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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 pulled the blanket over us both. I shut my eyes tight, not wanting to cry, but I could feel a lump in the back of my throat like I’d swallowed a little potato whole.

‘But I love you, Zozie—’

I couldn’t see her face (my eyes were still shut), but I felt her let out a long, deep sigh – like air that’s been trapped for a long time in a sealed box, or underground.

‘I love you too, Nanou,’ she said.

We stayed like that for a long time, sitting in bed wrapped up in the blanket. Outside, the wind started up again, and I was glad there were no trees on the Butte, because the way I was feeling just then, I think I could have let them all come crash-crashing down if that could have persuaded Zozie to stay, and made the wind take someone else.

9

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Sunday, 23rd December

WHAT A PERFORMANCE. Told you so. In another life I’d have made a fortune in the movie business. It certainly had Anouk convinced – the seeds of doubt are germinating nicely – which should serve me well come Christmas Eve.

I don’t think she’ll mention our talk to Vianne. My little Nanou is secretive; she does not share her thoughts so easily. And her mother has let her down, of course; has lied to her on several points, and on top of all that, is evicting her friend—

She too can dissemble, when required. Today she looked a little withdrawn, though I doubt whether Vianne will have noticed that. She’s too busy planning tomorrow’s celebration to wonder at her daughter’s sudden lack of excitement, or to ask herself where she has been all day while cakes baked and spiced wine simmered.

Of course I too have plans to fulfil. But mine are rather less culinary in emphasis. Vianne’s kind of magic – such as it is – is far too domestic for my taste. Don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing, Vianne. The place is alive with petty seductions: rose-scented treats, miracles and macaroons. And Vianne herself – in that red dress, with a red silk flower in her hair—

Who do you think you’re fooling, Vianne? Why bother, when I do it so much better?

I was out for most of the day. People to see; things to do. Today I ditched all that was left of my current identities, including Mercedes Desmoines, Emma Windsor and even Noëlle Marcelin. I have to admit, it caused me a pang. But too much ballast slows you down – and besides, I won’t be needing them.