it!’
Madeleine walked ahead of the other two on the way home, wanting to get there first, and thinking it would be better if she spoke to Maman before her sisters did, to give her own version of events. Just in case everything got distorted in the telling, particularly by Simone, who’d said very little so far.
Madeleine rushed into the house, only to find a note from Maman saying that she’d taken the opportunity to pop over to see Tante Lucy, and that Papa was in his workshop. Relieved, and preferring not to have any further discussion with her sisters, Madeleine ran upstairs to her room. There, still upset at having been treated like a child in front of Tom, she flopped down on her bed and wondered why Martine, who’d always been so understanding, had reacted like that. Something serious had happened in Boulogne, she decided, and she wouldn’t mind betting Simone was responsible! The tension between the two sisters was obvious, and they’d both changed. Martine was jumpier and crosser than before. And as for Simone: Madeleine had never seen her flighty sister so quiet.
Chapter 7
Marck, France
Friday, 22 June 1945
‘Are you coming down?’ Martine called from the bottom of the stairs.
Madeleine had been sitting in the same position for so long, sewing, that she hadn’t realized she’d become numb. She didn’t answer straight away, because she was rubbing her legs to try and get the pins and needles to go away. The next time she heard Martine’s voice it was outside her bedroom. ‘Madeleine?’ Martine tapped on the door. ‘Madeleine, are you asleep?’
‘No. I’m just freezing,’ Madeleine said.
Martine smiled. ‘Well, it’s warm downstairs. Come on down, and we’ll have a coffee before Maman gets back from Tante Lucy’s.’
‘OK.’
Martine added hopefully, ‘I’ll go and make the coffee, shall I?’
‘If you like.’ Madeleine carried on rubbing her feet,pleased that Martine seemed to have forgiven her. Madeleine knew she’d behaved thoughtlessly at the fair, and that she couldn’t really blame her for being angry with her, but she also knew that Martine had overreacted. In the past Martine might have been strict, but she’d always been fair, and very tolerant. Except, that is, for that last trip Madeleine had taken to Boulogne a year ago. She’d felt she hadn’t been treated fairly then, either: over a simple friendship she’d formed with a local girl called Nicole. Madeleine hadn’t even been allowed to say goodbye to Nicole before Martine had whisked her back to Marck so quickly that her feet had scarcely touched the ground.
She could still remember the delicious smell of baking bread that had first drawn her to the curious little boulangerie just down the street from Martine’s apartment. The café inside was warm and cosy. It only had four tables, but they were covered with fresh red cotton tablecloths. Even better, and despite the shortage of eggs, flour and butter, there was a chocolate gateau displayed smack in the centre of the glass-fronted counter on that first visit, and her mouth fell open at the sight of it.
Nicole, who worked there, was kind to her right from the start, and they’d both been so grateful to have someone of their own age to talk to that they’d soon become friends. From then on, whenever Madeleine was in Boulogne visiting her sisters, she would drop in on Nicole at the boulangerie , and they’d chat and giggle their way through portions of gateau that Nicole savedspecially. They’d both revelled in the friendship, loving the way it made them oblivious to the depressing, rubble-strewn streets – and even the war itself.
More often than not, these meetings were made even more fun by three old locals who frequented the place. These women, who always wore their headscarves pulled forward, were dressed from head to toe in black – which went well with their equally dark conversation. Madeleine and Nicole got to hear who’d died, which street
Madeleine walked ahead of the other two on the way home, wanting to get there first, and thinking it would be better if she spoke to Maman before her sisters did, to give her own version of events. Just in case everything got distorted in the telling, particularly by Simone, who’d said very little so far.
Madeleine rushed into the house, only to find a note from Maman saying that she’d taken the opportunity to pop over to see Tante Lucy, and that Papa was in his workshop. Relieved, and preferring not to have any further discussion with her sisters, Madeleine ran upstairs to her room. There, still upset at having been treated like a child in front of Tom, she flopped down on her bed and wondered why Martine, who’d always been so understanding, had reacted like that. Something serious had happened in Boulogne, she decided, and she wouldn’t mind betting Simone was responsible! The tension between the two sisters was obvious, and they’d both changed. Martine was jumpier and crosser than before. And as for Simone: Madeleine had never seen her flighty sister so quiet.
Chapter 7
Marck, France
Friday, 22 June 1945
‘Are you coming down?’ Martine called from the bottom of the stairs.
Madeleine had been sitting in the same position for so long, sewing, that she hadn’t realized she’d become numb. She didn’t answer straight away, because she was rubbing her legs to try and get the pins and needles to go away. The next time she heard Martine’s voice it was outside her bedroom. ‘Madeleine?’ Martine tapped on the door. ‘Madeleine, are you asleep?’
‘No. I’m just freezing,’ Madeleine said.
Martine smiled. ‘Well, it’s warm downstairs. Come on down, and we’ll have a coffee before Maman gets back from Tante Lucy’s.’
‘OK.’
Martine added hopefully, ‘I’ll go and make the coffee, shall I?’
‘If you like.’ Madeleine carried on rubbing her feet,pleased that Martine seemed to have forgiven her. Madeleine knew she’d behaved thoughtlessly at the fair, and that she couldn’t really blame her for being angry with her, but she also knew that Martine had overreacted. In the past Martine might have been strict, but she’d always been fair, and very tolerant. Except, that is, for that last trip Madeleine had taken to Boulogne a year ago. She’d felt she hadn’t been treated fairly then, either: over a simple friendship she’d formed with a local girl called Nicole. Madeleine hadn’t even been allowed to say goodbye to Nicole before Martine had whisked her back to Marck so quickly that her feet had scarcely touched the ground.
She could still remember the delicious smell of baking bread that had first drawn her to the curious little boulangerie just down the street from Martine’s apartment. The café inside was warm and cosy. It only had four tables, but they were covered with fresh red cotton tablecloths. Even better, and despite the shortage of eggs, flour and butter, there was a chocolate gateau displayed smack in the centre of the glass-fronted counter on that first visit, and her mouth fell open at the sight of it.
Nicole, who worked there, was kind to her right from the start, and they’d both been so grateful to have someone of their own age to talk to that they’d soon become friends. From then on, whenever Madeleine was in Boulogne visiting her sisters, she would drop in on Nicole at the boulangerie , and they’d chat and giggle their way through portions of gateau that Nicole savedspecially. They’d both revelled in the friendship, loving the way it made them oblivious to the depressing, rubble-strewn streets – and even the war itself.
More often than not, these meetings were made even more fun by three old locals who frequented the place. These women, who always wore their headscarves pulled forward, were dressed from head to toe in black – which went well with their equally dark conversation. Madeleine and Nicole got to hear who’d died, which street
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