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Back The Lollipop Shoes Save as PDF
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

‘You can laugh, but there’s something wrong. I can feel it when she’s around. I’m going to bring my camera tonight. I want some close-ups – some kind of proof—’

‘You and your ghosts.’ I was feeling annoyed. He’s only a year older than me – who the hell does he think he is? If he knew half of what I know now – about Ehecatl and One Jaguar or the Hurakan – he’d probably have a seizure, or something. And if he knew about Pantoufle, or about me and Rosette invoking the Changing Wind, or about what happened in Les Laveuses – he’d probably lose his mind.

And so I did something perhaps I shouldn’t have done. But I didn’t want us to quarrel again, and I knew we would if he kept on talking. So slyly, with my fingers, I drew the sign of One Monkey, the trickster. And then I flicked it out at him like a little pebble from behind my back.

Jean-Loup frowned and touched his head.

‘What is it?’ I said.

‘Dunno,’ said Jean-Loup. ‘Just felt – kind of – blank. What were we talking about just now?’

I mean, I like him. I really do. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to him. But he’s what Zozie calls regular people, as opposed to people like us. Regular people follow rules. People like us make new ones instead. There are so many things I can’t tell Jean-Loup, things he wouldn’t understand. I can tell Zozie anything. She knows me better than anyone.

So as soon as Jean-Loup had gone, I burnt the clipping and the photographs – he’d forgotten to take them with him – in the fireplace in my room, and watched the flakes of ash turn white and settle like snow in the grate.

There. All gone. I feel better now. Not that I’d ever suspect Zozie; but that face made me uncomfortable, with its twisted mouth and mean little eyes. I couldn’t have seen her before, could I? In the shop, or the street, or perhaps on the bus? And that name – Françoise Lavery. Have I heard it somewhere else? It’s quite a common name, of course. But why does it make me think of—

A mouse?

4

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Monday, 24th December
Christmas Eve. 5.20 p.m.

WELL, I NEVER liked that boy. A useful tool, that’s all he was, to prise her away from her mother’s influence and make her more receptive to mine. But now he has overstepped the mark – has dared to try and undermine me – and I’m afraid he’ll have to go.

I saw it in his colours as he prepared to leave the shop. He’d been upstairs with Anouk – listening to music, or playing games, or whatever those two get up to these days – and he greeted me politely enough as he picked up his anorak from the coat-stand behind the door.