But I thought he’d be here last night, at least – for Rosette’s birthday, if nothing else – and of course he wasn’t. I miss him so much. But I can’t help thinking there’s something wrong. Did he lie about having a boat? Did he forge that cheque? Has he gone for good? Thierry says he’d better be gone, if he knows what’s good for him. Zozie says he might still be around, hiding out somewhere nearby. Maman doesn’t say anything.

I’ve told Jean-Loup about it all. Roux, Rosette, and the whole mess. I told him Roux was my best friend, and now I’m afraid he’s gone for good, and he kissed me and said he was my friend—

It was just a kiss. Not anything gross. But now I feel all shivery and tingly, like there’s a triangle playing inside my stomach or something, and I think perhaps—

Oh, boy.

He says I should talk to Maman, and try to sort things out with her, but she’s always so busy nowadays, and sometimes at dinner she’s so quiet and she looks at me in a sad kind of disappointed way, as if there’s something I ought to have done, and I don’t know what to say to make things better—

Maybe that’s why I slipped tonight. I’d been thinking of Roux and the party again, and whether I can trust him to come after all. Because missing Rosette’s birthday’s bad enough, but if he’s not there on Christmas Eve, then it won’t work out the way we planned, like he’s some special secret ingredient to a recipe that can’t be finished otherwise. And if it doesn’t happen right, then things will never go back to the way they were before, and they need to, they need to, especially now . . .

Zozie had to go out tonight, and Maman was working late again. She’s getting so many orders now that she can hardly handle all of them; and so for dinner I made a pot of spaghetti, then took mine up to my room so Maman could have space to work.

It was ten o’clock when I went to bed, but even then I couldn’t sleep, so I went down to the kitchen for a drink of milk. Zozie still wasn’t back and Maman was making chocolate truffles. Everything smelt of chocolate: Maman’s dress; her hair; even Rosette, who was playing on the kitchen floor with a pat of dough and some pastry-cutters.

It all looked so safe; so familiar. I ought to have known it was a mistake. Maman looked tired and kind of stressed; she was pounding away at the truffle paste like it was bread dough or something, and when I came down for my glass of milk she hardly looked at me at all.