we have to go and live in Paris? How will you do your job?”

We were on the puddings by now. Dad had ordered the chocolate mousse. He gave it a prod with his spoon, but he didn’t eat. He didn’t speak for a bit either, and then he said. “It would just be you, Maisie. I need to stay and work – they won’t hold my job for that long. You’d have to go alone.”

I had just shoved a forkful of meringue in my mouth so I had to chew before I could reply.

“I can’t go and live in Paris on my own. I’m thirteen!”

“I know,” Dad said. “I’m not sure the scholarship people realised you were so young either. I think I forgot to fill in the bit with your age because in their reply they asked me what university you were currently attending!”

“Do you think they’ll withdraw the offer when they find out?”

“I don’t know,” Dad admitted.

I felt my heart sink. “So I’m not going to Paris?”

Dad ruffled my hair.

“Don’t fret yet, Mais,” he said. “I’m going to talk to them. Perhaps there’s a way we can make it work.”

***

Let me tell you something about my dad. He is not a man who admits defeat. Yes, after he spoke to the Paris school, he said it had come as “a bit of a shock” to them when they found out I was only thirteen. Apparently they wanted to cancel my scholarship on the spot. Except for one woman who stood up for us. Her name was Nicole Bonifait – she was the great-great-great-granddaughter of Rose Bonifait, the artist who started the whole scholarship in the first place. Nicole Bonifait told them that she would take responsibility for me, acting as my guardian while I was in Paris for the term. Then Dad spoke to my school in Brixton and they agreed to let me go on exchange (sucks to Mrs Mason!) and it was done!