Bella nodded in agreement.
The teacher – a stern-looking woman with a shock of short, blonde hair – turned to look at them and they returned their eyes to their clipboards and the checklist they were expected to complete during the tour of the ninth century church.
She hadn’t wanted to admit to Sarah that she was fascinated by the rudimentary stained glass in the windows, that she longed to light a candle and make a wish, or say a prayer, she supposed. Bella didn’t believe in God, not really. But she could feel the history in this building, the collective prayers and hopes and dreams of the people who had gathered there for the past thousand years and more, as if they’d seeped into the stone walls, the mottled wooden pews, the flagstones underfoot.
Later though, as they sat with their French counterparts in a restaurant and atesteak hachéandfrites, chattering loudly in a mixture of French and English, even Sarah had a smile on her face. ‘It’s been a good week,’ she admitted to Bella later. ‘Sucks that we have to go home.’
‘Yeah.’ Bella hadn’t actually wanted to go on the French trip. It had been Sarah who’d convinced her. But she was glad she had. It was her first time abroad – family finances didn’t stretch to foreign holidays. Here, everything felt the same, yet ever so slightly different. It meant that she could be different too.
She felt as if she’d lived more in this past week than in the preceding sixteen years. They’d visited Limoges and taken a harrowing trip to the ruined village of Oradour-sur-Glane and learned of its tragic history. They’d gone to see a play they’d only half understood and eaten in a variety of restaurants. They’d attended lessons at a French school and learned to kayak on the river. She’d fallen in and out of love with a boy named Isaac with whom she’d shared a secret kiss on the first night.
Back home, life was limited. She was the baby of the family, and nobody seemed to notice that she was actually sixteen and technically an adult. Curfews and homework and talk about A level choices, eating her greens. And Kitty, unbearably older – working her first job and actually living with a boyfriend – had left her far behind.
Here, people actually saw her. This week, she’d experimented with her hair, tried different looks, spoken a language she only half knew and stayed up late giggling with friends. This was what she wanted in life – to be her own person, independent of all the things that held her back.
Home was boring. Life was dull and predictable. ‘Wish we didn’t have to leave,’ she said.
3
NOW
‘No, wait. I’m a quick learner. I can?—’
‘I’m sorry, Madame Baker, but there are other candidates with more experience.’
‘So you’re not even going to give me an interview?’
There was a long pause, followed by a breath that bordered on a sigh. ‘I am sorry, Madame. There may be more opportunities in the autumn.’
‘But it’s only March. I need a job now!’
‘I am sorry.’ The line went dead and Bella found herself letting out a roar of frustration. A part-time cashier opening, at her local supermarket. The kind of thing she’d thought of as a last resort when she’d started the search two weeks ago; and now she’d just practically begged for an interview.
Her hand dropped to her side, the phone almost slipping from her grasp. She was utterly exhausted, dejected, tired of crying, and had put on at least two kilos in chocolate weight alone since Pete had left three weeks earlier.
The knock on the door made her jump. As she went to answer it, she glanced in the hall mirror and saw herself for the first time that day. Hair wild and escaping from her ponytail. Eyes red-rimmed and dark-circled. She thought back to her innocent entrance to the house that fateful evening; her warm scarf, neat coat. Her hair, light make-up, her smile. At that moment in time, she’d thought they were simply having a bit of bad luck. Bookings were down, the plumbing had needed a fix and they’d heard that social charges were increasing this tax year. Yes, they’d been arguing – who doesn’t?
But life had pulled the rug out from under her.
There was another knock. Then, ‘Bella?’ came a voice.
It was enough, even in this situation, to make her smile. ‘Juliette?’
‘Oui, open the door. It is warm this evening but it is notthatwarm.’
‘Sorry. Sorry.’ She wiped her hand roughly across her face and pulled back the latch, opening the door on the half-light of early evening.
Juliette, her blonde hair neatly bobbed around her face, wearing a jacket, jeans and walking boots, was there, holding a foil-covered dish in one hand and a lead in the other.
‘Oh, and Jolie!’ Bella exclaimed, dropping into a crouch and wrapping her arms around the golden lab. ‘It’s lovely to see you.’
‘Me, or the dog?’ Juliette enquired drily as she followed Bella into the hallway. She looked at Bella quizzically as she handed her the dish – slightly warm – and unhooked the lead from Jolie’s collar before removing her coat. Somehow, she maintained eye contact throughout.
‘Both of you, of course.’ Bella leant forward and lightly kissed her friend on each cheek. ‘And thanks for this.’ She lifted the dish slightly. ‘You didn’t need to.’
‘Didn’t I?’ Juliette said as they made their way into the kitchen. ‘Have you even been eating in here? Or just snacking?’
‘Both?’
