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 Cassie and Rona
Rona and Cassie
wove past hoardings with foreign words on them, not giving a damn, on the other side of the road.

BONJOUR!

A woman with two sets of lips opened the door. She had pencilled on eyebrows, hair red at the tips with white roots like a sheep on fire and a single curler over one ear. Pink. The mouth that wasn't lipstick opened again, pursed itself round another BONJOUR so slow it came out as three separate words.

When Rona asked for a room, her face creased like an accordion, the scarlet nail of one finger beckoning us inside. The CHAMBRES 100F sign flipped over in the window. The back said COMPLET.

Ici.

A light switched on somewhere in front. Crimson flock wallpaper, green velvet curtains with tassels, two oval mirrors set in carved wood with big cracks and a four-poster covered with purple taffeta.

Lovely, Rona said. We'll take it.
She held out the money. The old woman took the note in one hand, held it up to the bulb and folded it away inside her palm in one movement. The key was offered in the other, poking between thumb and finger joint. She held on when Rona tried to take it from her, making Rona look up.

Aha, mes petites. You are English?
She waggled a finger at Rona's eyes. The thick whiff of incense gusted up from somewhere when she moved, incense and cough sweetie. Rona nodded hard, keeping a grip on her end of the key she'd paid for.
Oui. Yes. Scottish.
Yes, beautiful English skin. She stroked Rona's cheek, the hand still holding half of a key. Beautiful English rose. And you are friends? The finger waggled again, the eyes slithering towards Cassie. Very good friends.
Yes, Rona said. Very good Scottish friends.
Ah. The woman fluttered her eyelids, pushing out both mouths. How beautiful. Beautiful. She stroked Rona's cheek again.

Mes enfants, she inhaled, looking me straight in the eye behind a grin like a fish skeleton, Vous ne regretterez pas d'etre venu en bel Amboise!