The Girl from Vichy - Andie Newton Page 0,30

him. ‘It’s by luck I get to see him so often.’

‘Lucky to see him, yes,’ I said, ‘but also because you found love.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Love in the Résistance.’ She gazed at the photos, smiling. ‘He is handsome, isn’t he?’

I was the one who blushed this time, thinking about them kissing, and she slid the locket back under her collar, passing me the bottle. I took another swig, pointing at the wall as the candlelight flickered. ‘Are you going to tell me what those are?’

‘The tally marks?’ she said, and I nodded. ‘I have no idea.’ She patted my leg. ‘Now, time to get back to work. It’s near morning, and we have another day to live.’

She held out her hand to help me up, and I took it.

*

I stumbled back into delinquent corridor and fell face first onto my cot in the dark. I woke to Mavis poking me in the back of the head. And when I looked up, a handful of girls circled around, watching me struggle to open my eyes. ‘What?’

‘It’s morning, Adèle,’ Mavis squeaked, but I’d nodded off. ‘Adèle?’ she said, and my head lifted again.

‘What?’ I said, eyes still closed.

‘Morning,’ she whispered.

‘She can’t hear you,’ Claire said, moving closer. ‘It’s morning,’ she yelled very near my ear and I bolted up.

‘Christ!’ I said. ‘Why’d you do that?’

Several girls covered their mouths, while I shook my head awake, replaying the night in my mind. Marguerite. Codes. Scotch. I rubbed my ears, and my eyes widened just a hair.

‘She cursed,’ someone said, followed by many whispers. ‘She slept through the morning bells.’

‘Sorry girls,’ I said. ‘I’ll pay for that later at Confession.’ My eyes closed briefly, and I rubbed my ears a little more, which got me to stand.

‘You’ve already missed morning prayer,’ Mavis said. ‘You don’t want to miss crafts too. The sisters sold your last painting for five kilograms of winter coal.’

I yawned. ‘They did?’ I rubbed my ears. ‘That’s nice. Such an ugly painting too.’

The girls had gathered by the door, waiting to be led outside where we’d make our way to the conservatory. ‘Are you going to lead the girls?’ Mavis said.

I yawned again, this time closing my eyes. ‘I’ll be there. Go ahead without me.’ I waved for her to leave. ‘I’ll follow you in a second.’

I heard Mavis scoot off while my eyes were closed and then the door shutting, followed by a quiet room. My head hit my pillow, and I was off to sleep again. Painting, coal, scotch, ears, were my last thoughts and then I was out, only to wake moments later to Marguerite’s grabbing hands.

‘Get up!’ Marguerite huffed, and she yanked me up by the armpits to a standing position. She rubbed my ears, and I swatted at her.

‘I’m up! Chri—’

My eyes bugged open. Mother Superior was standing right next to her.

‘Crafts,’ was all Mother said before turning on her heel and leaving in a swoosh of black.

Marguerite folded her arms. ‘Crafts.’

I blew air from my mouth. Crafts.

*

I slipped on a clean dress and pulled my hair back the best I could without a brush and found my way out to the conservatory, in the incredibly bright sunlight. The sisters had set up a table of yarn, if we wanted to knit, or a pottery station for ashtrays.

I saw Mavis before I heard her, standing in the grass. ‘I have your canvas,’ she said, and I squinted, still trying to adjust to the sun and the morning. ‘Adèle?’ She held the canvas out for me to take.

I took it, but not before letting out a little groan. ‘It feels so early.’ I looked around, one eye still squinting, over the grassy field and to the few girls who were now setting up their easels. ‘Where is everyone?’ I asked, but then changed the subject. ‘What time is it?’

Mavis stepped closer, sniffing the air, and it was then I realized she probably smelled the alcohol on me from last night. I backed up. ‘Never mind,’ I said, and then pointed to the other painters. ‘I’ll go set up.’

‘Are you in charge again?’ Mavis asked. Her eyes flicked to mine before looking at the ground. ‘The girls don’t listen to me like they do you.’ Her words hung in the air, and what I really heard was her asking what was wrong with me, and why I was so tired.

I yawned, one eye open, but it was a yawn of convenience. ‘I was sick last night,’ I lied.

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