CHAPTER 16
“Maman! What am I to wear today? Can I not wear the same dress as yesterday? Elle has not seen it!”

My mother’s voice came up the stairs. “Margot has”

“Yes, but she will not---oh, my mother! You have, have you not?”

“I have done what, my sweet?”

“Asked them both back for the evening!”

“Well, we have plenty of food to eat, and Roland will be happy”

“And not you, with your handsome man all of your own? Will you be having a stiff neck again? Oh, Guillaume, just there, that is so, so exquisitely just the right place”

“Young lady, a mother can lose the love she has!”

I cannot remember which of us started to laugh first, but it was laughter born of joy, not of humour. We girls had said our goodnights as demurely as nuns, but it was clear that four people out of our five were simply eager to let their passions run just a little freer. I decided at last that as it was to be a less formal evening, I would dress accordingly, and so I chose a simple dark skirt with a shirt in ivory. The voices were still loud.

“Roland!”

“Yes, Maman?”

“Can you drive down to my place and get a couple of chairs from J-P? We have but six!”

“But we are but…of course!”

I could plainly hear in his voice when he understood. I sat on my bed for a while, looking at the additions to my wardrobe, the little watch, the cosmetics, and I felt as content as I could ever remember being. This was living, and it would be living with my first and second friends ever beside me. There was a clatter outside my door, and I realised that despite my own choice of a more casual manner of dress, Maman was setting her nets. That was the sound of heels, probably her best ones. It felt strange; my mother was my mother, and there she was setting out as a young woman would, for her young man. I grinned and hugged myself---she deserved it all, all the happiness the Good Lord could send her. Had she not stood by me from the first? Had she not almost whored herself for my sake? I could begrudge her nothing.

I checked the things that I would need, including the small package of perfume I had determined would best suit my little friend. That brought another smile, because to Margot I had already bequeathed the finest of men. That man was soon back at our house, with two chairs that did not match those we owned, but so much the worst if that was to be our biggest problem.

Maman had spent the morning baking. We had plans for a cold meal, preceded by a proper winter potage with more of the bread she had finally admitted worked well for what it was, and then an English plate. She had found strawberries from somewhere, and we had a tarte of them, and she had also laboured on a galette of the kings, even though it was early for it.

“Well, they will be fed well, my darling one, even if a little in advance of the season. I will not have guests…”

She trailed off, and it was with a tear beginning in her eye. “Yes, my little one, guests. We have guests, we CAN have guests, we have a place, a home, to bring guests to, and I despaired, for so long…”

She took a cloth to her eyes. “This is your doing, daughter. Without…without your need we would not have seen our own. We were Arabs, my love, street Arabs, and now we are a bourgeois and two bourgeoises. Thank you, my sweet”

I took her in my arms. “No, not me, it is you. Just the little things, like that word. Bourgeoises. Acceptance of me is in your heart and your words, and I could ask for no more, nothing finer. Now, not-quite-so-young-but-but-still-young-enough-woman, be gone and wash your face!”

She laughed, and once more it was of happiness rather than amusement.

“And so daughter becomes mother, no? Where is the timid child I once had?”

“She has emerged into the light and forgotten her fears, Maman. Now, we have but minutes!”

When I entered the kitchen I saw that she had been playing the game with the hot water, that of the nervous, where it is set to boil repeatedly so that it will be instantly available to warm the new arrivals. The weather had turned, and we had heavy squalls of rain bursting upon us from the direction of the Cotentin and wind, wind to make the fishing horrible. Our fire was of electricity, but it was on and warm, and we were as ready as we could be.

“Sophie?”

“Maman?”

“A touch…”

She brought forth a headband, in ivory that almost matched my garment, and fitted it to my hair.

“You have your new roses in, so let your friends see them, no? Ah, is that wheels?”

There was a clatter at the door, and then the house shook to the entrance of Elle, who was as energetic as ever.

“Was it good? Was the Father Christmas kind? What did you get? Pretty earrings! Serfs, bring forth the offerings!”

We were eight, for Margot and her father had ridden with Elle, and of course Margot had to go back to the car for something, and Roland to help her. When they returned, with small smiles, I held up a hand.

“Elle, chut! Now, my ladies, gentlemen and small person, we have the winter potage for a start and a warming of the body, with bread that is already warm, and then there will be a gentle collection of cold things from the roasting yesterday, plus some hams and saucisson with their cornichons and mustards, of course, and then…then we have a galette of the kings, and strawberry tartes with Chantilly, and, oh, lots more!”

Emil smiled. “We have brought more important things”

Roland stood up straighter. “Would these things perhaps be contained in glass?”

Emil grinned. “How else could we have a true Norman meal without a hole? Good Calvados, of course, and we have pommeau as well. I think our three young blossoms are now of an age , no?”

Roland twitched slightly at that, and Maman gave an almost silent snort of amusement. Margot’s Papa merely looked a little uncomfortable, but that had started with the three kisses he had given to Maman on his arrival.

“Sophie?”

“Yes, Maman?”

“It is yet early. I shall prepare some coffee; perhaps you could show your friends your room?”

“Of course”

“A half hour, then?”

As soon as we were in my bedroom, Elle almost attacked Margot.

“Tell! Tell all! What is he like? Did he use his tongue? Where were his hands?”

Margot held hers up for peace, and then gave a recount of what she had described to me the day before. “It was quick, and yes, the second time, there were tongues, and…and he put his hand on my waist, and at the back of my head, and then, yes, he did move his hand, and it was to my behind, so I moved it back to my waist”

Elle laughed. “And how long was it before you moved his hand? Eh? Eh?”

There was her blush, and her head lowered, but her eyes looked up through her hair, and the smile was still there.

“Perhaps a few seconds. And yes, it was very, very nice, and…is it sinful to want to tear a man’s clothing from his body?”

Elle raised an eyebrow. “Not at all. Sinful to do it in public, though. Could you feel, you know, when he held you?”

Margot was glowing like the fire in our front room. “I will not answer that one”.

Elle roared. “He has big hands and big feet, you lucky girl! Now, if I can only get Matthieu to turn his eyes in my direction”

Margot was still blushing, so I suggested that while ripping his clothing from his body might not be the most subtle way of attracting attention it would at least be effective. Elle grinned.

“And what about you, my tall friend?”

All at once, the mood broke, as she realised where I stood in life. “I am so sorry, Sophie. I did not think”

“It is nothing, Elle, nothing more than a great compliment. If you can forget that far, then I shall have hope. Come, there is a meal to be had”

We descended, and the adults were in fine form, Maman close to Margot’s Papa without being too close, and unlike our little hole in Caen we were soon seated properly, around a table, as people should be, and we had our pommeau, and then the rest of the meal, with the hole, of course, and Emil and Roland swapped more stories of foolish tourists while Françoise gave us tales she had ‘heard from a dancer she knew’, though I believe the Bouchers were not fooled. Some of her stories were scandalous, and there were names of people that were well-known, and once more laughter filled our little house. Regretfully, of course, it had to end, with Françoise the one who avoided the calvados so that the drive back would be safe. Margot’s Papa helped Maman clear the dishes away, an obviously planned stratagem, while Margot took things to the car, which appeared to require Roland’s help. I had to grasp Elle’s hand to prevent her rushing out to spy.

And then we three were alone. My first Christmas was proving to be a true wonder.

A little while later, amid the misery of the January weather, I was once more at the bus stop. I was not feeling in the best possible mood, because I was in trousers. It was not nice weather for a dress or a skirt, and the trousers made sense, but it still felt like a capitulation. My boots were feminine, my bust surely was, as were my hair and my face, but that one garment just said ‘Serge’ to me.

My mood lifted on boarding the bus, immersed immediately in my coterie, and there was gossip and more gossip. Especially, it seemed, Elle wanted to know how many more times Margot and Papa had visited us. I decided the subject should change.

“What are you going to do about this Matthieu?”

“He has to notice me, Sophie”

“Everybody notices you, little one. It is unavoidable”

“It is not!”

Fatima simply said, very calmly, “It is true. It is indeed very easy to overlook Elle”

There was laughter all the way to the school, and the weather outside was thus rebuffed.

I found him in the break between classes, a tall boy, of course, and I decided to be as bold as I could.

“Matthieu…”

“Ah. You are Sophie, yes?”

“Yes, Sophie. Listen…it is not for me I ask this, OK? But, just, are you perhaps…without liaisons at the moment?”

He wasn’t a bad-looking boy, if you discounted the few spots that were on his face, and he cocked his head to one side. “I am without a little friend just now, that is correct. Why?”

“I have a friend…”

He smiled, and I saw at once what Elle saw, beyond the size of his feet. “This would be a little friend indeed, no?”

I smiled back. “Yes, very little. What shall I tell her?”

“Well, there is a problem, in that I also have a friend who is alone at the moment, and he has spoken about her friends. Perhaps, no?”

I laughed. “Fatima certainly does not get allowed to do such things, and Margot, well, she is already involved”

“No, I think he may have meant another friend of hers. This girl is also tall, and very slim, and…and she blushes so well, too. What should I tell Benoit?”

This was almost too much. I had come to plead the case for Elle, and then, suddenly, I was the target. What to do?

“This Benoit, would he be the strong boy, the one with the blonde hair?”

“Yes, that’s him. Do I have an answer?”

I sighed. This was indeed a dream, but was it safe? If he knew, if he discovered me, I should be lost.

“I do not know. I must speak to my mother, but, yes, I would perhaps be willing to take a walk one day, when the weather is better”

“I will tell him, and you may tell your friend that, yes, if she wishes, we could talk”

I thanked him, and turned to go, and he called to me. “And Sophie? Benoit thinks trousers make your behind look much better!”