along the walls of the inner room. She felt like a heifer being assessed at a cattle market as rough hands examined her, taking measurements, listening to her chest, checking her teeth and eyes. She glanced across to where Vivi was enduring similar treatment, trying not to cough as the stethoscope chilled the skin on her back.
‘What was your job?’ asked the woman seated behind the desk.
‘I am a seamstress,’ Claire replied and she heard Vivi give the same information at the next desk along. Notes were made on a form which was then put on to one of several piles of papers. The woman behind the desk nodded to a guard and Claire and Vivi were led out into the next room. As they went, Claire noticed that some of the women were being ushered in a different direction, for no apparent reason. Some sort of arbitrary sorting process seemed to be being carried out by the guards.
It became apparent where those women had been taken when they appeared a few minutes later, their heads newly shaved, looking even more shockingly naked as they rejoined the other women in the next room along. Claire and Vivi exchanged glances, unsure whether it might be a blessing or a curse to have been allowed to keep their hair.
They were each handed a pile of folded clothing. The underwear was stretched and worn so thin the fabric was translucent in places. And when they shook out the other coarse cotton garments, woven in blue and white stripes, they found they’d been given a loose-fitting over-shirt and a pair of trousers.
‘Don’t put them on yet,’ ordered the guard as one of the bare-headed women began to pull on the shirt she’d been given to cover herself up. ‘Here, take these.’ The guard then handed them strips of white fabric, two for each prisoner, upon which an identification number had been stamped in indelible ink. Consulting a list that had been handed to her by one of the women who’d been sitting behind a desk in the previous room, she also gave each of them a triangle of coloured fabric. Claire noticed that hers and Vivi’s were red, but some of the other women were given triangles of yellow or black or blue material. And several were handed two triangles, usually a yellow one along with one of the other colours.
‘Next door.’ The guard pointed. The line of women shuffled forwards. And there, Claire and Vivi found themselves in more familiar territory. Women, dressed in the same blue and white striped clothing and wearing white headscarves, sat behind sewing machines, which whirred busily as they stitched the identity numbers and triangles on to the shirts and trousers of the newest arrivals at the camp. The sewing was rough and ready, stitched with coarsely spun thread and executed as quickly as possible, and then the uniforms were handed back.
In the room next door was a heap of shoes. The guard pointed at them. ‘Find a pair that fits.’
The women picked through the shoes, looking for their own, but most had to give up and make do with what they could find. Claire managed to grab a pair of boots, slightly larger than her usual size. They went on more easily than her old shoes, which she couldn’t see on the pile. But when she put her weight on them, she discovered that the ends immediately began to chafe against the raw ends of her toes, still vulnerable where the newly emerging nails had not yet covered the tender skin.
Carrying their piles of clothing, the women were finally led into a long, tiled shower room. Even though the water was barely lukewarm, Claire felt a little better once she’d scrubbed herself with a bar of hard soap. There were no towels, but the women were finally allowed to put on their newly issued uniforms.
‘What do you think?’ Claire tried to muster a little defiant courage, as she gave a twirl mimicking the models in the salon at Delavigne Couture. ‘This season’s style.’
Vivi smiled back at her. ‘You know what I think?’ she replied. ‘I think you and I need to get jobs in that sewing room.’
Harriet
I’ve been avoiding Thierry’s phone calls and messages, sending brief replies only when I have to, saying that I’m too busy to meet up or go out. The truth is, that day when we went to the Avenue Foch and I had a full-on panic attack has left me shaken. Just