BooksBarbecue
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

‘Well, the chocolaterie, for a start. The rent’s paid till the end of the year. But after that . . .’ She gave a sigh. ‘It won’t be easy making it work. And I can’t just take money from Thierry. He keeps offering, but it wouldn’t be fair. And I thought . . .’

Well of course I’d known there was something wrong. But I’d thought she was sad about Madame. Now I could see it was Thierry instead, and her worry that I might not fit in with their plan.

Some plan. I can see us now. Maman, Papa and the two little girls, like something out of a story by the Comtesse de Ségur. We’d go to church; eat steack-frites every day; wear dresses from Galeries Lafayette. Thierry would have a picture of us on his desk, a professional portrait, with Rosette and me in matching outfits.

Don’t get me wrong; I said he’s OK. But—

‘Well?’ she said. ‘Cat got your tongue?’

I bit a little piece from my croissant. ‘We don’t need him,’ I said at last.

‘Well, we need someone, that’s for sure. I thought at least you’d understand that. You need to go to school, Anouk. You need a proper home – a father—’

Don’t make me laugh. A father? As if. You choose your family, she always says, but what choice does she think she’s giving me?

‘Anouk,’ she said. ‘I’m doing it for you . . .’

‘Whatever.’ I shrugged and took my croissant out into the street.

8

image Missing

Saturday,10th November

I DROPPED IN at the chocolaterie this morning and bought a box of liqueur cherries. Yanne was there, with the little one in tow. Though the shop was quiet, she looked harried, almost uncomfortable at seeing me, and the chocolates, when I tried them, were nothing special.

‘I used to make these myself,’ she said, handing me the cherries in a paper twist. ‘But liqueurs are so fussy, and there’s never the time. I hope you like them.’

I popped one into my mouth with well-feigned greed. ‘Fabulous,’ I said, through a sour paste of pickled cherry. On the floor behind the counter, Rosette was singing softly to herself, sprawled among a scatter of crayons and coloured paper.

‘Doesn’t she go to nursery school?’

Yanne shook her head. ‘I like to keep an eye on her.’