I turn around, heading back down the line of stalls, scanning the crowds. Hot tears press against the backs of my eyes. What if he’s been abducted? Or fallen into the lake and drowned, or wandered onto the main road and been hit by a car? Perhaps this was why I wasn’t meant to have kids of my own, because they’d come to harm under my care. That must be it. It was for their own safety because I’m a bad person who falls asleep when I’m meant to be looking after children.

I’m running through scenarios of how to break the news to Michel and Julia when my heart just about stops at the sight of him. He’s standing near the lake wall eating an ice cream that’s melting in the sun and dribbling all down his hand. He’s looking up at someone and smiling a food-smeared grin, but the man’s back is turned to me and I can’t see who it is. I get closer and realise I’ve never seen the guy before and my stomach lurches in fear. I run the last few metres to the bench and sweep Luca into a bear hug so he squeals.

‘Thank God,’ I mutter into his shoulder. He starts to wail and I realise I’ve squashed his ice-cream cone into my hair.

The man says something in French. I turn and see him staring at me with a questioning look. He takes his sunglasses off and looks at me.

‘I don’t speak French.’ I disentangle myself from Luca and pick my hair from his ice cream.

‘I said, what are you doing?’ His American twang is similar to Michel’s.

‘I could ask the same of you.’ I stare at him, hands on hips.

‘I found him wandering on his own.’

I bristle. My brain’s whirring with what ifs. He clearly bought Luca the ice cream. Why would a stranger do that unless…

‘Okay, well, I’ve found him now so—’

‘Wait,’ he says as I pull Luca away. ‘Who are you?’

‘His nanny.’

He nods and frowns as if in realisation of something he already knew. ‘Right. Mum said they’d hired one. An English teacher, aren’t you? Well, I hope you’re better at teaching them than you are at looking after them.’

My mouth drops open at the gall of this stranger just as my head’s processing the earlier part of his sentence. ‘What are you talking about? What’s your mother got to do with it?’

‘Maria,’ he says. ‘You’ve met her, right? I’m her son. Jorge.’ He sticks out his hand.