Chapter Twelve

The Messages from Jehan

Clementine,

This is just a little test of mine. I was curious to see if I could communicate with you through this book, seeing as you claim to have the same copy in the future. I don't know how much use it will be for us, as I cannot think of a way for you to respond to these notes except when we see each other at night. But it will be interesting to see, either way.

I'm going to stop writing now because I have a meeting tonight with my friends. I'm just waiting for the café to close so we can go into the backroom. Do let me know if it worked when I next see you.

Jean Prouvaire

Clementine had been shocked to find the new note, written on a sheet of pale blue paper and tucked into the first page of the book. She knew she had never seen it before, but the handwriting upon it was unmistakably Jehan's. For a few moments, she sat there, stroking her fingertips over the dried ink, hardly daring to believe that he had finally written something about her and she could read it.

"What's that?" a loud voice cut into her reverie, and she was jostled as Élodie slid into the seat next to her. They were in a lecture theatre. Élodie wasn't on the exact same course as Clementine, but they shared a couple of modules, including this particular one on gender in classical mythology; the presentation currently projecting onto the screen proclaimed the words THE WEAVING WOMAN in bright yellow text.

"It's nothing," Clementine replied, as someone slid in to sit on her other side. It was just Noémi, but she was staring at the Aeschylus book with a look of complete and utter distrust on her face.

"It didn't look like nothing," Élodie pouted.

Clementine shut the book on top of the note from Jehan and then slid her book into her bag. "It's private, anyway," she stressed.

Élodie rolled her eyes. "You've become really odd since you bought that book," she said. "You're not much fun anymore."

Clementine rubbed her face and picked up her pen. "I agree with you," she said. "I know I'm not."

Élodie looked more than a little bit surprised at her admission, but instead of saying something, she for once shut her mouth and began to write down the lecture title in her notebook.

Meanwhile, Noémi was giving her a very pointed look.

"I know, I know," Clementine sighed. "I haven't got any excuses. I've started reading the book again. But, to be fair, I'm managing to get some sleep, so it's not really a big deal."

"It's still not healthy," Noémi countered. "I'm just curious as to whether your work is suffering because of that book."

"Don't be silly," Clementine retorted. "It's not distracting me that much. In fact, I've managed to write two essays three weeks before the date they're due to be handed in, so I'm actually ahead of everyone else."

"That doesn't mean the quality is there." Noémi tucked some hair behind her ear. "I'm just saying – that book strikes me as being…"

Thankfully, their lecturer chose that moment to begin her class, ending their conversation there.

III

That night, she once more turned up in Jehan's bedroom. This time, he was wide awake and waiting for her, perched on the end of the bed, and she found herself sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him.

"I got your message," she said, without saying hello.

He looked pleased. "It worked, then," he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I was worried it wouldn't. As I said in the message, I don't know how much help it will be, but…"

"It was nice," Clementine said. "To get a message off you – you know, for me. It brightened my day a little bit."

They were quiet for a few moments, just looking at each other. Then he cleared his throat. "I will be sure to leave more of them, then."

III

He did indeed leave more of them. Some of them were musings on life, others were snippets of poetry he thought she might enjoy reading; then there were accounts of his days, his interactions with his friends, and occasionally, details on their 'meetings'. He skimmed over the politics of what they discussed at these meetings, but she was grateful for that; she knew very little of the politics anyway so any more detail would have made no sense to her.

She understood some of the basics: Jehan and his friends were opposed to the monarchy, and hated the oppression of the lower classes by the elite. The latter took her right back to studying A-level Sociology at college and learning about Marxism, but she knew that wasn't enough to completely understand the goals of Jehan and his friends.

Whenever he did mention details of these meetings, however, her stomach sank. She thought back to when she first bought his book and she researched the June Rebellion of 1832. Some of his notes had mentioned barricades and the possible threat of fighting, and she'd seen him die in her dreams, seen him die so many times. Now she had spoken to him in person, so to speak, it made those dreams seem all the more horrific. She couldn't bear the thought of this quiet, gentle man being killed.

When they saw each other, Jehan was too busy quizzing her on her life for her to ask any questions about the barricades. He was fascinated by the life she led. He wanted to know all about her home in England, modern literature, the course she studied at university. She was sure he wasn't supposed to know some of the things she told him, but no supernatural force stopped her from doing so.

"It sounds wonderful," Jehan said one night, in a wistful tone. "I wish I could see your world. Those…what did you call them, those things that fly?"

"Aeroplanes," she supplied.

"That amazes me," he said, shaking his head. He gave her a conspiratorial grin. "I almost wonder if you're making it up."

"I promise you, I'm not," she said.

"So they fly…to other countries?" he said.

"Yes," she said. "Basically. And other places, too."

"Do people still sail?" he wondered. "I don't think I would sail, if I had the option of flying."

Clementine suspected Jehan's image of an aeroplane was a lot more fantastical than the reality. She said to him, "I came here on a boat, a ferry. Or I could have got the train."

"The train?" He looked mystified. "How…"

She explained to him how the Channel Tunnel worked, but the whole idea confused him on so many different levels that she decided to change the subject back to literature, a subject he seemed to feel much more comfortable discussing.

III

Clementine found herself in a very happy place. She slept well, considering she spent her dreams with Jehan; her studies were going well, and she relaxed by rereading Jehan's notes to her.

But then she received one note that brought her newfound happiness crashing down. In one of his messages, he happened to mention that it was nearing the end of May, meaning by her calculations, the June Rebellion was going to happen very soon, and she couldn't think of a way to stop it.

A/N: A note about the mention of trains…I did research this a little bit, and I found that the first railway was built in France in (coincidentally) 1832, even though railways had been built in other countries (particularly Britain) earlier than that, so I'm not really sure whether Jehan would have known what a train was or not so that's why I went with the idea of him just being confused by the whole concept of the Channel Tunnel instead.