Free Breaking and Entering by Wendy Perriam

like a tiny bit?’
    She stared at him, unsure.
    â€˜Well, look, why don’t I order some, so you can try a sip or two?’
    â€˜Does it begin with a P–P–P?’
    â€˜Well, one brand does – Perrier-Jouet, and that’s half a P–P–P.’ It was also worryingly expensive. Yet he had to lighten the mood, banish P for Papa, rebuild the shattered villages.
    â€˜Champagne costs a bomb!’ Penny demurred. ‘And I feel guilty as it is, with you coughing up for all this …’
    â€˜It’s much cheaper over here,’ he lied, registering the fact that not only had he misinformed her, he had also interrupted her – two violations of his parents’ stringent code ( three , if he included unwarranted extravagance). But he somehow wanted to spoil this pair, to change their diet of filched croissants to something P for princely; even change their lives – conjure up instant trips to exotic foreign capitals, cruises down the Nile, French lessons and art tutors, rich Daddies, faithful husbands …
    He signalled to their waiter and ordered the champagne, then tried to get some decisions on the food. Pippa refused anything beyond chips and ice-cream, but Penny plumped for pigeon aux pettts pois , which gave her three Ps on the trot. He upstaged her totally by choosing petit pâté de Pézenas and then the plat du jour (an extra P in itself) which happened to be palette de porc with purée de pommes de terre and poireaux à la Picarde . Then he wished he hadn’t – he wanted her to win – began suggesting more P-vegetables to accompany her pigeon.
    â€˜I’ll burst!’ she protested, though eventually agreeing to both the petites pommes persillées and the salade panacheée .
    â€˜You’ll go p–p–pop!’ said Pippa. ‘Like the drink.’
    â€˜Yes, and here it is,’ said Daniel, watching the waiter zigzag between the tables with their champagne held aloft.
    Pippa observed the whole palaver with fascinated eyes: ice-bucket, white napkin, and finally the POP. She jumped back in surprise, gazing at the whoosh of bubbles exploding into her glass.
    â€˜Well, aren’t you going to try it?’ Daniel prompted, once all three glasses were filled.
    The child took a cautious sip, and sneezed, flinching away distrustfully. ‘It tickles my nose,’ she complained.
    â€˜But do you like it?’ Daniel pressed.
    She dipped her finger in the glass and licked it, sat considering the taste. ‘It’s not as nice as Pepsi,’ she concluded.
    â€˜Would you prefer another Pepsi, then, instead?’
    â€˜No, I want another P–P–POP.’
    â€˜Pippa!’ Penny remonstrated. ‘You’ll bankrupt this nice man.’
    â€˜What’s “bankrupt”?’
    Daniel wondered how to explain the term, though he was more concerned with ‘this nice man’. ‘Nice’ was rather a bland word, nothing like as flattering as ‘good-looking’, but she had said it very warmly. She had also moved her hand towards his on the table: not touching – nowhere near – but still a gesture of affection and acknowledgement. He fumbled for his glass, perplexed to see a cigarette expiring in the ashtray: a long cylindrical tube of grey. He couldn’t even remember lighting it. ‘Why don’t we drink a toast?’ he said. ‘A P-toast. How about “to Paris”?’
    â€˜No,’ said Penny. ‘To Phil. We’ve got to drink to finding him.’
    Daniel put his glass down. He was damned if he’d drink to some heartless philanderer who could abandon his wife and daughter, waltz off without a backward glance and leave them penniless.
    â€˜You eat toast, you don’t drink it.’
    Pippa’s interruption punctured his annoyance. Crazy to be angry with a man he’d never met. And, after all, he had only heard one side of the