Red Rainbow G Johanson (i am malala young readers edition .txt) 📖

where several pieces of post were waiting for her. It also transpired she wouldn’t have needed the key. The lock was broken, the door having been kicked in. It said a lot for the area and her neighbours (some of whom warmly greeted her) that nothing had been taken.

She’d open the letters in due course. Her wanted poster got her attention. It had been posted through her door with a message scribbled across it.

What have you been up to Doudou? Stay safe – will call back to see you when we come back through. Victory!!! BB

There was a doodle of a trumpet next to his initials alongside some musical notes. Patience didn’t need the clues or the initials. This handwriting was no mystery to her. With apologies to the Love Phantom (and she was so happy he was breathing again and would remain friends with them all), her affection for him was not the same as she felt upon reading this note.

Hilaire’s family home was not in the same condition as Patience’s. Nowhere near. It had been badly desecrated when the Poirier sisters first left Paris and had been left to worsen. All furniture had been removed, wallpaper and carpets stripped. There were holes in the walls and the floorboards, obscene graffiti and swastikas (which were worse than the French and German swearwords and genitalia artwork anyway) everywhere. It was not currently habitable.

That was okay, though. Hilaire had expected as much (digging up her family’s bodies showed how low they’d sink). This was a project for her she could be passionate about, something to keep her occupied. She had a helper. Christien St Pierre, her old acquaintance and fellow Communist (not that she came anywhere near his level of zeal) and neighbour in later years came knocking. He was off his crutches now, only a minimal limp to show for it. He offered his assistance and a place to stay while they furnished her home again. She accepted tentatively. Baby steps. Her decision to wait to renew her friendship with him had been fully vindicated. If she hadn’t waited, he’d have been dragged into all of this, suffered as poor Maurice Cassard had, or worse. Christien knew that she’d tried to work with a number of Communist groups, some actively resisting, others not, finding closed shops across the board due to her new alias not checking out. Now that she was back to being herself, he offered to vouch for her with his group. It felt good to be herself again. It would feel even better to be back home. Whatever happened between them, friendship or something more, she would be keeping this home.

Seeing Christien again made her feel better about César. It established that those confusing feelings she had for him were not love love. She was an old woman, he was a young pup. And her preference was for older men as a rule. But she had to admit that his being alive (again) made her happy, happier than it should have considering they weren’t close. His death, which she felt responsible for, had been such a heavy burden on her shoulders that she’d doubted in that long minute that she’d ever know happiness again. His return lifted that instantly, from the pit of despair to hope and elation. He had a gift that made people like him and may have triggered more in those inclined to desire him, but it did not force romantic love upon them.

“I like a wild party too.”

Hilaire had known someone was coming and realised it was Florence when she walked into her house without knocking, Florence finding her laying some new floorboards in the kitchen.

“He’s alive, by the way,” Hilaire said.

“I know. I sensed his energy return. I’m keeping my distance.”

“Good plan. Better than mine was. Yours could be going better.” It was not just César that Florence needed to keep her distance from.

“I’d offer you a hand except I’m better at breaking things.”

“You said it.”

“Look at it this way. They smashed up your house. You smashed up them. I’d say you’ve come out ahead.”

“I don’t think anybody’s coming out of this ahead.”

“Less far behind then, eternal pessimist! It’s time we made a move. We’re used to travelling light, shouldn’t take you long to pack.”

“To go where?” Hilaire asked, quizzical as to where she was going with this. Florence seemed very hyped up, whatever she had planned energising her – which surely meant she would be accessing an energy source.

“We follow the Allies. We have them on the run. We need them on the ground, and us two old duffers can accomplish that much better than most. I didn’t come here to make up the numbers. Reducing them is my forte, and there’s much more work to be done.”

“Travelling right now isn’t practical.”

“Fuck the impracticalities. We have unrestricted access wherever we want to go to because who can stop us?”

It was over. Florence’s hunger overrode her judgement, a habitual problem. Her problem, not Hilaire’s. “I’m staying here.”

“I can go it alone if I have to – it won’t be anything new to me – but I’d rather have you tag along. No?” Hilaire’s expression revealed she was not budging. Florence conceded, “I did half-expect that. 95% expected that. Never mind. It’s been fun. Still, I can’t help but feel a little cheated. You guys had Bleich as a real threat. They didn’t send anyone against us. It’s like they’d already surrendered Paris.”

“We faced a massive threat throughout this, Florence. Ourselves.” Hilaire did not know if they had passed the test or not. Florence had done terrible things yet had aided the war effort and also saved lives. She’d have failed the test if César’s death had stood, Hilaire unable to think of anything that would balance those scales.

“Don’t try and be deep, Hilaire, it doesn’t suit you. I mean a real in-person or creature threat.”

“I know what you mean.” And Florence didn’t know what Hilaire meant, or would not seriously acknowledge it.