Northern Girl

by Fadette Marie Marcelle Cripps

  ‘But Martine, you don’t understand, I did nothing wrong. We only went to buy nougat. I just got carried away for a moment – but I came back as soon as I realized you’d be looking for me. After all, I’m hardly likely to get lost in my own village!’

  Tom, who was watching Madeleine and Martine intently, glanced at Simone, conscious that she was weighing him up. ‘I meant no harm, you know,’ he felt obliged to explain. ‘We were only buying nougat. Look!’ He opened the bag and offered it to her.

  Simone was not sure what he’d said, but guessed it was an apology. Always ready to oblige an attractive man, she’d just put some nougat in her mouth when Martine returned with Madeleine, who, in Simone’s view, looked suitably reprimanded.

  Simone had never quite managed to disguise the jealousy she sometimes felt towards her two sisters. There were times when she loved them, but mostly she found herself unable to handle the envy she felt in their presence. She had never really accepted that her main problem was her unsubtle attitude towards the opposite sex, and instead thought all her troubles stemmed from her sisters’ ‘meddling’. She was never short of attention from men, but keeping them interested was another matter entirely.

  She found it very irritating that whenever she had a boyfriend he quickly preferred the company of her more modest sisters. It made her flirt even more desperately. So she couldn’t help feeling pleased that Madeleine was the one in trouble for a change.

  Tom, following the sisters as they started to walk away, caught up with them and courteously handed the bag of nougat to Martine, who stopped to look at him. After staring into his eyes unflinchingly she declined with a curt, ‘Non, merci,’ before strolling on.

  Madeleine was already feeling humiliated by being ticked off in front of Tom. Seeing Martine shun his offer of nougat so rudely infuriated her. So she turned to Tom defiantly, making sure that her words were loud enough for Martine to hear. ‘No … be … offend … by my seester …’ Giving up the struggle, she finished in French, ‘I liked the nougat, Tom.’

  Tom, slightly bemused, offered her the bag again and apologized once more. ‘I’m so sorry to get you in trouble, Madeleine.’

  She waved her hand carelessly, making light of the situation. ‘Forgive me.’ She tried to explain further: ‘Ce ne pas normal. La guerre nous a fait peur. Tu comprends?’

  What Tom did comprehend was how warmly he was feeling towards this lively girl. He took her hand, and forgetting to speak slowly, blurted out, ‘Look, if it will help, I will come home with you to explain.’

  The genuine concern on his face made Madeleine smile. But having understood the word ‘home’, she exclaimed in a panic, ‘Non!’ She knew how her parents would react if she arrived home with a soldier. Mon Dieu, they’d be angry! ‘Crayon? Er … pen?’ she asked Tom. He took a broken pencil from his pocket, and after searching in vain for paper, handed her the nougat bag, which she wrote her address on with some difficulty.

  She gave him back the bag, saying hopefully, ‘Anozer day, no?’

  Tom smiled widely, and, imitating her glorious accent, answered, ‘Anozer day! Maddie, yes, definitely anozer day!’

  Noticing how he’d shortened her name, she looked at him questioningly before repeating, ‘Maddie? I like.’ Then she added in rapid French. ‘I’ll warn Maman, because otherwise when you call she’ll slam the door in your face and say, “There’s no one called that here!”’ She laughed at the idea, and Tom, enchanted but uncomprehending, laughed too. Then he let go of her hand and she began walking towards her sisters, but couldn’t resist one last glance back at Tom. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him still standing there watching her. ‘A bientôt!’ she called through the crowds.

  This was another expression that Tom had often heard, so he was able to call back confidently, ‘A bientôt!’ He stood watching her a few moments longer, hands deep in his pockets, and when he finally turned he walked with a spring in his step, whistling the first tune that came into his head: ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’.

  Madeleine broke into a run and caught up with her sisters. Simone, unhappy because they’d had to leave the fair early, had lagged behind Martine a little, and when Madeleine arrived breathlessly at her side, she gave her a sideways glance and said, ‘Well, if that had been me who’d gone off with a stranger like that, there is no way that Martine would have let me linger to say goodbye.’

  ‘Well, I suppose that even though Martine was cross, she sensed Tom wasn’t a bad person. Anyway,’ Madeleine said, changing the subject, ‘he’s going to call at the house to see me. That way the family can see how nice he is.’ She added happily, ‘Did you notice he called me “Maddie”?’

  Simon was about to reply when Martine butted in, horrified, ‘Well, if you think Maman and Papa will let him visit, you’re more stupid than I thought,’ she said. Martine knew that Madeleine must be wondering why she was being so disapproving. She also knew that she was being unfair, assuming that Madeleine would turn out like Simone, but recent events had made her cynical. They were why she’d left Boulogne earlier than she’d wanted to.

  What had happened there was still so raw that she couldn’t even face discussing it with Simone, so instead she’d just endlessly fretted about it, knowing that one day her frustration was bound to come to a head. To be honest, today she was as cross with herself as she was with Madeleine for allowing the incident with the soldier to happen. It was just like Boulogne! Would she ever learn? she wondered. She really resented being the eldest, and always having to watch over her sisters. How she longed not to have to be so responsible all the time. When was she going to have any freedom?

  As they reached the exit, Martine looked over at Madeleine and felt a pang of guilt at having been so hard on her. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Madeleine, but I don’t know what’s come over you since I’ve been away. You used to be so sensible.’

  ‘Well, maybe I’m tired of being sensible. And maybe, just maybe, I’ve grown up!’

  Martine said, ‘Oh, so you think you behaved like a grown-up today, do you? I think not!’ She gave a wry little laugh. ‘It’s OK to call you Maddie now, is it? After you made it so clear to us just how much you disliked your name being shortened!’

  ‘That was then! Anyway, it sounds different in English, and I like 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 g
ets 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 saved specially. 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 had been bombed, who had been caught fraternizing with the Germans, and how no one seemed to care that Boulogne had been reduced to nothing more than a pile of burnt stones.

  Listening to these dismal conversations brought out Madeleine’s natural mischievousness, and on one occasion, unable to resist winding the old ladies up, she nudged Nicole before eating her slice of chocolate gateau with loud cries and gasps of ecstasy. The resulting disapproval made the two girls collapse with laughter.

  Madeleine and Nicole talked endlessly, about many things, but Nicole never said much about her family, and Madeleine didn’t ask. All she knew was that Nicole lived nearby with her mother, Ginette Jobert.

  They did, however, discuss their schools, and tell each other stories about their childhoods – another source of much hilarity. So it was an uncharacteristically solemn moment when Madeleine discovered that Nicole’s father had left her mother some time ago, for another woman. But Nicole didn’t dwell on the subject, and Madeleine didn’t press her, sensing that her friend didn’t want to discuss it in any detail.

  Madeleine had such warm memories of Nicole, and whenever she thought about how quickly their friendship had ended she felt a confused anger towards Martine which saddened her.

  Martine had never said why she’d done it, nor had she explained why she’d reacted so violently at the very mention of the boulangerie. It still irked and puzzled Madeleine. ‘Why do you need to go there?’ Martine had snapped, after finding out about Madeleine’s visits. ‘It’s easy enough to make coffee here in the apartment. And besides, what about all this studying you’re supposed to be doing?’ She’d gestured at the books and papers lying around the flat. ‘Surely the best time to do it is while Simone and I are out at work?’

  Madeleine, shocked and hurt, had said, ‘So you want me to study all day?

  ‘Of course I don’t expect you to stay in all the time. But I don’t want you sitting in that café, either.’ Then she’d added, almost as an afterthought, ‘And, besides, the boulangerie is too far from the bomb shelter. What if the sirens go off? Where would you go?’

  ‘I’d just follow the others to their shelter, of course!’ Madeleine had retorted, finding it hard to believe that Martine would say anything so ridiculous.

  Madeleine decided that she was going to go on seeing Nicole. And so she continued to do so, not caring whether there was an air raid or not. Things were quiet for a while after that, so Madeleine assumed that Martine thought she’d successfully put her off going to the boulangerie. Martine didn’t bring up the subject again, which made it easier for Madeleine to go on dropping in there: she didn’t have to lie.

  On later trips to Boulogne, Madeleine always visited Nicole in the mornings, making a special effort to concentrate on her studies and her sewing in the afternoons; and because Martine saw Madeleine’s work progressing, she became relaxed and even-tempered. At least until a little later, when Madeleine – convinced that if Martine met Nicole she would like her – plucked up the courage to ask if she could invite her friend to dinner one evening.

  Madeleine nearly jumped through the ceiling when Martine turned, with a look like thunder, and shouted – actually shouted – in disbelief, ‘You mean the girl from the boulangerie?’

  ‘Yes,’ Madeleine answered.

  Martine yelled, ‘No, she can’t come here!’ And refused to explain why.

  Totally dumbfounded, Madeleine was about to speak when Martine said, ‘Are you telling me that you’ve been going there all this time, behind my back?’

  Madeleine’s stunned silence answered the question.

  ‘Well, it’s obvious that I can’t trust you!’ Martine said. ‘I asked you not to go there for your own good.’ Then, after hesitating, she asked, never taking her eyes from Madeleine’s face, ‘Have you been to her house?’

  ‘No, I have not!’ said Madeleine, feeling really agitated by now. ‘But what if I had?’

  ‘That’s enough!’ Martine warned, holding up her hand to stop her confused younger sister from saying another word. Then she grabbed her coat, telling Madeleine, ‘I’ll have to talk to you about this later. I need to go out now.’

  ‘OK, if you won’t tell me,’ Madeleine said indignantly, ‘I’ll just have to ask Simone when she comes back. I’m sure she will be only too happy to explain!’

  That had been the end of the conversation, and later, to Madeleine’s astonishment, the reason for Martine needing to go out had become abundantly clear. She’d bought a train ticket, so Madeleine could go home the very next morning.

  When Simone came home later that night, Madeleine was still so upset that she stayed in her bedroom and didn’t bother to ask her about Nicole. She thought she probably wouldn’t get an honest answer while Martine was there, anyway.

  She’d agonized about it all the way home on the train, and been unable to imagine what the problem could possibly be. But she made up her mind that she was going to get an explanation; she wasn’t going to let it go. Unfortunately she didn’t have Nicole’s home address, so couldn’t let her know what had happened. She wrote to the boulangerie, just in case, but never got an answer.

  What must Nicole have thought of her leaving without saying goodbye? she wondered now. She knew her sisters were expecting her downstairs, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to join them just yet. The events at the fair, on top of all this unresolved stuff about Nicole, had made her determined to force an explanation from Martine as soon as possible. She was jolly well going to find out what was going on!

  On this positive thought, she picked up the little jacket she’d been remodelling and tried it on in the mirror. One sleeve was set into the shoulder completely wrong. As she ripped out the stitches she listened for the sound of Maman’s footsteps outside on the road. Although, if she knew Tante Lucy, she’d be filling Maman in on all the local gossip, which meant Maman could be gone for ages. She hoped not; she wanted to
talk to her before Papa came in from his workshop.

  Even though she had no doubt that Maman and Papa loved them all, and had done everything they could for them, Madeleine couldn’t help feeling that if only she was allowed a little more independence – and came up against fewer secrets – she’d be able to cope with things better, the way her friends did.

  The reason for the awkwardness between Martine and Simone was yet another secret that was being kept from her. Well, she wasn’t a child, and she wasn’t putting up with it any more. She was going to let them know that there were to be no more secrets in this family.

  At least Dominic confided in her. She smiled at the thought of her brother, only to realize with a jolt that she was guilty of exactly the same thing her family was doing. When the soldiers had been billeted in their house during the occupation, hadn’t she lied to Dominic to protect him?

  ‘Why are you suddenly so jumpy and irritable?’ he’d asked.

  And she’d said, ‘No reason. Everything is fine. Really.’ At the time she was terrified that, if he knew, he’d kill the soldier who was tormenting her. Everything had certainly not been fine. But she’d lied to protect him.

  She cringed at the thought of those slimy Nazi hands, and the way they’d touched her at every opportunity. She’d been so terrified that she hadn’t even dared confide in her friends, in case it got back to her parents via theirs. What could Papa and Maman have done, anyway? What could anyone have done?

  It had happened after the German soldiers had taken over the bedrooms. Madeleine had been adamant that she wanted a private place to herself, so she had ended up on a folding bed in the tiny room next to the bouanderie, which was normally used for storing odd bits of furniture. This had left poor Dominic, much to his chagrin, with no alternative but to share the attic with his parents. The family had been given no choice about it; they’d just had to cope as best they could.