Page 37 of The Stranger

“You are allowed to watch Les Simpsons?” Sylvie asks, wide-eyed with shock.

“Yeah, I am a grown-up.”

“Grown-ups do not watch Les Simpsons,” Felix grumbles.

“Tell that to my brother.” At this, his father’s gaze catches mine. I quickly look away. “My youngest brother.”

“Emmy says Les Simpsons is brain rot,” Sylvie declares.

“Does she?” Funny. I seem to remember us both watching it when we were younger. “Well, I’m sure Emmy would know better than me.”

“Yes, Emmy would know,” the little girl says with a nod. “She is very clever. She sewed back the eyes on my favorite bear. And she helps me with my homework.”

“She helps you with coloring in,” Felix mutters with derision.

“Because I don’t like coloring in, and Emmy does! Do you like coloring in, Primrose?”

“Well—”

“What about fishing? And the sea? Do you like to swim in the sea?”

“I’ve never been fishing.”

“Papa will teach you when you come to Mallorca—he is the best!”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m not coming to Mallorca with you.”

“But Papa said so.”

“Your father is mistaken.” My smile feels wooden as I fight the urge to look his way. Nope, no way. This is not happening, no matter what you say, M. LDH.

“But Papa never makes mistakes.” She blinks earnestly.

“Everybody makes mistakes,” I murmur, reaching for my water glass.

“Please may I be excused?” Felix, uninterested in the sudden atmosphere at the dinner table, looks to his father. “I need to be online with my friends in five minutes.”

“Not too late,” his father instructs.

“But there is no school tomorrow.”

In the place of an answer, M. LDH sends him an eloquent look.

“Entendu.” Understood, Felix capitulates grumpily. As he leaves the room, I find myself wondering how often that quelling look works for him. If he thinks it’s going to work on me, he’s in for a shock.

“I will go to get the bird fruit from Zoe,” Sylvie announces, sliding down from her chair. “Please may I be excused, Papa?” she adds laughingly, already at the door, and not waiting for a response.

“Why would you tell them that?” I hiss immediately.

“Because it’s true,” he says, reaching for his wine glass. “We leave Monday.”

“You might be leaving Monday for Mallorca, but I’ll be heading in a different direction.”

“As far away as possible?” The corner of his mouth quirks.

“Farther, if I can help it.” My smile is saccharine sweet. As in fake. The only thing keeping my bum in this chair is how happy Emmy sounded on the phone earlier. And relieved. There’s no way I’m going to let her down. But equally, I’m not putting myself through weeks of being near him.

“The time will come when you can put this family behind you and never think of us again. But that time is not now.”