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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

She stared at me with solemn eyes. ‘There is,’ she said. ‘Pantoufle says so.’

‘Sweetheart, Pantoufle isn’t real, either.’

It’s not easy being the daughter of a witch. Harder still being the mother of one. And after what happened at Les Laveuses I was faced with a choice. To tell the truth and condemn my children to the kind of life I’d always had: moving constantly from place to place; never stable; never secure; living out of suitcases; always running to beat the wind—

Or to lie, and to be like everyone else.

And so I lied. I lied to Anouk. I told her none of it was real. There was no magic, except in stories; no powers to be tapped and tested; no household gods, no witches, no runes, no chants, no totems, no circles in the sand. Anything unexplained became an Accident – with a capital letter – sudden strokes of luck, close calls, gifts from the gods. And Pantoufle – demoted to the rank of ‘imaginary friend’ and now ignored, even though I can still sometimes see him, if only from the corner of my eye.

Nowadays, I turn away. I close my eyes till the colours have gone.

After Les Laveuses, I put all of those things away, knowing that she might resent me – hate me, a little, perhaps, for a while – hoping one day she would understand.

‘You have to grow up someday, Anouk. You have to learn to tell the difference between what’s real and what isn’t.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s better this way,’ I told her. ‘Those things, Anouk – they set us apart. They make us different. Do you like being different? Wouldn’t you like to be included, just for once? To have friends, to—’

‘I did have friends. Paul and Framboise—’

‘We couldn’t stay there. Not after that.’

‘And Zézette and Blanche—’

‘Travellers, Nanou. River people. You can’t live on a boat for ever, not if you want to go to school—’

‘And Pantoufle—’

‘Imaginary friends don’t count, Nanou.’

‘And Roux, Maman. Roux was our friend.’

Silence.

‘Why couldn’t we stay with Roux, Maman? Why didn’t you tell him where we were?’

I sighed. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘I miss him.’

‘I know.’

With Roux, of course, everything’s simple. Do what you want. Take what you want. Travel wherever the wind takes you. It works for Roux. It makes him happy. But I know you can’t have everything. I’ve been down that road. I know where it leads. And it gets so hard, Nanou. So very hard.