CHAPTER 35
I will not live again the pain of those days and weeks, but neither would I wish that they had not happened. I was healed, at last, and with my family to greet me each day of my stay in the hospital the pain became almost a secondary thing. Almost, but not quite. Finally I was released into the care of my brother, sister, and parents, with a set of instructions and warnings for my new life freed from the unwanted extremity.

Family: yes, that was the word. Each of us now knew all that could be told, and my mother’s shame was washed from her with our mutual love and support. It was not a story to be shared with the world, but we held it to us as a warm thing. And there was laughter.

“There is one thing, my sweet, one great advantage”

“Yes, Maman?”

“My laundry duties have been cut in half now, at least where your underwear is concerned”

I healed, and it was inside, in my soul, as well as in my flesh. Each day of my convalescence would see Maggie depart for the University, for her higher studies in strange numbers, and Papa and Maman for their own work. Rollo would sit with me, if his duties allowed, or take me to the big shop for an ice cream, or perhaps to the shore for a slow walk as my body eased into its new form. That was a revelation and a delight, as at last everything was as it should have been from the day of my birth. The thoughts were there, though, that Benny would not have run then, not have felt the need to escape his shame.

My parents married in September, and it was so different from my experiences with my brother and sister, for Sophie was at this marriage, not the shell of a person who had passed through the other ceremony. It was a simple affair, as we had been promised, but there were touches of delight for me. My brother escorted Maman to her place beside her lover, and I attended as her helpmeet and maid, for nobody could have been more of a maiden than myself. I wore a new dress, a chiffon of palest blue, and the shoes I had grown to adore, with Maggie beside me as the married lady to oversee my maidenly left-handed errors. Henri had been kindness itself, and the bistro was separated into two parts for that Saturday, one of them only for the wedding party, and he had worked on the menu with the bride herself so that all was as it should be. The other part of the restaurant was, of course, filled with the English who paid Henri’s expenses, so he made no loss apart from the cost of our meal, his gift to his friend.

My mother’s waters ran quietly but deeply, and there were things I had yet to learn about her, as I had learned about her affair of convenience with my doctor. This was not something that surprised me, though: that my mother should be loved by the rest of the world was so obvious a thing, seen through my own love for her. This was as things should be.

There was a resettlement then, as all was now above the table, open to the eyes of the world that so clearly saw Maman as I saw her. She and Papa took up the residency of Papa and Maggie’s old home, whilst my sister and brother lived their married life with me in our home with the garden. I will not write ‘old home’ for that place, for it was truly the only home I felt we had ever had. The apartments in Caen, the rooms in the tall or even taller towers, they had never been homes. This was, though; we had made it ours, and the garden, that place we had first taken the sun in, that gave it a place in my heart that has never been filled in quite the same way.

It was the house where Sophie was born, the place where two of the people I loved most in this world had found the other two.

And then, two weeks after Maman and Papa, Matty and Elle were wedded in their turn, and it was Rollo who did me the honour of standing beside Matthieu as he became truly a man and took my first and best friend to himself. I say my first and best friend because the other was a sister in truth as well as in spirit, and that cannot be surpassed by any friendship no matter how strong.

Maman outdid herself with the wedding meal, which was held in the garden of the Clermont family home, and I was introduced to Matty’s parents, who clearly adored my little hand grenade as Matty did himself. That brought me tears, for I could not help but remember how I had made a match for them, and as I told that story (with no mention of foot size) I had no choice but to see again the smile of my gentle blond.

Tears at a wedding are traditional, for women, and I felt the emptiness between my thighs and knew myself for one. I bound my tears with smiles, and there was dancing and music, and so much laughter I could have been back with the English, until the newly-married left in a taxi for the airport and the flight to the Isle of Maurice that Matty’s papa Gaston had arranged as his gift.

It was a good time, as good as it could be for someone so alone as me. Rollo had relaxed into his married life as only he could do, and I would see him reclining, his shirt undone, as his wife lay against them, reading some abstruse text or other, and my heart would fill with love for both. My life would never be perfect, but this, this was more than I had ever hoped for.

Then, one morning in October, with a fine rain falling steadily in calm air, I stepped from the tram to begin my new employment with Pascale. It was a school in Hérouville, for children from seven years of age in one part and from eleven in another, and dressed in the same style as I had chosen for my interview at the University I sought out my new manager.

“Sophie!”

She awaited me just inside the gates, and we gave the kisses as children of all ages passed by. She led me to the room she described as the ‘escape hatch’, where we could hide form the gaze of the children.

“Sophie, it is true, is it not, that a teacher must set an example? Here we have the space to indulge in less exemplary activities, such as they may be, when the need arises. Now, leave your coat, and the umbrella, and we will walk the school before our first class”

Reception, sports facilities, cafeteria, water closets, library…my head span. Then, only then, she opened the door to a tumult of noise and clapped her hands sharply. The noise abated very quickly, and she smiled at the sea of faces that sat before our eyes.

“Good morning, children!”

There was a chorus. “Good morning Madame!”

They were of nine years, and there were thirty-one of them. How could I keep track?

“My children, we have a new aide with us from today. She has studied the English in Perpignan, so you may have to help her pronounce her R’s properly. Please say hello to Mlle Laplace”

Another chorus, and then Pascale handed me a large book.

“Our new friend will now call the roll. Mlle Laplace, if you will?”

So I did, and we began, and Pascale had been absolutely right. It was wonderful; I had found my place at last in the world.