‘Hurry up, Anouk,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you staying up too late.’

Well, Rosette’s only four, I thought, and she’s allowed to stay up late—

‘It’s the holidays,’ I said.

‘I don’t want you falling ill,’ said Maman.

Rosette pulled on my pyjama-leg, wanting to show me her pastry shapes.

‘That’s nice, Rosette. Shall we cook them now?’

Rosette grinned and signed: yum, yum.

Thank goodness for Rosette, I thought. Always happy; always smiling. Not like everyone else round here. When I grow up, I’ll live with Rosette; we could stay on a boat on the river, like Roux, and eat sausages right out of the can, and light bonfires at the side of the river, and maybe Jean-Loup could live nearby—

I lit the oven and took out a baking tray. Rosette’s pastry shapes were a bit grubby, but that wouldn’t matter when they were cooked. ‘We’ll bake them twice, like biscuits,’ I said. ‘Then we can hang them on the Christmas tree.’

Rosette laughed and hooted at the pastry shapes through the glass oven door, signing for them to cook fast. That made me laugh, and for a minute it felt OK, as if a cloud had gone from overhead. Then Maman spoke, and the cloud was back.

‘I found something of yours,’ she said, still pounding away at the truffle paste. I wondered what she’d found, and where. In my room, or my pockets, perhaps. Sometimes I think she spies on me. I can always tell when she’s been through my things: books left out of place; papers moved; toys put away. I don’t know what she’s looking for – but so far she hasn’t found my secret special hiding-place. It’s a shoe-box, hidden at the bottom of my wardrobe, with my diary, and some pictures, and some other stuff that I don’t want anyone to see.

‘This is yours, isn’t it?’ She reached into the kitchen drawer and pulled out Roux’s peg-doll, which I’d left in the pocket of my jeans. ‘Did you make this?’

I nodded.

‘Why?’

For a while I didn’t say anything. What could I say? I don’t think I could have explained even if I’d wanted to. To have everything right back in its place; to bring Roux back, and not just Roux—

‘You’ve seen him, haven’t you?’ she said.

I didn’t answer. She already knew.

‘Why didn’t you tell me, Anouk?’ she said.

‘Well, why didn’t you tell me he was Rosette’s dad?’

Now Maman went very still. ‘Who told you that?’

‘No one,’ I said.

‘Was it Zozie?’

I shook my head.

‘Then who?’

‘I just guessed.’