Savannah’s clasping my arm, speechless. The walls are
framed in gold; statues line our path; chandeliers glitter above our heads. A few paces ahead, a smartly dressed porter is carrying our luggage. ‘I can’t believe we’ve got the
penthouse suite,’ I squeak.
Savannah stares around, breathless. ‘Two ensuite bathrooms and a sitting room, all to ourselves.’
The porter stops outside a wide, golden door and rests our luggage while he unlocks it. He swings it open and waves us inside.
The suite is magnificent. A glossy wooden floor is dotted with silken rugs. Sofas lounge round a glass coffee table and three huge windows stretch to the ceiling, framed by white shutters. I
rush across the room and throw one open. Outside, a warm Paris breeze tousles my hair as I lean over a wrought-iron balcony. Treetops rustle beneath my feet and, far below, I see cars, small as
toys, moving silently along the airy boulevard.
‘Your bedroom is through there.’ The porter points to another golden door. Treacle’s already racing towards it. She flings it open and gasps. ‘Canopies!’ I hurry to
her side to see another huge room. Three beautiful beds are draped by cream taffeta. They shimmer in the sunlight that streams through the tall windows.
‘We’re here!’
‘What?’
Savannah’s squawk jolts me out of my fantasy. The dark shadow of Green Park High looms into view as Mum crosses the traffic lights and swings round a corner. She pulls up in a side
street.
‘Well, girls,’ she says. ‘Are you ready?’ She’s fizzing with as much excitement as me.
Savannah unclicks her seat belt. ‘I was
born
ready.’ She’s out of the car and hopping excitedly from one foot to the other as Mum opens the boot and drags out our
rucksacks.
I shrug mine onto my shoulders. It’s heavy with guidebooks and the extra notepad I shoved in at the last minute.
‘Passports?’ Mum asks.
I check my bumbag. Treacle rifles through her tote and Savannah flips open her satchel. ‘Got it!’ Treacle holds hers up, I nod as I feel mine and Savannah gives the thumbs up.
‘Come on then.’ Mum marches towards the school. I chase after Treacle and Savannah. They’re already running for the gate. A huge coach is parked in the yard, its headlights
pooling brightness round the bike sheds. The rest of the yard is swamped in pre-dawn darkness, but I can hear the excited hubbub of happy students and the growls of teachers fending off
questions.
One side of the coach looks like it’s had its skirt lifted as the driver stows rucksacks into a low-lying storage compartment between the huge wheels. Madame Papillon is standing in the
glow of a headlight with a clipboard. I catch up with Savannah and Treacle as they reach her.
‘We’re here!’ Sav bounces up and down in front of her like a demented kangaroo.
‘Good, good.’ Madame’s eyes are skimming the list on her clipboard. She looks up, takes Treacle and me in with a short sweep of her lashes, then searches the darkness behind
us, looking satisfied when she spots Mum hovering.
‘Are they checked in?’ Mum asks.
Madame makes a final tick on her clipboard then nods. ‘Passports?’
‘Yes,’ Mum tells her. ‘We checked before we left and when we arrived.’
‘
Excellent
.’ She speaks with a French flourish then dismisses Mum with a reassuring smile. ‘We’ll see you when we get back on Monday evening.’
‘Bye, Mum!’ I hug her tight. ‘I promise I’ll send you a postcard and bring you back a present.’ I give her an extra squeeze, my heart bursting with excitement.
‘Thanks SO much for letting me go.’
‘Have fun.’ Mum breaks away and gives me a huge smile. It’s meant to reassure me, but I don’t need reassurance. I know this trip is going to be fantastic.
Waving, Mum turns and disappears into the darkness.
‘Stow your rucksacks.’ Madame waves us towards the driver. He’s bent double beside the gaping hold between the wheels. Mr Chapman and
framed in gold; statues line our path; chandeliers glitter above our heads. A few paces ahead, a smartly dressed porter is carrying our luggage. ‘I can’t believe we’ve got the
penthouse suite,’ I squeak.
Savannah stares around, breathless. ‘Two ensuite bathrooms and a sitting room, all to ourselves.’
The porter stops outside a wide, golden door and rests our luggage while he unlocks it. He swings it open and waves us inside.
The suite is magnificent. A glossy wooden floor is dotted with silken rugs. Sofas lounge round a glass coffee table and three huge windows stretch to the ceiling, framed by white shutters. I
rush across the room and throw one open. Outside, a warm Paris breeze tousles my hair as I lean over a wrought-iron balcony. Treetops rustle beneath my feet and, far below, I see cars, small as
toys, moving silently along the airy boulevard.
‘Your bedroom is through there.’ The porter points to another golden door. Treacle’s already racing towards it. She flings it open and gasps. ‘Canopies!’ I hurry to
her side to see another huge room. Three beautiful beds are draped by cream taffeta. They shimmer in the sunlight that streams through the tall windows.
‘We’re here!’
‘What?’
Savannah’s squawk jolts me out of my fantasy. The dark shadow of Green Park High looms into view as Mum crosses the traffic lights and swings round a corner. She pulls up in a side
street.
‘Well, girls,’ she says. ‘Are you ready?’ She’s fizzing with as much excitement as me.
Savannah unclicks her seat belt. ‘I was
born
ready.’ She’s out of the car and hopping excitedly from one foot to the other as Mum opens the boot and drags out our
rucksacks.
I shrug mine onto my shoulders. It’s heavy with guidebooks and the extra notepad I shoved in at the last minute.
‘Passports?’ Mum asks.
I check my bumbag. Treacle rifles through her tote and Savannah flips open her satchel. ‘Got it!’ Treacle holds hers up, I nod as I feel mine and Savannah gives the thumbs up.
‘Come on then.’ Mum marches towards the school. I chase after Treacle and Savannah. They’re already running for the gate. A huge coach is parked in the yard, its headlights
pooling brightness round the bike sheds. The rest of the yard is swamped in pre-dawn darkness, but I can hear the excited hubbub of happy students and the growls of teachers fending off
questions.
One side of the coach looks like it’s had its skirt lifted as the driver stows rucksacks into a low-lying storage compartment between the huge wheels. Madame Papillon is standing in the
glow of a headlight with a clipboard. I catch up with Savannah and Treacle as they reach her.
‘We’re here!’ Sav bounces up and down in front of her like a demented kangaroo.
‘Good, good.’ Madame’s eyes are skimming the list on her clipboard. She looks up, takes Treacle and me in with a short sweep of her lashes, then searches the darkness behind
us, looking satisfied when she spots Mum hovering.
‘Are they checked in?’ Mum asks.
Madame makes a final tick on her clipboard then nods. ‘Passports?’
‘Yes,’ Mum tells her. ‘We checked before we left and when we arrived.’
‘
Excellent
.’ She speaks with a French flourish then dismisses Mum with a reassuring smile. ‘We’ll see you when we get back on Monday evening.’
‘Bye, Mum!’ I hug her tight. ‘I promise I’ll send you a postcard and bring you back a present.’ I give her an extra squeeze, my heart bursting with excitement.
‘Thanks SO much for letting me go.’
‘Have fun.’ Mum breaks away and gives me a huge smile. It’s meant to reassure me, but I don’t need reassurance. I know this trip is going to be fantastic.
Waving, Mum turns and disappears into the darkness.
‘Stow your rucksacks.’ Madame waves us towards the driver. He’s bent double beside the gaping hold between the wheels. Mr Chapman and
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