I couldn’t stay still over the next half-hour. ‘Sit down,’ she snapped at me, as I went to look out of the window for the tenth time to see if Papa was coming back. ‘Honestly, Josie, you’re being even more annoying than usual today.’ Of course I couldn’t tell her and Maman why I was on tenterhooks.
At last Papa appeared again, walking back from the café, and I ran downstairs to open the door for him. ‘Is everything okay?’ I asked him.
I could see he looked out of sorts, but he pulled himself together and tried to give me a cheerful smile as he ruffled my hair and said, ‘All is just fine, ma puce. Don’t you worry, your papa has everything under control.’
At least now we have our visas and will be leaving soon, so hopefully it will be the last time we ever have to have anything to do with that ghastly Monsieur Guigner.
When I told Nina about having got the visas she tried hard to look happy for us but I could see she was attempting to hide her real feelings, which were pretty much the same as mine. Then I told her I’m going to give her my bicycle and that made her smile properly again. She said she’d only be looking after it until I came back, though. I laughed and said I’d definitely come back to Morocco someday in the future, but by that time we’d both have grown out of that particular Steel Steed. Then she said something a bit strange. She told me her old auntie has seen that I’m part of their family （as she said the first time I met her）， and that I belong in Casablanca. I was very flattered that they all feel that way, but I know it’s just a kind thing the dreamseller must have said to Nina so she wouldn’t be sad about us leaving. But maybe I will come back one day when I’m a lawyer and I can do good works here like Madame Bénatar. Anyway, I think the dreamseller’s words did make us both feel happier, knowing that we’d still be friends and would always keep the feeling of being sisters even if we are really separated by an ocean as wide as the Atlantic.
It’s very strange to think that in 3 months’ time I’ll be living a completely different life. If we’re still here at Christmas I think I’ll give Nina the bike then, with the ribbon tied to it that I’ve kept from when Papa and Maman gave it to me for my birthday. We’ll still be sharing it anyway, if I’m here for any longer after that.
Speaking of birthdays, tomorrow is Annette’s. She’ll be turning 18 and she seems to think that makes her completely grown-up and therefore has the right to criticise me even more than usual. She’s forever telling me I need to scrub the ink off my fingers and stop burying my nose in books all the time. Today she even said that if I’d let her curl my hair and pluck my eyebrows then I might look more like a young lady and less like the First Mrs Rochester, which is what she loves to call me, as she still likes making frequent references to Jane Eyre and the mad woman in the attic where I am concerned.
She’s chosen a dinner-dance at the Hotel Excelsior to celebrate and we all have to go, no ifs, no buts, as Maman says. Olivier will be there, of course. Maman asked me if I’d like to invite Felix to come too so that I’d have someone to dance with. I turned down the offer on his behalf as I know it would just make him feel very uncomfortable and he won’t have the right things to wear, even though from my point of view the evening would be a lot more fun if he were there as we could laugh about the dopey way Olivier moons around when he’s with my big sister. I’m looking forward to the food, though, and hoping there may be some Coca-Cola too.
With Maman’s help, I’ve bought Annette a leather writing case. It will be something to remind her of her birthday in Morocco and also somewhere to keep her letters from Géraldine, who she’s been corresponding with ever since our holiday in Mogador. And her letters from Olivier too. I suppose there’s going to be the same carry-on when we leave Casablanca as there was when we left Paris, with her moping about and everyone having to be very nice to her. She seems to have managed to get over her broken heart at leaving édouard behind pretty well, although she definitely didn’t appreciate it when I pointed that out the other day. I was only trying to be helpful and look on the bright side of things.
Zoe – 2010
Kate agrees to come with me to the refugee centre the following week, to help get the women’s quilting project up and running. ‘It’s a wonderful idea, Zoe,’ she says. ‘Quilting has always been a way to bring people together. We can help make something beautiful that will have great significance for everyone who needs the sanctuary the centre provides. And perhaps the women who make the quilt will feel empowered, that they’ve been able to create something at a time when they have so little.’