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digitally-enhanced image? Oh well. She would soon find out.

Chapter 8
    Edouard was due to arrive, rather excitingly, at midnight. Apparently it was an enormously long drive from France – hours and hours and hours. They would be shattered. All the English host families turned up in their cars, parked in the pitch-black school yard and waited. It was almost sinister.
    ‘It’s insane,’ grumbled Mum. ‘They’ll be totally exhausted. Why on earth couldn’t they come by plane?’
    ‘Well, don’t hassle me about it!’ said Jess. ‘Talk to Mrs Bailey. I’m sure she’ll be only too happy to explain.’
    But where was Mrs Bailey? Where, indeed, was anybody? It was too dark to see, with only the headlights of cars occasionally silhouetting clumps of people talking.
    ‘I’m getting out,’ said Jess. ‘I’m going to look for Flora.’
    Now the moment of truth had arrived, Jess felt sick with anxiety. But, on the other hand, the thought of meeting Edouard in person made her heart race. He had said she was ‘pritty’ and sent her a kiss! Jess had brought his postcard. It was in her pocket. By now it was very worn and dog-eared, but having it with her gave Jess a little bit of courage. It was proof that Edouard liked the way she looked. And, after all, he was, according to his photo, one of the fittest among the whole French gang.
    Flora loomed out of the dark and grabbed Jess’s arm. Jess was glad it was dark. Once Edouard saw Flora in daylight, he would certainly lose interest in Jess.
    ‘I’m so scared!’ said Flora. ‘What if I don’t get on with her?’
    ‘Of course you’ll get on with her,’ said Jess. Marie-Louise looked sweet and friendly, and she had the tact not to be fabulously beautiful – what more could you want in a house guest?
    Suddenly a large set of headlights swung in off the main road. The coach! Here it was! Flora and Jess clung to each other in excitement and dread.
    ‘Help!’ said Jess. ‘It’s the Norman Invasion all over again!’
    They had done the Battle of Hastings in history and rooted for the English king, who was called (strangely) Harold Godwin. But Harold had received an arrow in his eye and William the Conqueror had conquered, big time.
    ‘Perhaps you’ll be conquered by Edouard,’ said Flora. ‘He will enslave you. I can see it all.’
    ‘I will not!’ retorted Jess. ‘If anything, he’s going to be my slave. Watch this space.’
    The bus rolled up, stopped, and then did a stupid turning and reversing manoeuvre which seemed totally unnecessary. It only prolonged the agony and filled the whole area with carbon monoxide. Pale smudgy faces looked out of the bus’s dark windows, but it was impossible to see any details. It was impossible even to see what sex they were.
    Eventually the bus driver parked, turned off the engine and opened the door. A French English teacher appeared. She seemed to be a woman, although it wasn’t totally certain, what with the darkness, her nerdy anorak and woolly hat. She climbed down and greeted Mrs Bailey, the English French teacher. They shook hands and kissed each other several times on each cheek. It took for ever. The French English teacher spoke in English to show off, and the English French teacher spoke in French to demonstrate that she, too, was a brilliant linguist. Everybody else just waited, wilted and yawned.
    ‘Right!’ Mrs Bailey climbed up the bus steps and called for attention. ‘As the French party get off the bus, I’ll call out the name of the English host. When you hear your name, please come forward and welcome your guest.’
    A rather cute but tubby French boy was the first to appear. The French and English teachers coordinated their lists.
    ‘George Simpson!’ called Mrs Bailey.
    ‘Simpson’s is a porker, then,’ whispered Jess. ‘But I quite like him nonetheless.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Flora. ‘Cuddly. Something for the winter months, probably.’
    A small blonde girl appeared, wrapped in a terrible