She doesn’t speak. I sit there and turn the pages, complimenting her on her drawings as my heart bursts for this eight-year-old girl who I didn’t know six weeks ago, but who right now feels more my own than Julia’s.

Is this how Mum felt? Is this what it feels like to have a daughter?

Even if it turns out she’s not your own after all.

I’m still fuming about Julia’s behaviour the next day when the doorbell goes. I get up from the table, where I’ve been helping Luca complete a jigsaw puzzle, and go to the door. Léa lifts her head from her book and I shoot her a smile, but she doesn’t return it and looks down again. I’ve been trying to think of things that might lift her spirits, but as yet nothing has succeeded. She’s got as much on her mind as I have, it seems.

A delivery driver is holding out a package. He nods at me. ‘Bonjour, Madame.’

‘Bonjour,’ I offer, hoping that’s all I’ll have to say.

He rattles off something that I don’t understand but I don’t need to; the box is addressed to Mme J. Chevalley and the electronic signature pad he hands me is all the explanation I need. I take it, scribble something that vaguely resembles my signature and hand it back. He gives me the package.

‘Bonne journée.’ He turns away, walks to his van and opens the door.

I take the package inside. The kids don’t even look up as I walk through the sitting room and take the box into my bedroom. I sit on my bed and stare at it.

It’s branded Coca-Cola so I know it must be something to do with Julia’s work. I’ve heard her talk about Coke, say what an important sponsor they are of the events she organises. Why it’s arrived here, instead of her office, I really don’t know. Neither do I know why I’ve brought it into my bedroom or why I feel an urge to open it.

All I know is I don’t want Julia to have it.

My heart quickens. The house feels quiet. Léa’s too subdued to be antagonising her younger brother. I think of her face, her tears, and the flash of anger in Julia’s eyes when I said, But it’s a Saturday. And I suddenly realise I don’t care what’s in the box. I don’t want to snoop anymore. I don’t give a shit. But I do want to upset Julia, just as she upset her daughter. I want to mess up the job that’s so important to her, punish her in whatever small way I can.

I get up from my bed and open the wardrobe door, unzip my empty suitcase and put the box inside.