Northern Girl Read Online Free Page B

crock where the vegetables were kept, and looking sadly at the contents. For a second Madeleine felt she was glimpsing herself. She suddenly realized how similar Maman’s facial expressions and mannerisms were to her own. It wasn’t so strange, really, she supposed: after all, their likeness had been commented on many times before, but Madeleine hadn’t really seen it until now, at the age of eighteen. We really are similar, she thought, except, that is, for Maman’s hair, which unlike her own chestnut locks, had turned a beautiful silvery white. And Maman was still in her early fifties! No one had been very surprised when Maman’s hair had gone white early, as it was a family trait, but Madeleine suspected that the war might have had something to do with the speed it had happened.
    She hadn’t really studied Maman closely before; Maman had always just been her mother. But now Madeleine realized that they had exactly the same large, thickly lashed brown eyes, neat noses, and delicately shaped lips. Even their wistful, sweet-natured expressions were identical. She was taken aback, and if she was honest, pleased. After all, Maman was considered to be very striking!
    Oh, Maman, she thought despairingly, as she watched her peeling potatoes for the next meal. What on earth are you thinking, to suggest that I go and live in England? You must be feeling desperate to come up with an idea like that. She gradually slid further down into her wooden chair, causing it to wobble irritatingly on the uneven tiled floor.
    She looked around, and although the room itself had changed little over the years, for her everything had changed. She could feel animosity right here in her own home, and it scared her even more than when their house had been occupied by the Germans. This was much worse, she decided: this was hostility from her own loving family. This was all the love and security that she had ever known crumbling around her.
    She knew one thing for certain: she couldn’t remain here the way things were, because, rightly or wrongly, she felt that everyone was now her enemy. She’d never have dreamed of arguing with her mother before, and couldn’t believe that she was doing it now.
    Why, even Papa – Papa who’d always been on her side – had taken to spending hours in his workshop doing carpentry, and only coming into the house to eat and sleep. Although she couldn’t deny that financially it was good that he had so many orders, she also knew that, before, he would never have let work stop him from seeing his family. Before all this he would have found a way, even if it had meant going back to his workshop later on in the evening. But now he was obviously burying his head in the sand – or, in this case,sawdust. She thought this wryly, almost laughing out loud at the absurdity of it. How unrealistic of him to think that his problems would go away if he ignored them!
    Some hope of that , she thought, folding her arms. She glanced at her mother again. ‘And what about Papa? Is he still hiding?’ She gestured towards the workshop, where she knew he was.
    Maman turned sharply from the potatoes, dropped her knife on the table, and walked towards her daughter. Madeleine noticed that the colour had drained from her cheeks. ‘I don’t like your tone, Madeleine,’ she said. ‘You weren’t brought up to talk about your parents like that.’ Madeleine felt a stab of guilt as her mother continued, ‘You have no idea, have you?’
    ‘About what?’ Madeleine was puzzled.
    ‘No idea how you’re Papa’s treasured little girl, the baby of the family. Sometimes I think you’re his favourite.’ She said this with hesitation, aware it was disloyal to her other children, before continuing, ‘He’s always been so proud of you. Can’t you see? He doesn’t know how to react to his little girl being … being in this situation.’
    ‘Being pregnant, you mean, Maman,’ Madeleine broke in, ‘You can say it, you know!’
    Trying to