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so!’

      ‘And Lola?’ asked Carine.

      ‘What about Lola?’

      ‘Is she coming?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘You don’t know?’ She looked startled.

      ‘No. I don’t know.’

      ‘This is unbelievable. Nobody ever knows anything with you guys. It’s always the same thing. A complete bohemian shambles. Can’t you get your act together for once? Just a little bit?’

      ‘I spoke to her on the phone yesterday,’ I said curtly. ‘She wasn’t feeling too good and still didn’t know whether she could make it.’

      ‘Well, well, what a surprise.’

      Oooh, how I disliked that condescending tone of hers.

      ‘What’s surprising about it?’ I said, through clenched teeth.

      ‘Oh dear! Nothing. Nothing surprises me any more with you lot. And if Lola is feeling that way, it’s her fault, too. It’s what she wanted, isn’t it? She really has a knack for ending up in the most incredible fixes. You don’t just go around—’

      I could see Simon frowning in the rear-view mirror.

      ‘Well, as far as I’m concerned …’

      Yes. Exactly. As far as you’re concerned …

      ‘… the problem with Lo—’

      ‘Stop!’ I exploded, cutting across her. ‘Stop right there. I didn’t get enough sleep, so … leave it for later.’

      Then she got all huffy. ‘Oh, well! No one can ever say a thing in this family. The least little comment about any of you and the other three rush to put a knife to your throat; it’s ridiculous.’

      Simon was trying to catch my eye.

      ‘And you think that’s funny, do you? Both of you, you think it’s funny, don’t you? It’s unbelievable. Completely childish. I’m entitled to my opinion, aren’t I? Since you won’t listen and no one can say a thing to you, and no one ever does say a thing, you’re untouchable. You never stop to question yourselves. Well, I’m going to give you a piece of my mind—’

      But we don’t want a piece of your mind, sweetheart.

      ‘I think this protectionism of yours, this way you have of acting all ‘to hell with the rest of you’ won’t do you any favours. It’s not the least bit constructive.’

      ‘But what is constructive here on earth, Carine love?’

      ‘Oh please, spare me! Not that, too. Don’t start on your pseudo-Socrates disillusioned philosophers act. It’s pathetic, at your age. And have you finished with that gunk, it really is revolting—’

      ‘Yeah, yeah,’ I assured her, rolling the ball over my white calves, ‘I’m almost done.’

      ‘Aren’t you going to use some sort of cream afterwards? Your pores are in a state of shock now; you’ve got to remoisturise your skin otherwise you’ll be covered in little red spots until tomorrow.’

      ‘Damn, I forgot to bring anything.’

      ‘Don’t you have your face cream?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Or moisturiser?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Night cream?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘You didn’t bring anything?’

      She was horrified.

      ‘I did. I brought a toothbrush, and some toothpaste, and L’Heure Bleue, and some condoms, and mascara, and a tube of lip-balm.’

      She was shattered.

      ‘That is all you have in your toilet bag?’

      ‘Uh … it’s in my handbag. I don’t have a toilet bag.’

      She sighed, and started rummaging in her make-up bag, and she handed me a big white tube.

      ‘Here, put some of this on.’

      I thanked her with a genuine smile. She was pleased. She may be a first-class pain but she does like to please others. Credit where credit is due.

      And she really doesn’t like to leave pores in a state of shock. It breaks her heart.

      After a few minutes she added, ‘Garance?’

      ‘Mm-hmm?’

      ‘You know what I think is deeply unfair?’

      ‘The profit that Seph—’

      ‘No, that you’ll be lovely no matter what. Just a little bit of lip gloss and a touch of mascara, and you’ll be beautiful. It hurts me to say it, but it’s true.’

      I was floored. It was the first time in years she’d said anything nice to me. I could have kissed her, but then right away she ruined it.

      ‘Hey, don’t use up the whole tube! It’s not L’Oréal, I’ll have you know.’

      That’s Carine all over. No sooner does she suspect you might catch her red-handed in a moment of weakness than, systematically, after doing you a favour, she has to make a cutting remark.

      Pity. She’s missing out on a lot of good moments. It would have been a good moment for her if I’d flung my arms round her neck without warning. A great big smacker, between two trucks … But no. She always has to spoil everything.

      I often think I ought to invite her to live with me for a day or two so that I can give her a few lessons in life.

      So that she could let her guard down for once, let herself go, roll up her sleeves and forget about other people’s imperfections.

      It makes me sad to see her like that, straitjacketed by all her prejudices and incapable of tenderness. And then I remember that she was raised by the dashing Jacques and Francine Molinoux at the bottom of a dead-end street in the residential outskirts of Le Mans and I figure that, all things considered, she isn’t doing so badly after all.

      The cease-fire didn’t last, and Simon was used for target practice.

      ‘You’re driving too fast. Lock the doors, we’re getting near the péage. What on earth is that on the radio? I didn’t mean twenty miles an hour though, did I? Why’d you turn the air con off? Watch out for those bikers. Are you sure you’ve got the right map? Can’t you read the road signs, please? It’s so stupid, I’m sure petrol cost less back there … Be careful round the bends – can’t you see I’m painting my nails? Hey … are you doing it on purpose, or what?’

      I can just make out the back of my brother’s neck in the hollow space of his headrest. That fine, straight neck, and close-cropped hair.

      I wonder how he can stand it, I wonder if he ever dreams of tying her to a tree and running off as fast as his legs can carry him.

      Why does she speak to him like that? Does she even know who she’s talking to? Does she know that the man sitting next to her was the god of scale models? The ace of Meccano sets? A Lego System genius?

      A patient little boy who could spend several months building the most incredible planet, with dried lichen for the ground, and hideous creatures made from bread rolled in spiders’ webs?

      A stubborn little tyke who entered every contest and won nearly all of them: Nesquik, Ovaltine, Babybel, Caran d’Ache, Kellogg’s and the Mickey Mouse Club?

      One year, his sand castle was so beautiful that the judges disqualified him: they claimed he’d had help. He cried all afternoon and our granddad had to take him to the crêperie to console him. He drank three whole mugs of

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