The Boy from France by Hilary Freeman Read Free Book Online Page A

I should probably ask them if they want to join us. But Rosie
won’t want to come, I’m sure of it. She’s already told me that she doesn’t see the point of hanging around outside a dead singer’s house when there’s a live rock
star living right next door (the drummer from Fieldstar, to be precise, but that’s a whole other story). Not to mention that she’s been to visit about a hundred times already. I really
don’t want her to bring Manon, who has still barely said a word to me. More to the point, I’m entitled to some alone time with Xavier, aren’t I?
    I walk up behind Sky and playfully put my hands on her shoulders, making her jump. ‘Only me,’ I tell her. ‘Listen, Xavier’s had enough. You know. So I’m going to
take him home. Is that OK with you?’
    ‘Sure,’ says Sky. ‘There’s a few things I want to check out, so I won’t come back with you now, if that’s OK. We’ll catch up later, yeah?’
    ‘Course. Um, Rosie and Manon look busy. I don’t want to interrupt them. Will you tell them for me?’
    ‘No worries.’ She hugs me and flashes me a coy little smile. ‘Have fun with Xavier.’
    ‘We’re just going home,’ I say, flushing. Can she tell how I feel about him? Is it that obvious? ‘We’ll probably end up sitting talking to Mum and Dad or something.
Boring. Anyhow, see you later.’
    I turn away before she can say anything else and walk back over to Xavier.
    He smiles. ‘Your friends? Don’t they come also?’
    ‘Er, nobody else really fancies it,’ I say, leaving out the part that I didn’t give them a choice. If anyone objects later, I can always say we thought of the Amy Winehouse
idea on the way home and took a detour.
    ‘No problem.’
    It’s probably wishful thinking, but he doesn’t seem the slightest bit unhappy about this.
    We head back up the high street and take a shortcut through Sainsbury’s on to Camden Road. Well, it’s meant to be a shortcut, except Xavier seems fascinated by the prospect of
checking out an English supermarket, and asks if we can wander the aisles for a few minutes. I agree, to humour him, although frankly it seems a bit weird. Who goes food shopping for fun?
Especially a boy. And who prefers Sainsbury’s to Camden Market? He says he wants to see what food you can buy in England, whether it’s the same as in French supermarkets, and whether
(I’m guessing, because he’s too polite to say it) English food is as rubbish as French people think. So I follow him around, letting him peer into the freezer cabinets and pick up and
replace things from the shelves until he’s satisfied.
    ‘Zee food ’ere. Eez the same, almost,’ he declares, appearing disappointed. ‘One can even buy zee baguettes and zee Camembert.’
    ‘Course,’ I say. ‘It’s England, not a third-world country. We have everything. We don’t live on fish and chips and roast beef. No frogs’ legs or snails here,
though, I’m afraid.’ I’m aware I sound a bit miffed. Xavier doesn’t know how much time I spend trudging around here, buying stuff for Mum, when I’d rather be doing
something else. It’s not my favourite place. I force a smile. ‘Come on, I thought you wanted to see Amy’s house.’
    ‘But yes,’ he says. ‘Of course. Let us go. But one day, we come back and buy zee food and I’ll cook for you and your family, a proper French dinair. If it pleases
you.’
    ‘I would like that,’ I say, surprised. ‘You cook? Seriously?’
    ‘
Oui
, my mother, she teaches me.’
    He doesn’t seem the slightest bit embarrassed by this. He even seems proud. I don’t know any boys who cook. Not one. The boys I know think the only food worth eating comes out of
polystyrene cartons with a logo stamped on them. Cooking is for girls and wusses. But Xavier is most definitely not a wuss.
    ‘Do all boys cook in France? Everyone here just goes to McDonald’s or KFC.’
    ‘No, I don’t sink so. My friends, they prefer McDonald also. I like