Mrs C Eckler is wearing a sparkly silver top and black shiny trousers. I love her top. I keep squinting my eyes so the sparkles dance in the light. Her hair is piled up on her head, with a sunflower pinned on the left-hand side. Her husband is also wearing black shiny trousers but his top is plain grey. She’s eating some of the red vegetable kebabs.

‘Can I get you something, Elle?’

‘I’m waiting for the potatoes.’

The barbecues are making me hungry though, Mange-Tout cooking on one and Season on the other. A stereo of smells. Ama says they do that to keep the meat separate from the vegetables. I like that because I like to keep food separate on my plate, even though it’s the same colour. If it mixes, there are too many textures to cope with and I don’t enjoy the food. I wander over to the meat barbecue expecting to see burgers and sausages but that isn’t what’s there. It looks like steaks. The Leaplings gather around the meat table because we aren’t used to so many vegetables. I think most of the 2048 pupils are Vegan except Ama.

‘There’s nothing better than the smell of meat on a barbecue,’ says Le Temps. ‘Actually, there is. Eating it.’

‘Is it ready yet?’ says Jake.

‘Indeed,’ says Le Temps, putting the steaks onto white bread rolls. ‘And now, the moment of truth. If anyone can tell me what kind of meat it is, you get to drive Season’s Ferrari.’ He pauses. ‘Only joking.’

It isn’t a very good joke. But Big Ben grabs a roll on the word ‘Ferrari’. He wants to drive. I hope he manages to guess correctly. He takes a huge bite and immediately opens his mouth like he wants to spit it out.

‘Is it disgusting?’

Big Ben does his three-second pause and mutters something that sounds like too hot. Of course it was too hot. It came off the barbecue 20 seconds ago! Then his voice sounds normal again.

‘Is it cows?’

He’s thinking about the cows we saw in the field earlier. It isn’t a bad guess. If they live on this land, maybe they kill one every four years for the Leap Party barbecue.

Le Temps shakes his head. ‘Try again.’

Big Ben chews for a few seconds. ‘Pork chop.’

‘No.’ Le Temps smiles. ‘Here’s a clue: something you might come across in the grounds here. If you look far enough ahead.’

‘Rabbit,’ says Jake.

‘Fox,’ says Maria.

They’re both wrong. It’s far too big to be rabbit. And you can’t eat foxes. Everyone knows that.

‘Is it goat?’ I say. At that moment they start to play some of that 1924 music Noon likes and she and Ama go crazy dancing, all arms and legs.

‘Not a bad guess for someone who only eats yams. But wrong.’

‘What is it then?’