Pascale is being sweet. She can’t wait to come to London in the summer. She wants to have a wild time. I told her she’d chosen the wrong girl to have a wild time with, and she gave me a funny look. “Liar,” she said.
I’ve given her my brown pants and top. She looks nice in anything that’s not black and I don’t need them anymore. They were magic pants but the magic wore off. Do you know something? They just weren’t me.
Pascale’s just come in, tapping her watch. We’ve got to go.
Gare du Nord, Eurostar, car 17, 11 a.m.
So it’s all over. Or nearly is. We’re still in the station, but we’re on the train, Julie and I, and this time we’re sitting with the others. Mr. Baker, v dashing (not) in a black beret, is keeping his evil eye on us. Stacey Owens has got an enormous bag of madeleines and is passing them around. Joseph Milton’s got some Haribos. Good to know he’s been absorbing the culture. It’s all v noisy. Everyone’s got stories to tell. Julie’s telling the whole gang how for the first few days she thought she was being poisoned. Abby Morton went skiing and broke her arm. There’s a line to scribble on her cast.
I cried saying good-bye to Pascale. We hugged each other downstairs at the elevator. Eric was meeting her outside on his bike and taking her to the park. She looks so much happier than she did when I arrived. When her mother left them for those few days, Pascale found out how much her father loves her. Good things do sometimes come out of bad. I watched her as she left the station and walked into the sunshine. She is wearing black again today, but it looked purple in the light.
My grandparents were waiting for me upstairs—and my grandmother held my face to kiss me. She was smiling and looked much less tense.
“Bernadette called us late last night,” she said. “She gave us her apologies for her rudeness at lunch. She says she was not quite ready to see us, but maybe in a month or two, we would like to come to London to visit her—to visit you all.” There were tears in her eyes.
“I’m so glad,” I said. “I really am.”
And I really am, but do you know? It doesn’t seem so important now. The family that matters is the one waiting for me at home: Mother and Mr. Spence, Marie and Cyril. And my head was still full of William.
Julie rushed up before they left.
“Enchantée, I’m sure,” she said cheekily when I introduced her.
“GIRLS!” squawked a panicked Mr. Baker then. “Move it!”
So that was that.
I’m glad I’m going to see them again soon. I’m glad my grandfather said, “Enchanté,” and kissed Julie’s hand. It shows he’s got gallantry and a sense of humor. And next time—because now there’s going to be a next time—I might get to see more of both.
Car 17, 11:32 a.m.
We’re pulling out of the station now. All I can see are tracks and overhead wires, and the backs of buildings covered in graffiti. A crane, high-rise apartments, a station, houses, a park, tennis court, wasteland . . .
I never did get to go up the Eiffel Tower.
It’s all quieted down in the car. Julie’s gone to see if she can get two Cokes with the money she’s got left. If she hasn’t got enough, she’ll get one and we’ll share it. I’m going to read Madame Bovary in a minute. I’ve hardly read any of it. I think she’s about to be unfaithful to her husband. Not with a driving instructor, though.
Now we’re on our way, I am so excited to be going home. There’re butterflies in my stomach. I can’t wait to see London, to get to our street, to see our house and my family, to be in my own room. I’ve missed the messiness of London, the ugliness, that combination of the smart and the tatty; you don’t find that in Paris. You know, the dainty curtains in one house, the burned-out car outside the next. And I’ve missed knowing the area where I live like the back of my hand; it’s worth a lot, that. And everything’s full of memories. I always said Paris was my spiritual home, but sometimes you have to go away to appreciate what you’ve got.
Julie’s back (one Coke and a KitKat to share).
She’s just said something odd.
“I thought William was getting the bus,” she said.
“He is.”
“Funny, that. I’ve just met him in the cafe car.”
The cafe car, 11:52 a.m.
It isn’t far—only two cars. I got here as fast as I could. He was leaning against the counter, drinking a cup of tea. When he saw me, he grinned and threw something in the air.
“You’re late,” he said.
It was an Eiffel Tower key ring.
I only just caught it in time.
About the Author
Sabine Durrant is the author of CROSS YOUR HEART, CONNIE PICKLES, as well as the adult novels THE GREAT INDOORS and HAVING IT AND EATING IT. She lives in London, England, with her three children.
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Credit Page
Jacket art © 2008 by Wendi Koontz
Copyright
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
Bon Voyage, Connie Pickles
Copyright © 2007 by Sabine Durrant
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books
EPub Edition © February 2009 ISBN: 9780061880490
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Durrant, Sabine.
[Ooh la la, Connie Pickles]
Bon Voyage, Connie Pickles / by Sabine Durrant. — 1st American ed.
p. cm.
“Originally published in 2007 as Ooh La La, Connie Pickles in Great
Britain by Penguin Books Ltd, London”—Copyright p.
Summary: As fourteen-year-old Constance embarks upon an exchange program to Paris, she sets out to find her long-lost grandparents she has never met, forget the boy from back home, and to become one with the French way of life.
[1. Student exchange programs—Fiction. 2. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 3. Friendship—Fiction. 4. Grandparents—Fiction. 5. Family life—France—Fiction. 6. Diaries—Fiction. 7. Paris (France)—Fiction. 8. France—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.D9342815Bo 2008
2007018371
[Fic]—dc22
CIP
AC
* * *
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Originally published in 2007 as Ooh La La, Connie Pickles in Great Britain
by Penguin Books Ltd, London
FIRST AMERICAN EDITION, HARPERCOLLINS PUBLISHERS, 2008
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Bon Voyage, Connie Pickles Page 15
