BooksBarbecue
Back The Lollipop Shoes
Chapters (96)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Book
  3. The Lollipop Shoes
  4. Dedication
  5. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  6. PART ONE
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. PART TWO
  13. 1
  14. 2
  15. 3
  16. 4
  17. 5
  18. 6
  19. 7
  20. 8
  21. PART THREE
  22. 1
  23. 2
  24. 3
  25. 4
  26. 5
  27. 6
  28. PART FOUR
  29. 1
  30. 2
  31. 3
  32. 4
  33. 5
  34. 6
  35. 7
  36. 8
  37. 9
  38. PART FIVE
  39. 1
  40. 2
  41. 3
  42. 4
  43. 5
  44. 6
  45. 7
  46. 8
  47. 9
  48. 10
  49. 11
  50. 12
  51. PART SIX
  52. 1
  53. 2
  54. 3
  55. 4
  56. 5
  57. 6
  58. 7
  59. 8
  60. 9
  61. 10
  62. 11
  63. 12
  64. PART SEVEN
  65. 1
  66. 2
  67. 3
  68. 4
  69. 5
  70. 6
  71. 7
  72. 8
  73. 9
  74. PART EIGHT
  75. 1
  76. 2
  77. 3
  78. 4
  79. 5
  80. 6
  81. 7
  82. 8
  83. 9
  84. 10
  85. 11
  86. 12
  87. 13
  88. 14
  89. 15
  90. 16
  91. 17
  92. 18
  93. 19
  94. Epilogue
  95. About the Author
  96. Also by Joanne Harris

So instead I turned and ran down the bare white alleyway so that for a moment I was one of them, free as the sky. It’s good to run: you take giant strides; you can be a kite with your arms outstretched; you can taste the wind; you can feel the sun racing ahead; and sometimes you can almost outrun them, the wind and the sun and your shadow at your heels.

My shadow has a name, you know. His name is Pantoufle. I used to have a rabbit called Pantoufle, so Maman says, although I can’t quite remember now whether he was real or simply a toy. Your imaginary friend, she sometimes calls him, but I’m almost sure he was really there, a soft grey shadow at my heels, or curled up in my bed at night. I like to think of him sometimes still, keeping watch over me as I sleep, or running with me to beat the wind. Sometimes I feel him. Sometimes I see him even now, though Maman says that’s just my imagination, and doesn’t like me talking about it, even as a joke.

Nowadays Maman hardly ever jokes, or laughs the way she used to do. Perhaps she’s still worried about Rosette. I know she worries about me. I don’t take life seriously enough, she says. I don’t have the right kind of attitude.

Does Zozie take life seriously? Oh, boy. I’ll bet she doesn’t. No one could wearing those shoes. I’m sure that’s why I liked her at once. Those red shoes, and the way she stopped at the window to look, and the way I was sure she could see Pantoufle – not just a shadow – at my heels.

4

image Missing

Wednesday, 31st October

WELL, I LIKE to think I have a way with children. Parents, too; it’s part of my charm. You can’t be in business without a certain charm, you know, and in my particular line of business, when the prize is something far more personal than mere possessions, it’s essential to touch the life you take.

Not that I was particularly interested in this woman’s life. Not then, at least – although I will admit I was already intrigued. Not so much by the deceased. Nor even by the shop itself – pretty enough, but far too small, and limiting, to someone of my ambitions. But the woman intrigued me, and the girl—

Do you believe in love at first sight?

I thought not. Neither do I. And yet—

That flare of colours through the half-open door. That tantalizing hint of things half-seen and half-experienced. The sound of the wind-chimes over the threshold. These things had awakened first my curiosity, and second my spirit of acquisition.