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

But now it is I who am lost in the woods. Even in the heat of the kitchen stove, I shiver and pull my thick cable-knit sweater tighter around my shoulders. Nowadays I feel the cold; but Zozie might still be dressed for summer, with her bright print skirt and ballet-shoes, her hair tied up in a yellow bow.

‘I’m going out for an hour or so. Is that OK?’

‘Of course it is.’

How can I refuse, when she still won’t accept a proper wage?

And once again, silently I ask myself—

What’s your price?

What do you want?

The December wind still blows outside. But the wind has no power over Zozie. I watch as she turns out the lights in the front of the shop, and she hums as she closes the shutters over the window display, where the wooden peg-dolls in the stucco house are gathered around the birthday scene, while outside, under the porch lantern, a choir of chocolate mice with tiny hymn-sheets pinned to their paws sing silently in the crystal-sugar snow.

3

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Thursday, 20th December

THIERRY WAS BACK here again today, but Zozie dealt with him – I’m not sure how. I owe her so much, a fact that disturbs me most of all. But I have not forgotten what I saw the other day in the chocolaterie, or that uncomfortable feeling of watching myself – the Vianne Rocher I used to be – reborn in the person of Zozie de l’Alba, using my methods, speaking my lines, daring me to challenge her.

I watched her covertly all today, as I did yesterday and the day before. Rosette was playing quietly; the mingled scents of clove and marshmallow and cinnamon and rum drifted across the warm kitchen; my hands were floured in icing-sugar and cocoa powder; the copper glowed; the kettle warbled on the hearth. It was all so familiar – so absurdly comfortable – and yet some part of me could not rest. Every time the doorbell rang, I looked into the shop to check.

Nico dropped by with Alice at his side, both of them looking absurdly happy. Nico tells me he has lost weight, in spite of his addiction to coconut macaroons. A casual observer might not notice the difference (he still looks as large and cheery as ever); but Alice says that he has lost five kilos, and can wear his belt three notches tighter.

‘It’s, like, being in love,’ he told Zozie. ‘It’s gotta burn calories, or something. Hey, great tree. Triffic tree. You want a tree like that, Alice?’

Alice’s voice is less easy to hear. But at least she is speaking; and her small, pointed face seems to have taken some colour today. She looks like a child next to Nico; but a happy one, no longer lost, and her eyes never seem to leave his face.