Northern Girl (9 page)

Madeleine was quiet for a moment. She looked pleadingly from Papa to her sisters and back again, knowing he always melted at the sight of her big brown eyes, and, true to form, he relented. ‘But,’ he added warningly, ‘if I allow you to go, you must stay with your sisters the whole time.’

‘I will, I promise. Thank you, Papa! I’ll go and change my clothes.’ She immediately ran up the stairs, looking back at her sisters and calling, ‘Well, come on, you two, what are you waiting for?’

Before they could move, Papa grabbed Martine’s sleeve, holding her back. He whispered, ‘Look, there are British troops billeted just a few miles away from the village, waiting to be demobilized, and some of them will be at the fair. After all, what else is there for them to do around here, unless they go into Calais? So I’m trusting you girls to behave sensibly, and keep a tight hold on Madeleine.’

Simone, her eyes lighting up at the thought of troops, replied, ‘Of course we’ll stick together, Papa. Don’t worry. After all, Martine and I looked after ourselves for five years and never came to any harm!’ She chose to ignore Martine’s disdainful expression.

Papa, his hands outstretched and palms towards the ceiling, shrugged again, saying, ‘I know! But I still can’t help thinking of you as my little girls.’

‘Oh, Papa!’ Martine and Simone both laughed.

He looked a little hurt as he said, ‘You can laugh. But one day, when you have your own children, you’ll understand what a worry they are. And I don’t need to tell you the war hasn’t helped at all. It’s made all of us over-protective.’

The two girls kissed him on the cheek, and Martine said, ‘Papa, we’re not laughing at you, not really. And, yes, we’ll stick together at the fair. You don’t need to worry about us. The war is over now, and I’m sure we
can deal with a few soldiers.’ Catching Simone’s eye, she added meaningfully, ‘
If
we need to, that is!’

Papa looked at his daughters: Martine with her striking auburn hair and classic good looks, and Simone, the only blonde in the family, her usual pretty and frivolous self. He felt compelled to labour his point. ‘Well, I hope so, because you are the kind of girls who get noticed. Especially by soldiers who’ve been confined to barracks for months.’ He studied them appreciatively. ‘Just look at you! And as for Madeleine, so beautiful but still so childish, can you blame me for being worried?’

At times like this, he regretted the way the whole family had cosseted Madeleine far more than was good for her. But then, she was the baby of the family. He was always going to fret about his daughters, but he also knew that he had to let them go, and this was as good a time as any to show his faith in them. So he patted them playfully, saying, ‘Off with the pair of you, then. Go get Madeleine and have some fun.’

They ran upstairs to change out of their travelling clothes, and had barely finished before Madeleine dragged them out of the door, afraid her parents might change their minds. Once out of sight of the house, she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d run a little way ahead of the other two, but now she slowed down to allow her sisters to catch up.

‘For goodness’ sake, Madeleine! What’s the rush?’ Simone demanded.

And with a breathless Martine following close behind
they stopped for a moment. Martine warned, ‘If you two are going to get ahead of me like this once we’re in there, you can forget the whole thing. We’ve made a promise to stick together. Remember?’

Madeleine was only half listening. She flapped her hand and said, ‘Shush! Can you hear it?’ The atmospheric, slightly muffled sounds coming from two streets away were already making Madeleine’s heart beat faster. The sound of stallholders shouting, the music of the rides, and the hustle and bustle of the crowds filled her with such excitement that she grabbed her sisters’ hands. They all ran to the fair together.

At the entrance Madeleine glanced at her sisters and saw even they were looking round in awe. There were so many people! ‘See, aren’t you glad you came now?’ she said. Without waiting for an answer she let go of their hands and dodged through the crowds, coming to a sudden halt in front of the carousel. ‘Come on, let’s go on this.’

Martine, feeling reluctant, glanced round for Simone, hoping to persuade her to go on with Madeleine, only to see that she’d wandered on ahead and started chatting and laughing with a boy selling balloons.

Frustrated, she turned back to Madeleine. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘You go on it. I’ll get Simone, and we’ll meet you back here in five minutes.’ Madeleine didn’t have to be told twice.

Everyone was scrambling on to the ride, and not wanting to be left behind, she hurriedly reached for the supporting pole of one of the vacant wooden horses.
But as soon as she touched it, a hand slapped on top of hers. Both she and someone else had grabbed for the same pole. She turned around indignantly, ready to argue, and found herself greeted by the most disarming smile.

‘So sorry,
please
, you take the horse,’ the stranger offered apologetically, in English. Madeleine was so disconcerted by dazzling good looks, dark hair, and the dimples in his cheeks, that for once she was lost for words. Assuming she hadn’t understood him, he backed away and half bowed, stretching his hand out towards the horse in a chivalrous gesture that could have come from a fairy tale.

At this, she managed to muster a crooked smile, and, with a slight nod of her head, climbed on the waiting wooden horse. The ride started, and she loved every second, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the charming English stranger, who was very obviously a soldier.

The carousel ended too soon for Madeleine, and as it slowed she looked around for her sisters, who were nowhere in sight. What she could see, though, was the stranger, gazing in her direction. Oh,
mon Dieu
! she wondered. Was he watching her, or just waiting to get on the ride?

When the carousel finally came to a standstill he stepped up and offered to help her down. Madeleine’s stomach fluttered, and she knew that it was nothing to do with the ride. She took his hand and jumped down, then smiled and thanked him. ‘
Merci
, monsieur!’ She
straightened her dress, and glanced at him, noticing that he seemed to be feeling equally awkward.

Laughing nervously, he said something she couldn’t understand, and then he added, ‘Tom Dawson,’ which was obviously his name. He was introducing himself. His eyes twinkled as he offered his hand.

‘Monsieur Dawson,’ she said, shaking it. She tried to conceal her amusement at this very English custom by quickly saying, ‘
Je m’appelle
Madeleine.’ She pressed a finger to her chest for emphasis, furious with herself for not having paid more attention to Sister Bee’s English classes.

Tom looked at her blankly. His French was worse than Madeleine’s English, and he was beginning to fear he wouldn’t be able to talk to this lovely girl at all when she suddenly said, ‘My Engleesh … it is very bad. I try …’ She continued awkwardly, struggling to make her voice heard against the noise of the fairground, ‘My … name … it is Madeleine … Madeleine Pelletier.’

There was no way Tom could even attempt to respond in French. He looked at this gorgeous girl and knew that he had to at least try to communicate, so very slowly and carefully in his own language he made an attempt, ‘I … was … transfixed,’ he began slowly, aware that he was likely to make a fool of himself yet somehow unable to prevent it. He went on, ‘Transfixed … by … the shine of your … lovely … chestnut hair.’ Then he pointed at her hair, feeling like a complete idiot.

Confused, she put her hand to her hair.

This made him feel he had to continue. ‘I … I was trying to say … that your hair …’ By now he was feeling so stupid that he finished hurriedly, ‘Anyway, your hair is very nice.’

With a puzzled expression Madeleine shrugged her shoulders.

This suggested, to Tom’s relief, that she hadn’t much idea what he’d just said. And ashamed of making such a lame remark, he changed the subject. ‘You like nougat?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows in anticipation of a favourable answer.

‘Ah, nougaah,’ Madeleine responded, recognizing the word. ‘
Où?
’ she’d questioned, looking around eagerly.

Tom, relieved that they were now on the same wavelength, confidently pointed beyond the pink and white hoopla stall they could both see in the distance. Then, in a voice that had risen an octave or two, he asked, ‘Shall I show you?’

And Madeleine, all thought of her sisters gone, readily agreed.

So, with Tom leading the way, they headed off towards the hoopla. There were hordes of people, and they weren’t just locals or soldiers. Madeleine thought they must have come from Calais and the towns and villages around. It was so crowded that they had to push their way through, and to avoid getting separated, Tom turned and held out his hand. At first she hesitated. But then, trustingly, she took it.

As Tom felt her fingers curl around his he allowed himself a secret smile.

The harder they pushed through the crowds the more Madeleine clung to him, sometimes even grabbing his sleeve with her free hand. She was mesmerized by this soldier with the cheeky grin, and she couldn’t wait to get to the nougat stall, because then they’d talk again. Or at least try to.

When they finally got there, she stared in awe at the huge selection of nougat. She had no idea what to choose, and looked at Tom, and he, seizing the opportunity to try and impress her, asked the plump stallholder if they could try a little of everything, indicating this by using clumsy sign language.

The stallholder laughed, understanding at once. He said in English, ‘What? You want to look like me?’ rubbing his hand over his ample stomach.

‘What do you recommend, then?’ Tom asked, hugely relieved that the bloke could speak the same language.

‘I choose for you,’ the stallholder said, rapidly filling up a paper bag and handing it over.

‘Is the ones you want,’ he said convincingly. ‘Is good, and your lady, she will like!’

Tom glanced towards Madeleine, who burst into laughter at his bewildered expression, even though she wasn’t completely sure what had just been said.

With a comical shrug of his shoulders Tom responded light-heartedly, ‘I guess we’ll take them, then.’ After he’d paid the man he ushered Madeleine to the side of the stall, where they sat on a pile of stones. And Madeleine decided that, just for this one day, she wasn’t
going to think about the fact that they had once been part of someone’s home.

Tom handed the nougat bag to her and she gratefully picked out a chunk. She watched Tom select a piece, and was guessing that he must be in his early twenties when he looked up. ‘I guess you want to know something about me?’ he said.

Allowing her no time to convey that she was unsure what he’d said, he continued, aided by many hand gestures, ‘Well … my camp is a few kilometres from Marck.’ He pointed in the general direction. ‘But my home, my real home is in England, in the north-east.’ Madeleine appeared to be listening intently, and he stopped for a moment, before asking, ‘And you? Do you live close by?’

Madeleine had been concentrating so hard, trying to make out what he was saying, that she wasn’t immediately aware that she’d been asked a question, until, with a smile, he repeated it: ‘Do you live close by?’

‘Oh
merde
!’ Madeleine exclaimed, frustrated by how little she could understand.

Tom, very familiar with this popular French swear word, laughed, then suggested, with the aid of more hand gestures than were probably necessary, ‘Look, we will … speak … very slowly … until we … understand … each other.’

Madeleine, with a serious look, said, ‘OK … You smile … You Tom.
Je suis
Madeleine.
Je vis ici
… in Marck.’ She waved her hand in front of her face, relieved that she’d managed to convey even that much,
and, feeling pleased with herself, added slightly more confidently, ‘I live with my parents … also my brozer, and … my two seesters.’

But before Tom could answer, she had jumped up from the stones, her hand clasped over her mouth in horror exclaiming, ‘
Oh, non!
My seesters! … I forget … my seesters … I go! Continuing to mumble to herself in what, to Tom, was the fastest and definitely the most incomprehensible French he’d ever heard, she started running back to the carousel.

Tom chased after her and caught her hand. ‘Wait, I’ll come with you.’

This time it was Madeleine leading the way through the crowds and shouting desperately to anyone in her path, ‘
Excuse-moi!
’

In the meantime, Martine, with a chastened Simone, had returned to the carousel only to discover that Madeleine had disappeared. They’d been there as the carousel came to a standstill, but there was such a huge crush of people trying to climb on the horses before the previous riders had got off, that they hadn’t noticed Madeleine going off with Tom. So they’d wandered around, anxiously looking behind every stall, until Simone saw Madame Renaude, a notorious old woman from the village who had nothing better to do with her time but spread malicious gossip. Simone nudged Martine, who exclaimed, ‘Oh no! I can’t believe she’s still alive, she was old when
we
were children … Don’t let her see us, for God’s sake!’

And as they tried to edge past her inconspicuously,
her shrill voice, brimming with undisguised glee, brought them to a sudden halt: ‘She’s gone off with an English soldier!’ There wasn’t just pleasure in her voice: they could clearly make out disapproval, and a breathless anticipation of scandal, too. She was the only woman they knew who could somehow express three different emotions at the same time.

Simone, unable to resist it, asked, ‘Who has gone off with an English soldier, Madame Renaude?’

‘Why, Madeleine, of course. Who else?’ came the reply, accompanied by a disdainful sniff.

Although Martine was as desperate as Simone to find out what Madame Renaude knew, she thought the old hag might just have made up the whole thing to amuse herself. So, sensing that Simone was about to become abusive, she nudged her in warning, before forcing herself to smile at Madame Renaude. ‘Thank you so much, Madame,’ she said graciously. ‘We’ll go and find her.’