But I knew I hadn’t. And she knew I’d seen. It was in her colours. And in the way she looked at me – half-smiling, as if we’d shared something more than just cake—

I know it’s not safe. But I like her. I really do. I wanted to say something to make her understand—

On impulse I turned, and found her still smiling.

‘Hey, Zozie,’ I said. ‘Is that your real name?’

‘Hey, Annie,’ she mocked. ‘Is that yours?’

‘Well, I—’ I was so stunned that for a second I nearly told her. ‘My real friends call me Nanou.’

‘And do you have many?’ she said, smiling.

I laughed and held up a single finger.

2

Tuesday, 6th November

WHAT AN INTERESTING child. Younger than her contemporaries in some ways, but so much older in others, she has no difficulty in speaking with adults, but with other children she seems awkward, as if trying to assess their level of competence. With me she was expansive, funny, talkative, wistful, wilful but with an instinctive caution as soon as I touched – ever so lightly – on the subject of her strangeness.

Of course, no child wants to be seen as different. But Annie’s reserve goes further than this. It’s as if she’s hiding something from the world, some alien quality that might be dangerous if it were discovered.

Other people may not see it. But I’m not other people, and I find myself drawn to her in a way I find impossible to resist. I wonder if she knows what she is, if she understands – if she has any inkling of the potential in that sullen little head.

I met her again today, on her way home from school. She was – not cool, precisely, but certainly less confiding than yesterday, as if aware of a mark overstepped. As I said, an interesting child, and all the more so for the challenge she presents. I sense that she is not impervious to seduction; but she is careful, very careful, and I will have to work slowly if I am not to frighten her away.

And so we simply talked for a while – I made no mention of her otherness, or the place she calls Lansquenet, or the chocolate shop – and then we went our separate ways, but not before I had told her where I lived, and where I’m working nowadays.

Working? Everyone needs a job. It gives me an excuse to play, to be with people, to observe them and to learn their little secrets. I’m not in need of the money, of course; which is why I can afford to take the first convenient job on offer. The one job any girl can find without difficulty in a place like Montmartre.

No, not that. Waitressing, of course.