As they pulled into the car park, Carole said, ‘Isn’t this exciting?’

‘I can barely contain my excitement,’ Hannah replied, sitting beside her in the passenger seat.

Carol sighed. ‘You know the French don’t use sarcasm. Elodie will think you’re being serious if you say things like that.’

‘I was being serious,’ Hannah said. ‘I’m overwhelmed with excitement.’

She pulled down the mirror and studied her reflection. She was a pretty girl, but adolescence had brought with it confidence-draining acne and she had a bulbous whitehead on the tip of her nose. As she went to squeeze it, her mother slapped her hand away.

‘I’ve told you before, don’t squeeze. Come on, let’s go.’

The arrivals area of the airport was busy with streams of people flowing in all different directions.

‘Ooh, I love airports,’ Carol said. ‘All these people coming and going.’

‘We’re in arrivals, Mum,’ Hannah replied. ‘They’re all coming.’

Carol tutted. ‘Don’t be pedantic. You know what I mean.’

When Elodie arrived, Hannah recognised her immediately from the photo she’d sent with her first letter. She was even prettier in real life and Hannah felt suddenly self-conscious in the tracksuit she’d pulled on this morning.

Elodie wore a white Ralph Lauren sweater, skinny jeans that showed off her long legs and smart kitten heels that click-clacked on the floor. Her sleek brown hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail and she walked towards them with the confidence of a model: chin up, shoulders back, pert breasts thrust forward. There was just the faint trace of a smile on her lips as she looked Hannah up and down.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I am Elodie Lafaille.’
 
 On the journey home, the two girls sat in the back of the car, Elodie’s bulging rucksack between them. She had a sense of cool calm that made Hannah feel nervous and self-conscious.

‘So, while you’re here,’ she said. ‘Should we speak French or English?’

Elodie looked at her for a moment and Hannah wondered if she’d spoken too quickly. She was about to repeat herself when Elodie said, ‘English,’ as if she was an idiot. ‘French we can speak when you come to Bordeaux.’

‘Okay,’ said Hannah. ‘That’s cool.’

She slipped her mobile phone out of her pocket and texted Mark: ‘Just picked up French girl. She seems okay but pretty up herself. You comin over 2nite? Can’t wait to see you. Xx’

She pressed ‘Send’ and watched the envelope icon fly off the screen.

‘Just texting my boyfriend,’ she said to Elodie. ‘You’ll probably meet him later. He’s hot. He looks like Ben off EastEnders.’

‘I don’t know what that is.’

Hannah grinned, excited at the prospect of introducing Elodie to Walford Square. ‘It’s a soap opera. A TV show. Me and mum love it.’

Elodie smiled thinly. ‘I can’t wait.’

She turned to look out of the window and Hannah felt a pang of irritation that Elodie wasn’t showing any interest in her.

‘Have you got a boyfriend then?’ she said suddenly.

Elodie looked at her and raised her eyebrows. ‘That is a personal question.’

Which means no, Hannah thought, and she smiled at the thought of having something Elodie didn’t.

‘But yes, I do,’ Elodie said. ‘Here, this is us together in Paris.’

She took a small photo from her purse and passed it to Hannah. In the picture, both Elodie and the boy were smiling brightly, their skin smooth and tanned, their teeth white and straight.

Elodie took the picture back. ‘I will miss him while I am here,’ she said. ‘But maybe I will find an English boyfriend too.’

She giggled and Hannah’s stomach lurched at the thought of introducing Elodie to the boys at school, her beauty enhanced by her accent which, in a playground in Bracknell, was practically other-worldliness. She could see them now, circling her, asking her to teach them French swear words.

Her phone beep-beeped in her hand. A new message from Mark.

‘H8 French accent. Yea, cuming over 2nite. Takeaway and Eastenders?’

As she texted back ‘Lush’, she caught Elodie stealing a glance of the screen and felt a strange sense of glee.

Finally, some interest.