‘That’s a clever little sister you’ve got,’ she said, smiling at Rosette, who had got down from her back and was playing with the sequins on a cushion. ‘You don’t look at all alike, but I guess looks aren’t everything.’

I hugged Rosette and gave her a kiss. Sometimes she reminds me of a rag doll, or a flop-eared bunny, she’s so soft. ‘Well, we don’t have the same dad,’ I told her.

Zozie smiled. ‘I guessed,’ she said.

‘But that doesn’t matter,’ I went on. ‘Maman says you choose your family.’

‘She does?’

I nodded. ‘It’s better that way. Our family could be anyone. It’s not about birth, Maman says. It’s about how you feel for someone else.’

‘So – even I could be family?’

I smiled at her. ‘You already are.’

She laughed at that. ‘Your evil aunt. Corrupting you with magic and shoes.’

Well, that set me off. Rosette joined in. And above us, the yellow monkey danced and made everything on the mantelpiece dance too – all Zozie’s shoes, lined up like ornaments, but so much cooler than china figurines – and I thought how natural it seemed, the three of us, all together like that. And I felt a sudden pang of guilt about Maman downstairs, and about how, when we’re up here, it can sometimes be easy to forget she’s there at all.

‘Did you never wonder who Rosette’s father was?’ said Zozie suddenly, looking at me.

I shrugged. I’ve never seen the point. We always had each other, of course. We never wanted anyone else—

‘It’s just that you probably knew him,’ she said. ‘You would have been six or seven at the time, and I just wondered . . .’ She looked down at her bracelet, playing with the charms on it, and I got the feeling she was trying to tell me something, but something she didn’t want to say.

‘What?’ I said.

‘Well – look at her hair.’ She put a hand on Rosette’s head. Her hair is the colour of sliced mango, very curly and very soft. ‘Look at her eyes.’ Her eyes are a very pale green-grey, just like a cat’s, and as round as pennies. ‘Doesn’t that remind you of someone?’

I thought about that for a little while.

‘Think, Nanou. Red hair, green eyes. Can sometimes be a pain in the arse.’

‘Not Roux?’ I said, and began to laugh, but all at once I was feeling jittery inside and I wished she wouldn’t say any more.

‘Why not?’ said Zozie.

‘I just know.’

As a matter of fact I’ve never really thought much about Rosette’s dad. I suppose that at the back of my mind there’s still the idea she never had one at all; that the fairies brought her, just like the old lady always said.

Fairy baby. Special baby.