When the Sky Fell Apart (39 page)

When Edith returned to the kitchen to tell Maurice that Francis would stay, that they would return him to his mother in the morning, he nodded and went back to counting the loaves of bread for the hundredth time.

‘For heaven's sake,' Edith snapped. ‘We've enough to last us.'

‘Have we?' He stopped counting. ‘What about when we arrive in England? Do you imagine they'll just hand out a ration to each of us?'

‘Well, why not? We need their help and that's the end of it. Can't see them turning us away.'

Maurice chuckled quietly to himself.

‘What's tickled you then?'

‘I couldn't see the English abandoning us—letting the Germans drop bombs, waltz on to the island like they owned it. But there you go. People always surprise you.'

‘Well, now you're being ridiculous,' Edith huffed. ‘It's hardly the same thing.'

‘It's
exactly
the same thing. The English would leave us to rot if it wasn't for the smell we'd make when the wind blows their way.'

‘You're winding yourself up over nothing, Maurice. Honestly, you have to trust that they'll look after us once we're there. Or why go? Might as well sail across to France. Or Germany. Trust that things will work out right, can't you?'

‘I'm sorry, Edith. I can't. We look after ourselves—no one is going to play nursemaid to us. Now, I'm off to try to find some more loaves and some cheese.'

Sometimes Edith caught herself thinking that the Germans weren't such a bad bunch after all. Those like Hans were monsters, with darkness in their hearts that most people couldn't dream of. But many of them struck Edith as just boys with guns, simply doing as they were told. Of course, there was the odd one with a nasty streak, but in the main they were following orders, and who could blame them?

And at night, Edith massaged ointment into Gregor's arm and pressed her lips along his chest, on to his stomach and then all the way back up to the heat and the breathlessness of his open mouth.

THEY were set to leave at ten on Friday night. The clock reached half past nine and they were all of them jumping out of their skins at every whisper of the wind.

Maurice felt sick. Even Gregor, he observed, who never batted an eyelid, looked queasy.

Claudine was weeping over leaving Francis, even as she said, time and again, ‘I know it's for the best.' She and Edith had taken him back to Sarah that morning, under the pretence of some chest cold Marthe had:
‘We don't want him catching it.'

The fib hadn't worried Maurice at the time, but now that Marthe was fast asleep and he couldn't rouse her, he started fretting that their words had tempted Fate to strike Marthe down with another illness.

Edith seemed not at all troubled. ‘Hush, Maurice, it's easier this way. At least she'll be quiet.'

Then Maurice understood. ‘You've
dosed
her!' he snapped. ‘What the
devil
were you thinking?'

Edith leant forward and patted his head. ‘It'll make everything easier, Maurice. You know it.'

‘Why didn't you
ask
me?'

She gave a laugh that made him want to punch his fist into the wall. ‘Well, yes, Maurice, my love, but what would you have said?'

It was lucky that at that moment Carter arrived, looking like some bearded vagrant from the hills. His eyes were wild and he was sweating. But he grinned and looked instantly youthful.

‘I thought I had better contribute
something
to this expedition.'

He heaved a huge sack on to the table and they all crowded around. Maurice dug his hand in and started to draw things out, one after another, and for a moment they all forgot themselves. There were things in there that none of them had seen in years: a whole bag of sugar, a small bar of chocolate, powder for cleaning teeth. And a good two pounds of dried meat.

Maurice laughed as he had not laughed in months: an unfettered sound, like bursting bubbles from his chest, and he shook Carter by the hand.

Once everyone had quieted and the nerves had slunk back into the room, Maurice said, ‘So I don't need to warn you to keep quiet as we go. Patrols will be out tonight like any other. We don't want to bring them down on our heads because we've forgotten how to whisper. And remember: if anyone is taken, you don't know anything about any escape. You were out for a walk, scavenging for extra food.'

They all nodded again.

‘There's a big field on the way to the beach,' Claudine said. ‘It used to have all sorts in it but now it's potatoes for the soldiers. Perhaps we could say we were going to steal potatoes?'

‘Clever girl, Claudine.'

Her face was still blotchy from her crying about leaving her maman and Francis. Maurice felt a tug of guilt: while she was sobbing, he had muttered, ‘For goodness
sake
.'

He gave her an extra smile now. ‘So we'll be going quietly and not all at once,' he continued. ‘Less chance of being spotted than if we're together. I've been hiding a few bits and pieces down in the caves for a while now—blankets and so on. It'll be bitter out at sea.'

‘Just a moment,' Edith said, rummaging in one of her cupboards. ‘Here we are.' She pulled out a bottle of wine. ‘I've been saving this for years. And I'd rather not leave it for the Germans.'

She opened the bottle and poured a glass out for everyone, even Claudine. Glug of red liquid pooling in the glasses; for a moment it gave Maurice a chill and then he shook his head to rid it of foolishness; it was the nerves making him whimsical.

Edith held up her glass. ‘To escape.'

Maurice clinked his glass against hers. ‘And freedom.'

Gregor said,
‘Prost!'

The wine was dreadful—cheap, acidic stuff—but it was years since Maurice had tasted wine, and the sudden vagueness in his head was exhilarating. He could have gulped the whole bottle. But he needed his mind clear so he stopped after two small glasses, drunk in such quick succession his gullet burned.

Then it was time to leave.

That was when Edith wouldn't budge. ‘I've a bad feeling about the whole business,' she said from the armchair.

Maurice felt a seething impatience. ‘Fine time to choose to tell us that.'

‘It's only hit me now. It's all been too hurried. We oughtn't to go.'

‘For Christ's sake! Are you mad, woman?'

‘Save it for another night. Not as though the Germans are going anywhere. There will be other chances for escape. When we've had more time to prepare.'

Maurice threw his hands in the air, then balled them into fists and made himself turn from Edith.

‘She's hysterical!' he snapped, to the room in general. He raked his hands through his hair and fought the urge to scream. ‘Someone else talk to her; I'm tempted to drag her to the sea and drown her.'

He forced himself to go outside for a lungful of the fresh, dark air. No moon in the sky, just the watchful eyes of a billion stars.

When he went back inside, Gregor was sitting on one side of Edith, Claudine on the other.

Maurice shook his head. ‘Don't tell me: you're not going either?'

Claudine's eyes were wide. ‘It isn't that. Edith thinks we haven't enough protection to leave tonight. If they catch us—'

‘I'll tell you something, we
must
leave
now
. Imagine if a patrol marches up and finds us sitting here with a runaway soldier and enough food for a week, not to mention the traitor doctor…'

Carter shifted uncomfortably.

Edith knitted her fingers together, her knuckles whitening under the pressure.

‘Maurice, I'm not trying to be a difficult old woman,' she said. ‘But this doesn't feel right. If we're caught—the
risk,
Maurice. With Claudine involved. And Gregor. We've no defence, none at all. We'll have to simply put our hands up and let ourselves be taken. It's
lunacy
, the whole thought of escape like this, no protection…'

Gregor said, very gently. ‘You worry about hurt, yes? And catching? I have my gun.' He took it from his holster.

Edith's eyes slid from his. ‘Much good that will do us when we've no bullets for the thing.'

Gregor blinked. ‘No bullets? Where—?'

‘I threw them into the sea. After you waved that thing at Maurice.' She blushed. ‘Good riddance, I thought at the time, and all for the best. But now we've a gun that's as much use as a croissant.'

Edith dug into her pocket and fetched out something white and pressed it into Claudine's hand—looked like knitted baby shoes but perhaps Maurice was imagining it, for why would she have such a thing? Then she fiddled with the gold band on her finger, worked it over her knuckle until it came loose.

‘Go on and run to Clement Hacquoil, will you, child?' she said. ‘You're to take this gun. We need bullets for it. As many as he has.'

Maurice held up a hand. ‘But Edith, we've no time.'

Her voice was brisk. ‘We've plenty of time if Claudine runs. And you're quick on your feet, aren't you, child?'

The girl nodded, but her mouth had crumpled with fear.

‘What if a patrol catches me? And what if Monsieur Hacquoil doesn't have the bullets?'

Edith gave a humourless laugh. ‘Oh, he'll have them—that man has fingers in every pie in the island. If you hear a patrol then you throw the gun away and you run, fast as you can. We're depending on you, my love. Remember, it's safety and freedom for all of us if we can get away. But we need these bullets. So off you go.'

Claudine was gone before Maurice could stop her.

The minutes ticked by. Maurice sighed. Paced. Glared at Edith. Packed and repacked the bags. Divided the meat so everybody had a little each. Glared again and refilled the canteens of water.

Claudine didn't return.

Maurice boiled a pan of water, shared around the last of the acorn coffee. He counted the slow
tick tock
of the grandfather clock—unravelling of time, which couldn't be recalled—and then checked again that there were enough warm clothes for Marthe.

‘There's plenty of time,' Edith said.

‘What if she's been caught out with a soldier's gun? What will the Hacquoils say?'

‘Just sit tight. She's too fast for soldiers to catch her. And they'll not talk—Clement owes me his life.'

In the end, nearly an hour had passed before Claudine crept back in, clutching a rattling sack. Maurice was shaking, barely able to gather the breath to speak, but he could have danced a jig and kissed the girl, honest to God.

‘We thought you'd gone to make those bullets yourself, Claudine.'

She didn't smile at him, and her face was pale, even though she was panting from running.

Something is wrong.

Edith must have felt it too: she stood up and clasped Claudine's arms.

‘What took so long? We were worried sick, imagining all sorts.'

Claudine whispered, ‘Sorry. I…' She shook her head.

Edith's voice was bright. ‘Well, no matter now. You're here and we've no time for chattering. Go to see your maman and Francis, did you? They didn't suspect anything?'

Claudine shook her head again; she looked close to tears.

Edith pulled Claudine into a quick embrace. ‘Let's have them, then. We don't want them going off in your hand.'

The girl opened the sack: five bullets in a tin, hard and bright and shiny as jewels. And there was more: two eggs, bread, a little sugar. Even some real tea leaves.

Edith gasped. ‘Claudine, you marvel! How on
earth
did you come by this lot?'

‘Madame Hacquoil. I—I don't know why.'

‘Gracious. Well, don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Wonderful, Claudine, well done.'

‘Perhaps Joan finally grew a heart,' Maurice said.

‘Either that or Claudine sold her something.' Edith smiled. ‘You didn't promise her Francis, did you, love?'

Everybody laughed.

Maurice drew a deep breath. ‘Time to go.'