crosses her legs. ‘You’ll be the most gorgeous tourist there.’
‘Good.’ Savannah slips off her mac and starts repacking her rucksack. ‘Parisian women are the most stylish in the world.’ She looks up. ‘You’ve both packed
your best outfits, right?’
I draw my knees up. ‘I didn’t want to be too glam,’ I tell her. ‘I thought if we’re doing a lot of sightseeing, it’s best to be comfortable.’
Savannah stares at me like I’m a squirrel-strangler. ‘
Comfortable?
’ I can see her mind whirling. ‘What’s comfort got to do with it?’ She appeals to
Treacle. ‘You’ve bought your
wow
clothes, right? I mean Jeff’s going to be there. You don’t want to look like a hobo in Paris, do you?’
‘I’m wearing my tracksuit,’ Treacle says.
Savannah drops her rucksack. ‘
Tracksuit?
’ The word hardly makes a noise as it comes out of her mouth. ‘In
Paris
?’
Before she can launch into a protest speech, Ben bursts in, his Spiderman dressing gown flapping behind him.
‘Gem!’ He leaps the sleeping bags and snuggles down beside me. ‘Will you bring me back chocolates? Miss Eagan said there are more chocolate shops in Paris than shoe
shops.’
Savannah huffs. ‘Don’t be silly.’
But Ben’s busy unfolding a piece of paper from his dressing gown pocket. ‘I’ve printed this map from the internet. It’s got all the chocolate shops on it.’ He shows
me a spider web picture dotted with heart shapes. ‘You don’t have to go to them all, but I want as many chocolates as you can buy with this . . .’ He rootles in his pocket again
and drags out a fistful of coins. He drops them into my hands. It’s about eighty-seven pence. Mostly in pennies. He must have bled his piggy bank dry.
I put my arm round him and hug him close. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ I wonder if I have enough euros in my purse to bring him back a chocolate Eiffel Tower.
He suddenly straightens, his eyes filled with warning. ‘Watch out for dog poo,’ he tells us solemnly. ‘Paris is meant to be the dog poo capital of the world.’
Treacle laughs. ‘I wonder if there’s a Poo Museum.’
‘A poo-seum!’ Ben shouts gleefully.
Savannah turns up her nose. ‘Dog poo in Paris is
so
last year,’ she informs us. ‘They’ve totally cleaned up their act.’
‘It’s not their act I care about,’ Treacle mutters. ‘It’s their pavements.’
Savannah frowns at her. ‘I
meant
their pavements.’ She’s got tight, crosspatch lips. ‘Tracksuits and dog poo! I really don’t think you are taking this trip
seriously enough.’
Treacle tips her head. ‘Of course we are,’ she says reassuringly. ‘It’s totally the most exciting thing we’ve ever done.’
Savannah snaps the zip shut on her rucksack. ‘Good.’ She pulls a notepad from its front pocket. ‘I’ve made a list of absolutely
must-see
boutiques.’
I picture Madame Papillon’s schedule. ‘I don’t know if there’s going to be much time for shopping.’
‘Then we’ll make time.’ Savannah flips open her notepad. ‘I’m sure I can negotiate with Madame Papillon. The trip to Parc Astérix, for example. Surely
that’s not compulsory?’
Treacle stares at her, mouth open. ‘You don’t want to go to a theme park?’
I’m with Treacle on this one. I’ve been looking forward to riding the rapids and rolling on the coasters. ‘That’s not until Sunday. We’ve got all Saturday afternoon
for “Paris Life and Culture’’.’ I’m quoting from the schedule. ‘That doesn’t have to mean the Louvre. Boutiques count as life and culture, I’m
sure.’
Savannah sighs. ‘I guess.’ Her gaze drifts and she shuts her notebook. ‘Perhaps I should varnish my nails.’ She holds up a hand and stares at it. ‘Just a little
gloss. Nothing tacky.’
‘There isn’t time,’ I warn her. ‘We should try and get some sleep.’ I nudge Ben. ‘You too, Spiderboy.’
Ben looks thoughtful. ‘If you do tread in dog poo, can
‘Good.’ Savannah slips off her mac and starts repacking her rucksack. ‘Parisian women are the most stylish in the world.’ She looks up. ‘You’ve both packed
your best outfits, right?’
I draw my knees up. ‘I didn’t want to be too glam,’ I tell her. ‘I thought if we’re doing a lot of sightseeing, it’s best to be comfortable.’
Savannah stares at me like I’m a squirrel-strangler. ‘
Comfortable?
’ I can see her mind whirling. ‘What’s comfort got to do with it?’ She appeals to
Treacle. ‘You’ve bought your
wow
clothes, right? I mean Jeff’s going to be there. You don’t want to look like a hobo in Paris, do you?’
‘I’m wearing my tracksuit,’ Treacle says.
Savannah drops her rucksack. ‘
Tracksuit?
’ The word hardly makes a noise as it comes out of her mouth. ‘In
Paris
?’
Before she can launch into a protest speech, Ben bursts in, his Spiderman dressing gown flapping behind him.
‘Gem!’ He leaps the sleeping bags and snuggles down beside me. ‘Will you bring me back chocolates? Miss Eagan said there are more chocolate shops in Paris than shoe
shops.’
Savannah huffs. ‘Don’t be silly.’
But Ben’s busy unfolding a piece of paper from his dressing gown pocket. ‘I’ve printed this map from the internet. It’s got all the chocolate shops on it.’ He shows
me a spider web picture dotted with heart shapes. ‘You don’t have to go to them all, but I want as many chocolates as you can buy with this . . .’ He rootles in his pocket again
and drags out a fistful of coins. He drops them into my hands. It’s about eighty-seven pence. Mostly in pennies. He must have bled his piggy bank dry.
I put my arm round him and hug him close. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ I wonder if I have enough euros in my purse to bring him back a chocolate Eiffel Tower.
He suddenly straightens, his eyes filled with warning. ‘Watch out for dog poo,’ he tells us solemnly. ‘Paris is meant to be the dog poo capital of the world.’
Treacle laughs. ‘I wonder if there’s a Poo Museum.’
‘A poo-seum!’ Ben shouts gleefully.
Savannah turns up her nose. ‘Dog poo in Paris is
so
last year,’ she informs us. ‘They’ve totally cleaned up their act.’
‘It’s not their act I care about,’ Treacle mutters. ‘It’s their pavements.’
Savannah frowns at her. ‘I
meant
their pavements.’ She’s got tight, crosspatch lips. ‘Tracksuits and dog poo! I really don’t think you are taking this trip
seriously enough.’
Treacle tips her head. ‘Of course we are,’ she says reassuringly. ‘It’s totally the most exciting thing we’ve ever done.’
Savannah snaps the zip shut on her rucksack. ‘Good.’ She pulls a notepad from its front pocket. ‘I’ve made a list of absolutely
must-see
boutiques.’
I picture Madame Papillon’s schedule. ‘I don’t know if there’s going to be much time for shopping.’
‘Then we’ll make time.’ Savannah flips open her notepad. ‘I’m sure I can negotiate with Madame Papillon. The trip to Parc Astérix, for example. Surely
that’s not compulsory?’
Treacle stares at her, mouth open. ‘You don’t want to go to a theme park?’
I’m with Treacle on this one. I’ve been looking forward to riding the rapids and rolling on the coasters. ‘That’s not until Sunday. We’ve got all Saturday afternoon
for “Paris Life and Culture’’.’ I’m quoting from the schedule. ‘That doesn’t have to mean the Louvre. Boutiques count as life and culture, I’m
sure.’
Savannah sighs. ‘I guess.’ Her gaze drifts and she shuts her notebook. ‘Perhaps I should varnish my nails.’ She holds up a hand and stares at it. ‘Just a little
gloss. Nothing tacky.’
‘There isn’t time,’ I warn her. ‘We should try and get some sleep.’ I nudge Ben. ‘You too, Spiderboy.’
Ben looks thoughtful. ‘If you do tread in dog poo, can
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