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‘Careful,’ warned Jacques. ‘They might just make an English girl of you yet.’
She flicked him with a dishtowel. ‘Not likely.’
The days ran into each other, a blur of sun, swimming, exploring the countryside, observing the birds, cooking, and visiting the village with Jacques. On one sunny afternoon, they played pétanque, and stole a bottle of Monsieur Blanchet’s pastis, growing tipsier as the day wore on. They fell asleep in his mother’s wildflower garden, Jacques dozing lazily at her side.
When Marguerite and Monsieur Blanchet found out there was hell to pay. Elodie woke up to them arguing, only for the world to start spinning, and she had to throw up.
Their punishment was merciless. The next morning, they were made to rise at dawn and do manual chores, all day. By the time the afternoon arrived, she was like a zombie. When Jacques arrived he looked just as bad. ‘Papi made me work in the hot sun in the vines all morning,’ he said, looking green.
‘I swear I will never drink again so long as I live,’ she told Jacques.
Overhearing this Marguerite couldn’t help but laugh. She and Monsieur Blanchet had agreed on their punishment together, and there was nothing that turned someone off drinking too much like a hangover in the hot sun.
But all too soon their month was over.
Elodie cried just as much as she had on that first night when she found out she had to go. ‘When will it get easier to leave?’ she asked Grand-mère, who patted her back and tried to swallow her own tears.
‘I think that will only happen when you start seeing your school and your life there as home.’
‘So never,’ she said, with a watery smile.
Before she left the next morning, she snuck off to Jacques’ house, tapping on his window. He was already awake, along with the birds.
He opened his bedroom window with a smile, and she climbed in.
‘I’m like one of your birds,’ she said, watching in awe as a blue tit flew out the window, disturbed by her arrival. Huginn, however, hopped over to greet her, and she stroked his soft feathers. He put up with it for a moment, then followed the blue tit outside in pursuit of breakfast, and perhaps to go and torment his former mate, Muninn.
‘A summer bird,’ he agreed, then sighed. The thought made him sad.
She bit her lip, her eyes filling. ‘I could just hide away with Couchon again.’
He laughed, then came over to give her a hug. ‘Don’t tempt me.’
She placed her hand on his shoulder. ‘I’ll write,’ she said.
‘You’d better.’
