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

‘I’ve got this heart condition,’ he said. ‘That’s why I was kept back a year. I had to have two operations and miss four months of school. It was totally lame.’ (Lame is Jean-Loup’s favourite word.)

‘Is it serious?’ I asked.

Jean-Loup shrugged. ‘I actually died. On the operating table. I was officially dead for fifty-nine seconds.’

‘Wow,’ I said. ‘Have you got a scar?’

‘Loads of them,’ said Jean-Loup. ‘I’m practically a freak.’

And then, before I knew it, we were talking properly; and I’d told him about Maman and Thierry; and he’d told me how his parents had divorced when he was nine, and how his father had remarried last year, and how it didn’t matter how nice she was, because—

‘Because it’s when they’re nice that you hate them most,’ I finished with a grin, and he laughed, and just like that, we were suddenly friends. Quietly, without a fuss; and somehow it didn’t matter any more that Suze preferred Chantal to me, or that I was always It when we played the tennis-ball game.

And waiting for the school bus, I stood with Jean-Loup at the front of the queue, and Chantal and Suze glared from their place in the middle, but didn’t say anything at all.

6

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Monday, 19th November

ANOUK CAME HOME from school today with an unaccustomed bounce in her step. She changed into her play clothes, kissed me exuberantly for the first time in weeks and announced that she was going out with a friend from school.

I didn’t press her for more details – Anouk has been so moody recently that I didn’t want to dampen her spirits – but I kept an eye out just the same. She hasn’t mentioned the subject of friends since her quarrel with Suzanne Prudhomme, and although I know better than to interfere in what may be nothing more than a children’s squabble, it makes me so sad to think of Anouk being left out.

I’ve tried so hard to make her fit in. I’ve invited Suzanne countless times, made cakes, arranged visits to the cinema. But nothing seems to make a difference; there’s a line that separates Anouk from the rest, a line that seems more pronounced as the days go by.

Today was different, somehow; and as she set off (at a run, as always) I thought I could see the old Anouk, racing across the square in her red coat, her hair flying like a pirate’s flag and her shadow hopping at her heels.