Chapter Two

From then on I sought out Helene at every opportunity. We sat together for hours, not saying much, just being together. One evening our relationship began to attract the attention of a couple of Helenes classmates. Two boys. They came close and started making jokes. I didn’t understand what they were saying but they were laughing fit to burst and Helene as usual sat quietly, not saying a word. After a while it became obvious that the two boys thought I wasn’t trying hard enough with Helene. I should be snogging her by now. What’s the matter with les Anglais are they too scared? They decided to give me some help. One of them grabbed my hand, the other grabbed Helenes blouse, pulled it up, whilst the first one pushed my hand inside to touch her breast. I pulled my hand away quickly. I was livid. How dare they do that to my Helene. How dare they make her seem dirty? I was embarrassed for her. The two boys laughed and looked at me scornfully "Eh Anglais!" and made a sign. They walked off. Helene was tucking her blouse back in. She never said a word. They were beneath her. She was too good for them. It was never mentioned again.
For the next couple of days whenever possible I would look out for Helene and I’d find her somewhere just standing there watching me run around looking for her. She always stood still not trying to attract my attention, but always watching. it seemed to amuse her to see how long it would take me to find her this time. When I finally saw her in the crowd she still didn’t move, didn’t come toward me, she waited for me to come to her.Hands held behind her back and shifting her weight from one leg to the other and back again and smiling.
"There you are."
"Yes here I am." she’d say.
Our last full day in France was the day of the Fest noz. It was the french version of a local disco. It was optional. We could either go to the Fest Noz or stay at the school playing basketball. I asked Helene if she was going.
"Bien sur." she said.
I signed up for the evening trip to the Fest Noz. I looked at the sheet of paper. My name stood solitary on the white page. I was the only one.
"Looks like you’re the only taker for the Fest Noz then Mikel."
I turned, my teacher was standing behind me. "It seems so Sir."
"It’s not the sort of thing I expected you to sign up for." he was looking at me carefully. Perhaps he’d seen me sitting with Helene, perhaps not, perhaps he was fishing for something, perhaps just playing, I wasn’t sure.
"Well I just thought it was important to get into the spirit of the place. After all I can play basket ball anytime I like in England but I wont be able to go to a Fest Noz again."
"You do know what a Fest Noz is don’t you?" he asked possibly thinking I had finally lost my mind.
"Yes Sir. It’s a dance Sir."
"Hmmm well that’s most admirable of you. I must say this is a refreshing turn around on your part from earlier in the week."
"Yes Sir I’m determined to try harder and really make the most of our time here in France." I could bullshit for England. I wondered if he could tell. I didn’t care. The only thing that worried me was that I would not be allowed to go by myself if I was the only one.
That evening I stood waiting at the main gate of the school. The teacher arrived with four other boys. "Four more for the Fest Noz." he said. I wondered if they had been coerced at all into going. But we all marched on up the road toward the hall where the Fest Noz was going to be held. The hall was big and modern by French standards with small walls out the front, surrounding a large paved area, on which French youngsters sat, talked and smoked Gauloise. We went in, paid our money and got the backs of our hands stamped in purple ink.
Inside the hall the ceiling was high and chairs were arranged all round the sides facing inward. At the far end was a stage where "Jacques et ses Accordionaires" were setting up.I looked around for Helene. She was sitting by herself in the corner. The others of my party were not interested in me and were talking amongst themselves. I was not one of their group I wasn’t part of the gang. So no one bothered when I wandered off.
"Bonjour Helene."
"Bonjour Mikel." I loved the way she pronounced my name, My-kell. I had begun to hate the English pronunciation of my own name My-cull, it sounded so dreary compared with the way Helene said it. Years later people would ask me how I felt when she spoke to me with her French accent. I would just say "Well it works for me."
Jacques and his accordionaires struck up a lively tune. The hall was still virtually empty, it was a warm evening and most of the people were still outside.
Out of duty I said "Would you like to dance." and was relieved when Helene said "No not yet."
So I said "Shall we go outside?" I felt awkward, exposed we were just the two of us in the corner of this huge hall. I would feel more comfortable in the crowd. Helene stood up and we walked across the dance floor toward the main door. More exposure. Halfway across there was a shout. "Going to show us how to dance Webster?"
"Still trying your luck with the pre-teens then."
"What do they say Mikel. Are they making the jokes again with you?" I said nothing, she went on "peut etre you should not with me be."
"Be with me." I corrected.
"Ah oui, be with me." she repeated.
"It doesn’t matter."
"But they make joke with you."
"Are you angry?"
"No but I am sad for you."
"Don’t be sad. I’m happy to be with you. Tu est ma amie."
"Tu est mon ami aussi Mikel."
People started slowly moving into the hall and the dancing started. We sat for a while longer on one of the low walls. Not saying much. Listening to the music as it drifted out of the doorway. At that moment England was a million miles away. A distant memory. I wanted to stay there forever.
"There you are." I looked up and there was my teacher. "We’ve been looking all over for you."
"Why? What’s the matter?"
"It’s time to go the dance has finished."
"What already?"
"What do you mean already? It’s ten o’clock."
I turned to Helene. "I’ve got to go now."
"Je sais."
"We didn’t dance."
"Le prochaine fois peut etre." The next time? I was going home the next day. Shit! Where had the time gone? I couldn’t remember saying anything or doing anything so how could three hours just go by so quickly?
On the final day. We gathered in the courtyard of the school with our bags. A coach was waiting to take us to the airport. Desperately I scanned the crowd trying to see if Helene was there. I saw her at the back standing and watching me. As I caught her eye she smiled. She’d been standing there doing nothing just waiting for me to see her. Not pushing herself forward. That’s typical of Helene. The other boys were excitedly climbing onto the bus. I hadn’t got much time. The teachers were shaking hands at the door of the bus and some of the boys were shaking hands with some French boys. Again I was alone in wanting to say goodbye to Helene. I had to go to her. I made my way to the back of the crowd, all the time she didn’t move but just stood there smiling at me.
"We’re leaving now." I said quietly. She nodded. "Can I have your address so I can write to you?"
Immediately she held out her hand and gave me a little piece of square ruled maths paper, on which was already written "Helene le Guen, Goas Ven .........." We just stood there looking at each other. I didn’t want the moment to end. I didn’t know if I would ever see her again. After all I am English and she is French. And at 14 years old things like that seem impossible. We didn’t even kiss goodbye. People were looking. I ran back to the bus and climbed on board to further torment.
Back in England Father came to pick me up from school. I ran to the car clutching my precious piece of paper with Helennes address on it.
"Guess what? Dad." I said, "Guess what?"
"What? Did you have a good time?"
"I met a girl?"
"Hmmmm."
"Her name is Helene Le Guen."
"Hmmmm."
I shut up. I never spoke of her to Father again for a long long time.