saw the expression that passed between them, and I hated them both.
Mother pitched in. 'Sylvie's daughter, you know, Ophélie? She's started working at one of those clothes shops in town. She said she could look out for something for you if you'd like her to.'
I shrugged, incensed. 'If she likes,' I hissed. Then I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and breathed in again. 'Actually,' I said, 'I might go somewhere further afield. I might go abroad. We've never been abroad, and I want to see what it's like.'
Mother pursed her lips. Papa took a step towards me. I stepped back.
'Where, abroad?' he asked. He looked alarmed.
'Perhaps to England. I do speak the language, after all.'
Mother shook her head. 'You don't want to go there,' she said, flatly.
'Or America.'
'No.'
'Why not?'
'Because you've never been anywhere on your own. You wouldn't last five minutes.' She looked at me, and her expression softened slightly. 'I'm glad you're curious, all the same. I had itchy feet at your age. There's nothing like it.'
I narrowed my eyes at her. 'Did you actually travel?'
Mother smiled to herself. 'Further than you could possibly imagine. Until I met your father.' Again, they looked at each other. Again, I felt excluded and unwanted.
'You can't have gone very far then,' I pointed out, 'because France is next door to England.'
'I came the long way round,' said Mother.
I put my empty glass down on the table. I was giddy with alcohol. Although I hated confrontations, Elizabeth Greene was more important than anything in the world, so I was going to break our unspoken rules.
'Do we have family in England?' I asked loudly. 'Is there anyone I can go to see? Cousins or anything?'
Before I'd even finished speaking, she was shaking her head. She looked cross.
'No, Helen. There's no one.'
'What about your parents? My grandparents. What happened to them?'
'Oh, they didn't approve of my lifestyle. You know that. Travelling was bad enough — nice girls didn't do it in those days. Marrying a Frenchman was worse.' She and my father shared the smug despicable smile of the long—married. 'We never kept in touch. I've told you that before. They disowned me and I never felt the need to go crawling back. Good riddance, say I.'
'Can't I go and find them? Build some bridges? They'd like to meet their granddaughter. It's one thing for them not to want to talk to you, but it's not fair for them not even to know that I exist.'
She took a deep breath, and used her no-arguing-back voice.
'No, Helen,' she said, 'you absolutely cannot. Sit down. I'll serve up.'
I hated my mother's cooking. Everything was meaty, and there were too many vegetables. Today she had cooked pork, with cabbage and peas and roast potatoes. I watched, half disgusted, as she and Papa poured a thick red wine gravy over everything. The French didn't do gravy, but my parents certainly did.
I set to work, knowing I had to force down at least half of what was on my plate. Our cutlery scraped, and we cast around for things to talk about. I barely said a word. The parents made forced conversation about the garden and the weather. If Tom had been there, it would have been all right.
I stared at the grandfather clock that stood against the opposite wall, and jigged my leg, excitedly, under the table. As soon as I found my sister, my whole life would come into focus. I tried to imagine Mother's reaction when I came back with her lost baby. It would be the best present she had ever had. Tom was right about my plan. I was going to surprise everyone. I would find my sister, and make friends with her, and bring her back. No one would imagine I could pull off something like that, but I knew that I could do it.
I pictured Mother's face. Finally, the tension was going to fall away. She would be open. She would be joyful. She and Elizabeth would be reconciled, and I would have a sister, a soulmate. Everything was going to change. My parents were going to love me.
They carried on
Mother pitched in. 'Sylvie's daughter, you know, Ophélie? She's started working at one of those clothes shops in town. She said she could look out for something for you if you'd like her to.'
I shrugged, incensed. 'If she likes,' I hissed. Then I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and breathed in again. 'Actually,' I said, 'I might go somewhere further afield. I might go abroad. We've never been abroad, and I want to see what it's like.'
Mother pursed her lips. Papa took a step towards me. I stepped back.
'Where, abroad?' he asked. He looked alarmed.
'Perhaps to England. I do speak the language, after all.'
Mother shook her head. 'You don't want to go there,' she said, flatly.
'Or America.'
'No.'
'Why not?'
'Because you've never been anywhere on your own. You wouldn't last five minutes.' She looked at me, and her expression softened slightly. 'I'm glad you're curious, all the same. I had itchy feet at your age. There's nothing like it.'
I narrowed my eyes at her. 'Did you actually travel?'
Mother smiled to herself. 'Further than you could possibly imagine. Until I met your father.' Again, they looked at each other. Again, I felt excluded and unwanted.
'You can't have gone very far then,' I pointed out, 'because France is next door to England.'
'I came the long way round,' said Mother.
I put my empty glass down on the table. I was giddy with alcohol. Although I hated confrontations, Elizabeth Greene was more important than anything in the world, so I was going to break our unspoken rules.
'Do we have family in England?' I asked loudly. 'Is there anyone I can go to see? Cousins or anything?'
Before I'd even finished speaking, she was shaking her head. She looked cross.
'No, Helen. There's no one.'
'What about your parents? My grandparents. What happened to them?'
'Oh, they didn't approve of my lifestyle. You know that. Travelling was bad enough — nice girls didn't do it in those days. Marrying a Frenchman was worse.' She and my father shared the smug despicable smile of the long—married. 'We never kept in touch. I've told you that before. They disowned me and I never felt the need to go crawling back. Good riddance, say I.'
'Can't I go and find them? Build some bridges? They'd like to meet their granddaughter. It's one thing for them not to want to talk to you, but it's not fair for them not even to know that I exist.'
She took a deep breath, and used her no-arguing-back voice.
'No, Helen,' she said, 'you absolutely cannot. Sit down. I'll serve up.'
I hated my mother's cooking. Everything was meaty, and there were too many vegetables. Today she had cooked pork, with cabbage and peas and roast potatoes. I watched, half disgusted, as she and Papa poured a thick red wine gravy over everything. The French didn't do gravy, but my parents certainly did.
I set to work, knowing I had to force down at least half of what was on my plate. Our cutlery scraped, and we cast around for things to talk about. I barely said a word. The parents made forced conversation about the garden and the weather. If Tom had been there, it would have been all right.
I stared at the grandfather clock that stood against the opposite wall, and jigged my leg, excitedly, under the table. As soon as I found my sister, my whole life would come into focus. I tried to imagine Mother's reaction when I came back with her lost baby. It would be the best present she had ever had. Tom was right about my plan. I was going to surprise everyone. I would find my sister, and make friends with her, and bring her back. No one would imagine I could pull off something like that, but I knew that I could do it.
I pictured Mother's face. Finally, the tension was going to fall away. She would be open. She would be joyful. She and Elizabeth would be reconciled, and I would have a sister, a soulmate. Everything was going to change. My parents were going to love me.
They carried on
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