Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. ‘You did not find Gosse, that is seen, but—’ ‘Gosse? Gosse? Who’s this here Gosse then?’ ‘He is the Frenchman of whom I told you. A pity you did not think to tell me that part of the tale at the outset. ’ That wonderful poster—is of you. Go to it.
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