Chapter 2
‘This is boring,’ her best friend Sarah whispered.
Bella nodded in agreement.
The teacher – a stern-looking woman with a shock of short, blonde hair – turned to look at them and they returned their eyes to their clipboards and the checklist they were expected to complete during the tour of the ninth century church.
She hadn’t wanted to admit to Sarah that she was fascinated by the rudimentary stained glass in the windows, that she longed to light a candle and make a wish, or say a prayer, she supposed.
Bella didn’t believe in God, not really.
But she could feel the history in this building, the collective prayers and hopes and dreams of the people who had gathered there for the past thousand years and more, as if they’d seeped into the stone walls, the mottled wooden pews, the flagstones underfoot.
Later though, as they sat with their French counterparts in a restaurant and ate steak haché and frites, chattering loudly in a mixture of French and English, even Sarah had a smile on her face. ‘It’s been a good week,’ she admitted to Bella later. ‘Sucks that we have to go home.’
‘Yeah.’ Bella hadn’t actually wanted to go on the French trip.
It had been Sarah who’d convinced her. But she was glad she had.
It was her first time abroad – family finances didn’t stretch to foreign holidays.
Here, everything felt the same, yet ever so slightly different.
It meant that she could be different too.
She felt as if she’d lived more in this past week than in the preceding sixteen years.
They’d visited Limoges and taken a harrowing trip to the ruined village of Oradour-sur-Glane and learned of its tragic history.
They’d gone to see a play they’d only half understood and eaten in a variety of restaurants.
They’d attended lessons at a French school and learned to kayak on the river.
She’d fallen in and out of love with a boy named Isaac with whom she’d shared a secret kiss on the first night.
Back home, life was limited. She was the baby of the family, and nobody seemed to notice that she was actually sixteen and technically an adult.
Curfews and homework and talk about A level choices, eating her greens.
And Kitty, unbearably older – working her first job and actually living with a boyfriend – had left her far behind.
Here, people actually saw her. This week, she’d experimented with her hair, tried different looks, spoken a language she only half knew and stayed up late giggling with friends. This was what she wanted in life – to be her own person, independent of all the things that held her back.
Home was boring. Life was dull and predictable. ‘Wish we didn’t have to leave,’ she said.