Page 49 of Daughters of Paris

The woman in front of her turned round and snarled. ‘I’m before you.’

The atmosphere congealed into something altogether more hostile then and Fleur and Colette exchanged worried glances. There were five people in the queue in front of them and all could have a claim. It could very easily become one of the riots that were becoming all too common. Realising their prize was slipping from them, the mother and matron fell on each other with loud shrieks. The children began to cry.

‘Get them out of here! This is a respectable shop, for respectable customers. I’ll have no trouble here,’ shrieked Madame Babineau.

Customers moved in to separate the two women and pull them into the road, where they continued to scream. The noise had attracted a patrol of passing soldiers who efficiently took charge and sent both women off in different directions.

Fleur dropped to her knees by the children who were looking horror-struck.

‘Don’t worry about yourmaman, I’m sure she will be happy later.’ The children continued crying.

‘Do you have anybonbons?’ Colette called to Madame Babineau. She grinned at Fleur. ‘They always make me happy.’

Actual luxuries meant more than words of comfort, something Colette would know better than Fleur of course.

‘I do, but they’re not free,’ Madame Babineau said.

‘I wasn’t expecting them to be,’ Colette said smoothly.

‘You’ll have to use a coupon,’ Madame Babineau muttered.

‘Take one of mine,’ Fleur said. It didn’t seem fair to make Colette bear the whole burden.

Three small boiled sugar lollipops were duly purchased and one given to each child.

‘Do you know where you live?’ Colette asked. The oldest child, a girl with scrawny plaits and a snotty nose, nodded.

Colette patted her hand. ‘Take your brother and sister home.’

The children trudged out of the shop.

‘Poor things. I hope their mother gets the food she needs,’ Fleur said.

Madame Babineau wiped her hands down her apron. ‘Those two have been at each other’s throats for months. If there was enough food this would not happen.’

Fleur looked longingly at the piece of neglected sausage that had started all the uproar. The meat was dark and marbled with peppercorns and white veins of fat that glistened tantalisingly.

‘If you’ve got the coupons and the money it’s yours,’ Madame Babineau whispered.

Fleur and Colette exchanged a glance. ‘It doesn’t seem right to profit from the situation,’ Fleur whispered.

‘It doesn’t seem sensible to ignore the offer!’ Colette exclaimed.

Colette handed over the coupon and payment – exorbitant, as everything was nowadays – and Fleur slipped the parcel into her bag. Her fingers brushed against the leaflets she had been planning to secrete in other women’s baskets. They would have to wait. Fleur and Colette left theépicerieand joined the queue at theboulangeriefurther down the street.

‘See? Being hard works and now we have sausage,’ Colette said. ‘I worry though. Where will this fighting among ourselves end?’

Fleur rubbed her eyes. The answer to that was beyond her. As she queued, she composed another leaflet in her head.

The women of Paris needed to band together, not let themselves be torn apart.

Chapter Fourteen

The answer to the question of where arguing would lead, came a week later, on the last day of April. Fleur was at work in the bookshop, so Colette went shopping alone.

The line was already past the entrance of the shoe shop next door when Colette joined it. She idly listened to the gossip as she gazed at the display in the window with longing. She had beautiful pairs of shoes she no longer wore now she walked everywhere and needed something more substantial and comfortable.

When the war was over and France was free once more, she would buy a new pair each month and dance until they were worn through. She was absorbed in her daydream and barely registered the ripple of anger that went through the queue until someone nudged her. She looked up, her body tensing in preparation for some fresh horror.

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