Northern Girl by Fadette Marie Marcelle Cripps Page B

beginning to fear he wouldn’t be able to talk to this lovely girl at all when she suddenly said, ‘My Engleesh … it is very bad. I try …’ She continued awkwardly, struggling to make her voice heard against the noise of the fairground, ‘My … name … it is Madeleine … Madeleine Pelletier.’
    There was no way Tom could even attempt to respond in French. He looked at this gorgeous girl and knew that he had to at least try to communicate, so very slowly and carefully in his own language he made an attempt, ‘I … was … transfixed,’ he began slowly, aware that he was likely to make a fool of himself yet somehow unable to prevent it. He went on, ‘Transfixed … by … the shine of your … lovely … chestnut hair.’ Then he pointed at her hair, feeling like a complete idiot.
    Confused, she put her hand to her hair.
    This made him feel he had to continue. ‘I … I was trying to say … that your hair …’ By now he was feeling so stupid that he finished hurriedly, ‘Anyway, your hair is very nice.’
    With a puzzled expression Madeleine shrugged her shoulders.
    This suggested, to Tom’s relief, that she hadn’t much idea what he’d just said. And ashamed of making such a lame remark, he changed the subject. ‘You like nougat?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows in anticipation of a favourable answer.
    ‘Ah, nougaah,’ Madeleine responded, recognizing the word. ‘ Où? ’ she’d questioned, looking around eagerly.
    Tom, relieved that they were now on the same wavelength, confidently pointed beyond the pink and white hoopla stall they could both see in the distance. Then, in a voice that had risen an octave or two, he asked, ‘Shall I show you?’
    And Madeleine, all thought of her sisters gone, readily agreed.
    So, with Tom leading the way, they headed off towards the hoopla. There were hordes of people, and they weren’t just locals or soldiers. Madeleine thought they must have come from Calais and the towns and villages around. It was so crowded that they had to push their way through, and to avoid getting separated, Tom turned and held out his hand. At first she hesitated. But then, trustingly, she took it.
    As Tom felt her fingers curl around his he allowed himself a secret smile.
    The harder they pushed through the crowds the more Madeleine clung to him, sometimes even grabbing his sleeve with her free hand. She was mesmerized by this soldier with the cheeky grin, and she couldn’t wait to get to the nougat stall, because then they’d talk again. Or at least try to.
    When they finally got there, she stared in awe at the huge selection of nougat. She had no idea what to choose, and looked at Tom, and he, seizing the opportunity to try and impress her, asked the plump stallholder if they could try a little of everything, indicating this by using clumsy sign language.
    The stallholder laughed, understanding at once. He said in English, ‘What? You want to look like me?’ rubbing his hand over his ample stomach.
    ‘What do you recommend, then?’ Tom asked, hugely relieved that the bloke could speak the same language.
    ‘I choose for you,’ the stallholder said, rapidly filling up a paper bag and handing it over.
    ‘Is the ones you want,’ he said convincingly. ‘Is good, and your lady, she will like!’
    Tom glanced towards Madeleine, who burst into laughter at his bewildered expression, even though she wasn’t completely sure what had just been said.
    With a comical shrug of his shoulders Tom responded light-heartedly, ‘I guess we’ll take them, then.’ After he’d paid the man he ushered Madeleine to the side of the stall, where they sat on a pile of stones. And Madeleine decided that, just for this one day, she wasn’tgoing to think about the fact that they had once been part of someone’s home.
    Tom handed the nougat bag to her and she gratefully picked out a chunk. She watched Tom select a piece, and was guessing that he must be in his early twenties when he looked up.