The flat seemed dull and empty on the first day without Max. In the morning Anna went with Mama to do the shopping. The weather was bright and cold and she had grown so much in the past year that there was a huge gap between the top of her knitted socks and the hem of her winter coat. Mama looked at Anna’s goose-fleshy legs and sighed.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do about clothes for you,” she said.
“I’m all right,” said Anna. “I’m wearing the sweater you made me.”
This sweater, owing to Mama’s curious technique of knitting, had turned out so large and thick and dense that no cold could penetrate it, and was a most useful garment. The fact that only a few centimetres of Anna’s skirt protruded below it did not seem to matter.
“Well, if you’re sure you’re warm enough we’ll go to the market,” said Mama. “Everything is cheaper there.”
The market turned out to be some distance away and Anna carried Mama’s string bag while they walked through a number of winding little streets, until at last they emerged into a bustling road lined with shops and stalls. The stalls sold everything from vegetables to haberdashery and Mama insisted on inspecting them all before she bought anything, so as to be sure of getting the best value for her money.
The owners of shops and stalls alike were crying their wares, holding them up for people to see, and sometimes it was quite difficult for Anna and Mama to walk past, as onions and beautifully clean-scrubbed carrots were thrust in front of them to admire. Some shops specialized in only a few foods. One sold nothing but cheese, and there must have been at least thirty different kinds, all carefully wrapped in muslin, displayed on a trestle table on the pavement.
Suddenly, just as Mama was about to buy a red cabbage, Anna heard a strange French voice addressing them. It belonged to a lady in a green coat. She carried a bag bulging with purchases and was smiling at Anna with very friendly brown eyes. Mama, still thinking about the cabbage, did not recognize her for a moment. Then she cried, “Madame Fernand!” in a pleased voice and they all shook hands.
Madame Fernand did not speak any German but she and Mama talked in French to each other. Anna noticed that although Mama’s voice still did not sound very French she was talking more fluently than when they had first arrived. Then Madame Fernand asked Anna whether she could speak French, pronouncing the words so slowly and clearly that Anna could understand.
“A little,” said Anna, and Madame Fernand clapped her hands and cried, “Very good!” and told her that she had a perfect French accent.
Mama was still holding the red cabbage which she had been about to buy and Madame Fernand took it from her gently and put it back on the stall. Then she led Mama round the corner to another stall which they must have missed and which had much better red cabbages for less money. Prompted by Madame Fernand Mama bought not only a red cabbage but quite a lot of other vegetables and fruit, and before she left them Madame Fernand presented Anna with a banana, “To strengthen her for the walk home,” as Mama translated.
Mama and Anna were both much cheered by the encounter. Mama had met Madame Fernand and her journalist husband when she had first come to Paris with Papa and liked them both very much. Now Madame Fernand had asked her to ring up if she needed help or advice on anything. Her husband was going away for a few weeks but as soon as he got back she wanted Mama and Papa to come to dinner. Mama seemed very pleased at the prospect. “They’re such nice people,” she said, “and it would be lovely to have some friends in Paris.”
They finished their shopping and carried it home. Anna said “Bonjour, Madame,” to the concierge, hoping that she would notice her perfect French accent, and chattered cheerfully to Mama on the way up in the lift. But as they entered the flat she remembered that Max was at school and the day suddenly felt dull again. She helped Mama unpack the shopping but after that she could think of nothing to do.
Grete was washing some clothes in the bathroom and for a moment Anna wondered whether to go and talk to her. But Grete was grumpier than ever since her holiday in Austria. She thought everything in France was awful. The language was impossible, the people were dirty, the food was too rich – nothing suited her. In addition Grete’s mother had extracted several more promises from her during her stay at home. Apart from always having to get her proper sleep Grete had promised her mother to be careful of her back, which meant that she could only wash the floors very slowly and not at all in the corners, and not to strain her wrists. She had also promised always to have a good lunch, to rest when she was tired and never to catch cold.
Grete was very anxious to keep all these promises which were constantly being threatened by requests from Mama and the rest of the family, and they cropped up in her conversation almost as often as her disapproval of the French.
Anna did not feel she could face her just now and she wandered back to Mama in the kitchen and said, “What shall I do?”
“You could read some French,” said Mama.
Mademoiselle Martel had left a book of stories for Anna to read, and she sat down in the dining room and struggled with it for a while. But it was meant for children much younger than herself and it was depressing to sit working away with the dictionary by her side, only to discover that Pierre had thrown a stick at his little sister and that his mother had called him a naughty boy.
Lunch came as a relief and Anna helped to put the things on the table and to clear them away afterwards. Then she did some painting, but still the time passed terribly slowly until at last, well after five o’clock, the door bell rang to announce Max’s return. Anna rushed to let him in and found Mama already at the door.
“Well, how was it?” cried Mama.
“All right,” said Max, but he looked white and tired.
“Isn’t it nice?” asked Anna.
“How do I know?” said Max crossly. “I can’t understand a word anyone says.”
He was silent and morose for the rest of the evening. Only after supper he suddenly said to Mama, “I’ve got to have a proper French briefcase.” He kicked the German satchel which he normally carried strapped to his back. “If I go round carrying this I even look different from everyone else.”
Anna knew that briefcases were expensive and without thinking she said, “But your satchel was only new last year!”
“What’s that to do with you?” shouted Max. “You don’t know anything about it, sitting at home all day!”
“It isn’t my fault that I don’t go to school!” Anna shouted back. “Just because Mama can’t find one for me to go to.”
“Well, until you do go you can shut up!” cried Max, and after this they did not speak to each other any more even though Mama, to Anna’s surprise, promised to let Max have the briefcase.
It was miserable, thought Anna. She had been looking forward to Max coming home all day, and now they’d had a row. She was determined that next day should be different, but it turned out much the same. Max came home so tired and irritable that before long they had another quarrel.
Then, to make it worse, the weather turned wet and Anna got a cold so that she could not go out. She began to feel cooped up in the flat day after day, and by evening both she and Max were so bad-tempered that they could hardly say a civil word to each other. Max felt it was unfair that he should have to struggle through long difficult days at school while Anna stayed at home, and Anna felt that Max was making enormous headway in this new world they were going to live in and worried in case she might never catch up.
“If only I could go to school – just anywhere!” Anna said to Mama.
“You can’t go just anywhere,” said Mama crossly. She had looked at several schools but none of them had been any