The three Morel children and their parents always had dinner together, round a long table in a dark green dining room, with candles and all the right cutlery. Tonight, Max was imagining that it was the galley of a pirate ship to liven things up. She was the ship’s captain, and they were going somewhere exciting, although she was a bit vague about where exactly. She gripped her sword (butter knife) fiercely, in case any of the other pirates were planning a mutiny.

“Your aunt Elodie called today,” said Max’s mother to Max’s father. She made this sound as though it was his fault.

Max’s father pulled a face. “What about?”

“Well, it’s all very tiresome. Maximilienne, stop waving your butter knife around.” Max made her fierce-sword-gripping a bit subtler, and Max’s mother continued. “She’s rather ill, and she has to have an operation. Apparently the doctor said she ought to have someone else at home while she recovers. She was asking if one of us would like to visit.” She said “visit” as though visiting would involve wading through a large swamp, covering yourself in slime, and possibly wrestling with some ill-tempered crocodiles.

As far as Max was aware, though, Great-Aunt Elodie did not live in a swamp. She lived in a big and beautiful city, far away from Paris. Max forgot all about being a pirate captain sailing to somewhere-or-other. This was better: this was real. This was the sort of thing Max always felt might happen when she looked up through the skylight, but it never had – until now.

Her mother, however, was less excited. “I’m much too busy at work,” she said. “And besides –” she turned to Max’s father “– she’s your aunt.”

But Max’s father had a very important meeting with very important people coming up, and couldn’t possibly go, even if it was his aunt. Max’s older brother Pierre had a national chess tournament that week, and Max’s older sister Claudette had an international showjumping championship.

“Well, that’s that, then,” said Max’s mother. “I’ll just call her and tell her we can’t go.”

“I could go,” said Max.

“She can’t expect us to be at her beck and call,” agreed Max’s father. “We’re very busy.”

“I’m not busy,” said Max.

“I’ll just have to be firm,” said Max’s mother. “And we can all send her a get well soon card.”

Sometimes, Max got the feeling that all the low ceilings and dim lamps and heavy curtains had cast a thick fog over her family, and they couldn’t actually hear her. She tapped her mother on the shoulder. “Maman,” she said, loudly, “it will be the Christmas holidays. I could go.”