13
Double French
“This is hell,” whispered Dennis.
“Shush,” said Lisa.
“You didn’t tell me you had French today.”
“I forgot.”
“You forgot?” said Dennis.
“Shush. And actually, it’s double French.”
“Double French?”
“Bonjour, la classe,” said Miss Windsor loudly as she entered. Dennis prayed she wouldn’t recognise him from the detention.
“Bonjour Mademoiselle Windsor,” said the class in unison. Miss Windsor always started the classes in French. It gave the false impression that the pupils were all fluent French speakers. Suddenly, she spotted the girl in the orange dress and all the make-up. Miss Windsor couldn’t fail to notice her, really. She stood out like a disco-ball in the gloom of the classroom.
“Et qui êtes-vous?” she enquired. Dennis sat frozen with fear, with a terrible feeling he was about to throw up or pee, or both simultaneously, if that was at all possible.
Frustrated by the lack of response, Miss Windsor abandoned the French speaking, as she usually had to after the a few seconds of entering the classroom, and continued in English. “Who are you?” she repeated.
Still Dennis sat in silence.
Everyone looked at Lisa. She gulped. “She’s my German pen-pal, Miss,” she said.
“I thought you said she was French,” said Mac innocently, his voice slightly muffled by the Rolo he was chewing.
“Oh, yes, sorry. French pen-pal. Thanks, Mac,” said Lisa pointedly. She shot him an angry look and he frowned, looking hurt and baffled.
Miss Windsor’s face instantly glowed with joy. She hadn’t smiled so much since winning her campaign for the school canteen to serve baguettes at lunchtime.
“Ah, mais soyez la bienvenue! Quel grand plaisir de vous accueillir dans notre humble salle de classe! C’est tout simplement merveilleux! J’ai tant de questions à vous poser. De quelle région de la France venez-vous? Comment sont les écoles là-bas? Quel est votre passe-temps favori? Que font vos parents dans la vie? S’il-vous-plaît, venez au tableau et décrivez votre vie en France pour que nous puissions tous en bénéficier. Ces élèves pourraient tirer grand profit d’un entretien avec une vraie Française telle que vous! Mais rendez-moi un service, ne me corrigez pas devant eux!”
Like everyone in the class, and indeed like most people reading this book except for the exceptionally clever or French ones, Dennis had absolutely no idea what Miss Windsor was going on about. I don’t know either–I had to get a friend who had passed their French GCSE to translate it for me. Basically, though, Miss Windsor is delighted to have a real French person in her class and is asking lots of questions about life in France. I hope so anyway, unless my friend is playing a horrible joke on me and Miss Windsor is talking about her favourite episodes of Spongebob Squarepants or something.
“Er… oui,” said Dennis, hoping that by simply saying yes, he couldn’t get himself into too much trouble. Unfortunately, Miss Windsor became even more animated, and led Dennis up to the front of the class, still declaiming excitedly in French.
“Oui, c’est vraiment merveilleux. On devrait faire cela tous les jours! Faire venir des élèves dont le français est la langue maternelle! Ce sont les jours comme celui-ci que je me souviens pourquoi j’ai voulu devenir prof. S’il-vous-plaît, racontez-nous vos premières impressions de l’Angleterre.”
Dennis stood still in front of everyone. Lisa looked like she wanted to shout out and help, but couldn’t make a sound.
Dennis felt as if he was underwater or in a dream. He looked out into the eerie stillness of the room. Everyone stared at him. Nothing moved except Mac’s jaw.
“May I speak in English one moment?” asked Dennis in a tentative French accent.
Miss Windsor looked a little surprised and a lot disappointed. “Yes, of course.”
“Errrm, ’ow can I put this, how you say… politely?”
“Poliment, oui.”
“Madame Windsor,” continued Dennis, “your French accent is very poor and I am very sorry but I cannot understand anything you are saying.”
Some of the pupils laughed cruelly. A single tear appeared in Miss Windsor’s eye and rolled down her cheek.
“Are you all right, Miss? Do you need a tissue?” asked Lisa, before shooting Dennis a furious look.
“No, no, I’m perfectly fine, thank you, Lisa. I’ve just got something in my eye, that’s all.”
Miss Windsor stood there swaying like she had been shot, but hadn’t quite fallen to the floor yet. “Um, why don’t you all get on with some private reading. I just need to step outside to get some air for a moment.” She tottered uncertainly out of the classroom, as if the bullet was slowly making its way to her heart. She closed the door behind her. For a moment there was silence. Then from outside the classroom they heard a huge wail.
The mouths of those pupils who had laughed now closed tight with regret. Lisa looked at Dennis, who bowed his head. He returned to his seat, scraping his high heels along the floor sorrowfully.
A few more seconds passed like hours, before Miss Windsor returned to the classroom. Her face was red and puffy from crying.
“Right, so, um… right, good… turn to page fifty-eight in your textbooks and answer questions (a), (b) and (c).”
The pupils all began their work, more silent and compliant than they had ever been before.
“Would you like a Rolo, Miss?” ventured Mac. No one was more aware of the momentary comfort chocolate could give in moments of despair.
“No, thank you, Mac. I don’t want to spoil my lunch. It’s bœuf bourguignon…”
She started crying uncontrollably again.