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In the morning, Marguerite woke Elodie up with a cup of tea and asked, ‘You know how to swim?’
The sun was golden, even at this time of day, so much brighter than in Paris. It fell across her bed, making her feel languid and drowsy, which made a pleasant change from the anxiety that had been her constant companion since Maman had died. That and the nightmares.
Elodie rubbed her eyes, sat up and then slowly shook her head. Her hair was even knottier now, listing to the side, a weaver’s nest that has been deemed unsatisfactory and half demolished now.
‘Would you like to?’
Elodie considered for a moment, then scrunched her face and shoulders as if to say, I’m not sure.
‘Well, if you do, it will have to be in your underthings today, but tonight I could make you a bathing costume.’
Silently the older woman vowed that part of the day’s activities would include tackling the child’s hair. With hedge-clippers, if necessary.
Still, Elodie looked undecided.
Marguerite shrugged. ‘Up to you – I did say we could take it slow. But I figured a little paddle in the river, perhaps with a nice pain au chocolat after, wouldn’t be fast… Or would you prefer to stay in your bedroom all day?’
Elodie shook her head, quickly. She had a weakness for chocolate.
‘A little fresh air and gentle exercise will be good for you. You’ll see.’
Elodie shrugged. It did sound nice. The trouble was that despite what Marguerite said, it still felt wrong to her to be doing anything that might make her forget Maman. But Maman, she knew, would tell her to go swim, so that’s what she would do.
She swung her legs out of the bed, and still sitting, had a sip of tea. She pulled a face and set it down.
‘Would you prefer water?’
She shook her head: what she’d prefer was coffee. But she knew that some people disapproved – Maman had thought it was amusing so she’d allowed it, but some of her friends had been shocked. Elodie knew that it was perhaps best not to test those waters just yet, but even if she did, she didn’t have the words. She’d tried over the past few weeks, but nothing would come, her throat felt tight and sore, perhaps from the constant scream that had lodged there, unreleased, since her maman had died.
‘Now I know you don’t talk, just yet,’ said Marguerite. ‘And that’s fine. In your own time, d’accord? But when you do I would like for you to call me Grand-mère, all right?’
Elodie nodded.
They walked down to the little river that flowed through the bottom of the garden. Elodie dipped a toe in, then immediately brought it out again.
It was cold!
Grand-mère took off her house dress and waded into the water in a red bathing costume that came up to her knees. She was thin, with strong arms, and tanned skin. ‘Come on, don’t be a chicken,’ she said to Elodie.
Elodie hesitated then followed, putting both feet into the shallow water, wincing at the temperature again.
‘Hold out your hands,’ said Grand-mère, and Elodie did as instructed, while Grand-mère took them instantly, helping her to wade a little deeper, while her legs trembled with fright and cold. Grand-mère waited, making sure she could stand easily.
‘The best thing to do,’ said Grand-mère, ‘is get completely wet, fast,’ and she let go of Elodie’s hands for a moment, before she ducked below the surface. She came up gasping, but said, ‘Ooh, it’s lovely!’
Elodie looked doubtful and Grand-mère laughed. ‘You do the same.’
Elodie shook her head violently.
‘Come on, I’ll keep hold of your hand, just bend your knees, yes, like that, and fold yourself down. We’ll do it together.’
Elodie did as instructed, sinking down onto her haunches until her neck was submerged. ‘Now push up with your feet and lie back.’
There was another violent shake of her head.
‘Look, I’ll keep hold of you,’ said Grand-mère, coming behind her and resting her hand on her back. Elodie swallowed, then lifted her feet, and automatically her body started to rise. She panicked, lost her footing, but Grand-mère caught her, before she could fall forward, helping to steady her onto her feet.
‘Let’s try again. You almost had it.’
