‘That’s a good idea,’ Rosie said, swinging herself up and flipping on to her stomach. ‘You’ve got that whole calm empathy thing going on.’
Calm empathy was surely just a nice spin on what I’d been hearing since I was eight – passive and a little too placid, though very sweet, an old school report had said – but still, I was touched. It had never occurred to me that my flaws could be strengths in a different context.
‘Anyway,’ Rosie said briskly, sitting up properly and reaching for a folder beside her, ‘we’re not meant to be talking about your further-education prospects. We’re meant to be making sure Suze has any.’
Suzanne smirked, rolling her eyes. ‘Any further education?’
‘Any education at all,’ Rosie corrected, mock sternly. The three of us were spending our Sunday afternoon at her house, taking refuge from the January sleet that was rattling against the window. She had taken it upon herself to improve Suzanne’s school performance, which had, apparently, been in steady decline for several months. I’d tagged along to help, but I’d mainly been sorting her DVDs into alphabetical order and eating Doritos, then distracting them both with complaints about my parents.
‘Where do you live?’ Rosie asked, flipping open the folder.
‘Um . . .’ Suzanne screwed up her face obediently in concentration. ‘J’habite à Brighton, qui est un ville le sud de l’Angleterre.’
‘Dans,’ I said.
‘What?’ they both said together.
‘It’s “dans” le sud,’ I said. ‘Dans le sud de l’Angleterre.’
‘How can you know that when you don’t even have the answers in front of you?’ Rosie asked, looking annoyed.
‘I take French too, you know,’ I said.
‘Private school,’ Suzanne said to Rosie in an exaggerated whisper. ‘Dans private school.’
I rolled my eyes, but laughed despite myself.
‘What’s private school in French?’ Suzanne asked me.
‘No!’ Rosie said firmly, leaning over the bed to give Suzanne a reprimanding tap on the head. ‘No distractions.’ She looked at me. ‘Don’t distract her.’
‘Merde,’ Suzanne said morosely, giving me a beseeching look.
‘Of course that’s the word that sticks in your head,’ Rosie said drily.
‘It’s one word; it’s not difficult.’
‘And this is just a few words strung together. OK, the next one is to describe your school.’
‘Why are you asking the questions in English?’ I asked. ‘Won’t you need to know them in French?’
‘Baby steps,’ Rosie replied. ‘The answers are more important.’
‘I don’t need baby steps,’ Suzanne protested. ‘Don’t baby me.’
‘I wouldn’t need to baby you if you’d learned all this when you were supposed to,’ Rosie said starchily. She looked at me. ‘Did you know Suze can say good morning and goodnight in twelve different languages?’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. But apparently that’s more important than learning actual exam material for French.’
‘I learned them ages ago,’ Suzanne objected. ‘And it is more important than “My school has a large playing field”. I mean, really? When am I ever going to need to say that?’
‘That’s not the point,’ Rosie said. ‘The important bit is the exam, not how useful the information is.’
‘Say goodnight in Italian,’ I requested.
‘Buonanotte,’ Suzanne said without hesitation. She grinned at me. ‘When I was—’
‘Hey,’ Rosie interrupted, sounding exasperated. ‘Can we at least get back to French? Come on. Try this one: describe your family.’
‘Ugh, do I actually have to answer that?’ Suzanne made a face. ‘Isn’t that discriminatory?’
‘Just talk about Sarah,’ Rosie said. ‘Like, “My aunt is called Sarah and she works in a cafe,” or whatever.’
‘Won’t that sound really weird if everyone else is talking about all their different family members?’
‘I just talk about Mum,’ Rosie said with a shrug. ‘Be glad – it means you’ve got less to remember.’
‘Maybe if I did actually talk about my family I’d get sympathy points. Maybe they’ll just give me an A.’
Rosie frowned suddenly and reached forward. ‘There’s something on your face . . . Oh no, it’s just your victimhood showing.’
Suzanne, who’d lifted her hand to her face in concern when Rosie started talking, broke into laughter. ‘You’re such a bitch,’ she said with affection.
Rosie settled herself back against the wall, a barely restrained grin on her face. ‘A bitch that’s going to help you get some actual GCSEs. Now, can we please get back to French?’