Northern Girl (7 page)

Although Madeleine had never especially wanted to be good at needlework, she had to admit it made her very popular with her friends. Especially the ones with older sisters who passed on their cast-offs. Madeleine had the knack of reworking these into chic outfits, and her friends loved her for it. Once she had left school, Madeleine regretted that she hadn’t been more appreciative of the nuns, particularly the ones who’d guided her into sewing, and shown her how to do it professionally. The Catholic school, which both of her sisters had attended before her, had been within easy walking distance of the three Pelletier girls’ house. (Unlike Dominic’s school, which was in the centre of Calais and had to be cycled to.)

When Madeleine had first been told she had a gift for sewing she’d rebelled, and tried to convince her parents that a course in typing would be much more useful. She’d often bashed away at Martine’s rickety old typewriter, and fancied herself as a secretary. She’d only ever seen secretaries at the cinema, where they looked glamorous and led exciting lives. But her parents had seen how naturally sewing came to her, and after a discussion with Sister Therèse, Madeleine’s needlework instructress at school, Maman had become convinced that Madeleine’s future lay with this gift of hers. Madeleine had only agreed reluctantly, until, months later, she’d begun to feel a sense of pride and interest in her work, and this had drawn her into studying harder, on her own.

As it turned out, this was just as well, because, as far as she could see, most of the nuns, except for Sister Therèse, were far too distracted during the last two years of the war to pay any great attention to the pupils. If they weren’t rushing around looking flustered, they were praying. The girls in Madeleine’s class discussed this frequently, but no one had a clue as to why the nuns were suddenly so panicky, and there were all kinds of rumours flying around. The most ridiculous was that they were hiding someone from the Germans – in the cellars. Why on earth would they do that, when it would endanger not only themselves, but the whole school? Yet this particular rumour surfaced time and again. And yes, Madeleine had known at the time that there were plenty of hiding places in the maze of
passages that ran off the main corridor in the cellar.

The girls usually craned their necks in that direction, straining to look along the candlelit passageways, whenever there was an air raid and they had to go down the stone steps. But the nuns always rushed them past so quickly that all they saw were the many huge, heavy, forbidding locked doors. They were given no opportunity to dawdle, and it was impossible to work out whether the rooms there were being used.

Madeleine smiled with affection now, as she remembered how efficiently the nuns used to spring into action during air raids, determined to save the girls from the bombs. As soon as the sirens sounded, there would be an almighty clatter of feet as nuns ran along the concrete floor of the corridor to collect the girls from their classrooms. Then the florid-faced sisters would burst in, flustering and flurrying around, but in a strange floaty manner. And the girls, scared as they were, would struggle to stifle their giggles as they were hurriedly gathered together and pushed down the corridor towards the cellar door. Once the girls had arrived, and were crowded up by the entrance to the cellar, the flustered nuns would do a quick head count before shoving them down the steep stone steps into the darkness. Madeleine had often thought it a miracle that none of them were killed
before
the bombs fell!

Sometimes, after school, she, along with her four closest friends – Sophie, Hélène, Elise and Fréderique – would spend hours trying to think of a way to sneak down into the cellars and investigate. In fact, for a while
they were completely obsessed by it, but when it came to action, none of them were brave enough to try. Not only were they afraid of what they might find, but if any of them had been caught by the nuns, who were extremely vigilant, they’d have been punished by having to sit in an empty classroom for hours and hours, praying continuously. It was a powerful deterrent.

Remembering those times in the cellar never failed to make Madeleine shiver. Even though she was never alone down there, she’d still sometimes be so afraid that she couldn’t bring herself to close her eyes in prayer. Instead she’d distract herself by looking at the nuns, who always knelt facing their pupils, giving her a perfect opportunity to study their faces.

There was pretty Sister Therèse, who was far too kind for her own good. She was Madeleine’s favourite, and being good at needlework herself, was delighted by Madeleine’s progress and enthusiasm. She helped, too, with all the sewing Madeleine undertook for her friends and fellow pupils. Granted, it wasn’t much more than a few alterations, but Sister Therèse hadn’t minded that at all, and thought it good practice for Madeleine. Especially as the shortage of money meant that most people couldn’t buy new clothes. So, whenever Madeleine’s friends had a special occasion, they went straight to her with old cast-offs, and expected her to work miracles. Occasionally, she did. And dear Sister Therèse always downplayed her role in this. She was just happy that Madeleine was doing so well. She and Madeleine had even wondered sometimes whether
Madeleine would end up running her own sewing business. Or a fashion house! It had been good to dream.

Sister Beatrice was one of the other nuns in the cellar. She had a sharp-nosed, gingery face and always listed slightly to one side, so she looked like an inquisitive fox peering around a corner. Sister Bee – as she was known by her pupils, though never to her face – taught English. But, because she was so woolly-minded, she was unable to hold the girls’ attention for long. Consequently not much English was learnt. Madeleine hadn’t cared at the time: why on
earth
would anyone need to speak English anyway? She had no way of knowing that her lack of attention in Sister Bee’s English classes was going to be one of the major regrets of her life.

The remaining four nuns in the cellar were Sisters Trudi, Matilde, Emmanuel and Céleste, whom Madeleine, much to the amusement of her friends, had nicknamed ‘the gargoyles’. All four of the gargoyles prayed frantically with their eyes half-open, so they could watch the girls. And as they’d peered out from under their wimples, the candlelight had exaggerated the whiteness of their wrinkly faces, so that they really did look as if they were carved from stone.

Madeleine winced now, remembering how uncomfortable it had been, kneeling on that hard floor. They hadn’t dared fidget, either, as the wrath of the nuns, especially the gargoyles, was as terrifying as the bombs. Aware how tightly she was holding the
crumpled blue dress, she laid it neatly on the bed, and tried to smooth out the creases. She suddenly felt desperately sad about those dead – and as she now knew – heroic, nuns.

Bewildered by her sudden changes of mood, she looked around her comfortable, sparse bedroom. Despite all its problems, this was the place she loved best, the house where she’d been born in 1928. It was the only home she knew, and very soon, one way or another, she’d be leaving it for good.

The village of Marck was separated from Calais by a huge cemetery hidden behind a high wall. And when Madeleine was six, she’d had an irresistible urge to climb that wall, even though it terrified her. Tom had laughed when she asked him to help her. It had been easy for him to climb it, of course, because he was taller. Her stomach fluttered now as she remembered how he’d lifted her so that she could grip the stones on the top, and pull herself up to look over. She’d gazed down, shivering, at the gruesome headstones – many of which had figures on them that looked like the Devil – and been half scared to death. The villagers walking past had been amused but not surprised. Most of them had known Madeleine all her life, and knew how mischievous she was. They thought it endearing.

Madeleine sighed, remembering the good reputation she’d enjoyed locally. It had been obvious from the way
that people had treated her – but now it had become an extra burden. In fact, only recently she’d cringed on overhearing a conversation between her mother and a villager, who’d complimented Maman on how well all her children had turned out. According to this woman, Madeleine was not only beautiful but possessed that rare gift, common sense, too. And poor Maman, not knowing about the pregnancy then, had responded with such pride, ‘Yes, we are very lucky with our youngest.’

Common sense? Madeleine thought now. Well, they’ll discover soon enough that I’ve none at all! No wonder Maman is so hurt and ashamed. She flopped back on the bed and dabbed at her tears with the blue dress, crumpling it even more. A few moments of madness had changed her whole life. And Dominic? What did he think he was doing? She pressed her face to the pillow in frustration. Why wasn’t he here with her, instead of going on this … this fool’s errand? His entire journey was a waste of time. After all, there’d been no word from Tom since that warm autumn afternoon three months ago when he’d said goodbye.

Tom, a corporal in the Durham Light Infantry, had come into her life like a breath of fresh air. He’d even made her forget the war. Visualizing his dark hair, bright blue eyes, and melting smile, she almost shrieked into the pillow, ‘Oh,
what in God’s name
does Dominic hope to achieve in England?’

To her, Tom’s silence said it all. He clearly didn’t want her any more – so how could she go over to England and live with him? Madeleine almost laughed at the
idea. What makes my parents think that Tom is going to welcome me with open arms? He just wants to get on with his life. He certainly doesn’t want to be burdened with me and a baby. Why can’t the others see that? I’d rather take my chances in a convent than be forced by both our families to live with Tom.

As she thought this, she glanced up at the suitcase balanced on top of her wardrobe, and for a fleeting moment it entered her head that she could run away. Shocked at her own thoughts, she rolled on her back, her mind wearily going over her options, and for the first time since discovering she was pregnant, she began to think that everything could be all right again, if only the baby wasn’t there.

She started day-dreaming, and it wasn’t long before Tom rode in and out of her thoughts, just as he had on the carousel where they’d first met.

In the closing weeks of the war, a unit of British troops, tired and weary from fighting in Belgium, marched through the village to billets just outside Marck, where they waited to be demobilized. Then the war finally ended, and the villagers, who wanted their children to have some fun, too, when they all celebrated their long-awaited freedom from the Nazis, decided to have a fair. It was to be a new beginning; Madeleine didn’t realize quite how new a beginning it was going to be for her.

When the fair eventually opened, the excitement was almost tangible, particularly in Madeleine’s house, because that was the day her two sisters were expected
back from Boulogne. Madeleine was on tenterhooks waiting for them, and kept rushing to the window each time she heard the slightest sound, restlessly anticipating their arrival. This was a great source of amusement to Dominic. Well, even she had to admit he had a point when he said sarcastically, ‘I can’t think why you’re so excited. All the three of you ever seem to do is argue and slam doors when you’re together, anyway!’

‘For your information, Dominic, I do love my sisters.’

He raised his eyebrows in response.

She screwed up her face, sighed, and said, ‘Yes … even Simone!’

Much as she was looking forward to seeing them, she was also desperately hoping they’d take her to the fair, because she knew that Papa wouldn’t let her go on her own. Dominic had already made arrangements to meet up with his friends elsewhere, so there was no point in plaguing him. The alternative – to wait until the weekend, when her old school friends wouldn’t be working, so she could go with them – didn’t appeal. She really wanted to be there on that first day.

Madeleine could always find the time to do things she wanted in the daytime; it was a perk of working from home that she’d grown to appreciate. She’d forgotten how much she’d once envied Sophie and Elise: they’d been the first of their gang to start work, and wildly enthusiastic about leading a proper, grown-up life.

Ever since the five close friends had gleefully walked out of the school gates for the last time, they had kept
their promise to meet up every two weeks. And as they no longer spoke every day, they always had so much to tell each other!

It had been at Sophie’s house – after they’d all piled excitedly into her bedroom, armed with make-up and a bottle of wine that Elise had managed to sneak from her papa’s cellar – that Fréderique had taken issue with Madeleine saying: ‘Well, I think the nuns at school were all right, really.’

Fréderique had thrown herself on the bed next to Madeleine and exclaimed crossly, ‘What do you mean? All we ever did was complain about them the
whole
time we were there!’

‘Well,
I
agree with Madeleine,’ Sophie had butted in, lifting the lid of her mother’s powder compact, and sneezing violently, so fine beige dust flew everywhere. ‘I think we were really cruel sometimes.’

And Hélène, transfixed by the sight of Elise pursing her lips in the mirror and coating them thickly with bright red lipstick, had said, ‘I think the pair of you must have gone soft in the head! Have you forgotten how much we longed to leave school? And all the praying, and the sore knees?’ She’d rubbed her own to emphasize her point. ‘We couldn’t wait to get away, and never have to think about those stupid nuns again! Yet here you are, feeling sorry for them!
Mon Dieu!
Let’s talk about something more interesting like … men, or sex or …
chocolate
! Anything but those bloody nuns!’

‘Men and sex will do for me,’ Elise had said, turning
from the mirror and striking a sophisticated pose – unaware that her badly-applied lipstick made her look remarkably like a clown.