Plan B by Emily Barr Page B

and capable.
    ‘Do you do this with your mummy?’ Alice asked.
    ‘You mean Christa?’ I asked her.
    ‘Christa’s your mummy?’
    ‘No. Not really. She’s my aunt.’
    ‘Who’s your mummy is?’
    I sighed. ‘I haven’t really got a mummy.’ She frowned and I hesitated. ‘She’s not . . .’ I stopped. I wished I did have memories of sitting in cafés with my mother, but I barely recalled anything about her. I never tried. In fact, I tried not to. ‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘I did not do this with my mummy. So you’re a very lucky girl to be taken out to a café like this. Sit up properly.’
    I knew I could switch into capable mode whenever I needed to, with a bit of willpower. People thought that was just the way I was, but it wasn’t. I could project efficiency however I was feeling. Today I was feeling utterly lost, but I knew I was going to rally myself. I would have made a brilliant Girl Guide. I never joined because both my sisters laughed at the idea.
    Suddenly, I longed to speak to Bella. I was desperate to hear her voice. Bella was three years older than me and, though she hadn’t realised it, she had been my rock and my idol since I was three. She would laugh at that if I ever told her. When I had gone to live with Christa and Geoff, it had been Bella who looked after me. Christa had no doubt been dealing with her own grief for her sister, plus she had three of her own children, and although she looked after me, was kind to me, and attended to my material needs, it was Bella, aged five, who took over the maternal role. Geoff, I imagine, had done his best, but small children had never been his thing and I had few recollections of him during that period. He was distant with all of us, I thought, until we were old enough to hold a conversation, and then the barriers all seemed to come down. Charlotte was not much older than I was, and Greg had been a baby.
    Bella had been one of those five-year-old girls who were already casting around for people to nurture. She had been the sort who would put her arm round the child who fell over in the playground, even if it was the fat girl who no one liked, and would march her to the teacher, saying importantly, ‘Miss, Pearl’s crying.’ She would then be dispatched to take Pearl to the sickroom and stay with her till the nurse sent her back. Having her own orphaned – as good as orphaned – cousin moving into the bedroom down the corridor had been Bella’s idea of heaven. She made sure I sat next to her for every meal. She gave me toys. When she discovered that I didn’t have a special toy to take to bed with me, she had given me her second-best teddy, Gavin. I still had him.
    Bella had grown up into a flamboyant fashion editor with six-year-old twin boys and a penchant for expensive, tightly fitting clothing. She was my sister and my best friend. I did not doubt that she would have dropped everything for me had I needed her to. I had never needed her to, and I did not intend to start now. I just missed her.
    The only other woman in the room was sitting three tables away, with a man. She had been smiling at Alice. Alice was ostensibly ignoring her, but she was sucking on her straw with studied cuteness. She knew exactly what she was doing. Finally, the woman came over.
    ‘ Que tu es mignonne ,’ she cooed. Alice looked at her briefly, and looked away, beaming but shy. ‘ Que tu es belle. Comment t’appelle tu? ’
    I looked at my daughter. ‘What’s your name?’ I translated.
    It came out in a near whisper. ‘Alice.’
    ‘Alice!’ exclaimed the woman. She turned to me. ‘ Elle es jolie, votre fille .’
    I thanked her, and we conversed in French as best I could manage. Despite my French degree, I was desperately self-conscious about speaking the language. She told me about her two-year-old grandson. I explained that we had just moved here from England.
    ‘I know,’ she assured me. ‘You’ve bought the Leclerc house in Pounchet. You’re the