Night Sky (39 page)

He nodded slightly and for a moment she thought he would cry. He whispered, ‘Mum … and Dad … And my sister, Susan.’

‘And a girl? You have a girl?’

He looked at her as if his heart would break. ‘Yes, yes …’ His eyes filled with tears and he bowed his head and began to sob quietly. Slowly, Julie reached forward and removed the gun from his hand. She passed it to one of the men and then, reaching out, took the young pilot and cradled him in her arms. He clutched at her, his head on her shoulder, his tears warm on her neck.

She thought: But he’s no more than a boy; just a boy. And they send children like this to war … what madness it all is. She patted his back and said, ‘It’s all right now. Everything’s all right now.’

There was activity behind her: people were moving about and whispering. Someone touched her arm and breathed, ‘We must go now or it will be too late. Will you bring him? Down to the beach?’

Julie hesitated. The beach … No-one ever went to the beach. It had barbed wire and patrols.

The young pilot clutched at her, still sobbing. She held his head to her shoulder and patted his back again. She looked at the man waiting beside her and nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I’ll bring him. Just tell me what to do.’

Julie felt the pilot stumble behind her. She held tightly to his hand and turned her head. She saw that he had regained his balance and was tentatively stepping forward again. She whispered, ‘Are you all right?’ but the wind tore her words away and he didn’t hear. She asked again, louder.

He nodded, ‘Yes, I’m okay.’

Julie squeezed his hand and said, ‘Well done. Not far now!’

She peered down the path to where the man ahead of her had been. But there was no-one now, not even a shadow against the greys and blacks of the night mosaic. Julie drew in her breath and started forward again. The path was uneven and narrow, carved uncertainly into the side of the cliff and descending rapidly to the beach below. Sometimes, when a rock protruded, it disappeared altogether and Julie had to reach down with her foot until she found it again some distance below. She went forward carefully, leaning slightly inwards towards the cliff face, her leading hand feeling along the safe hardness of the solid rock. She tried not to think of what lay below.

At one point she stepped on a loose stone and almost lost her footing. She was wearing the wrong kind of shoes, of course: leather with a slight heel – horribly slippery. She should have brought canvas shoes. She also wished for the hundredth time that she’d worn a scarf: when the wind tore down the cliff it blew her hair across her face until she could hardly see.

The path seemed interminable. Behind, the pilot stumbled again; she gripped his hand again and turned to make sure that he had regained his balance.

Above the dull roar of the wind it was just possible to hear a low rumbling, like muffled thunder. As they went down it grew steadily louder. The sound of the surf. Julie’s spirits rose: they must be very near the beach now.

Without warning the path suddenly fell sharply away beneath her feet. Julie felt down the slope with her foot, but there was nothing: no ledge, no rock, no sign of the path. She sat down, pulled the pilot down beside her and, letting go of his hand, levered herself over the edge. She felt a jolt of fear as she began to slide downwards, faster and faster. Then, just as she grabbed for a handhold, she saw the beach rushing up towards her. With a soft crunch, she landed on the pebbles.

She got to her feet and dusted her coat down. The young pilot hadn’t appeared yet. She called up, ‘It’s all right. The beach is just here! Just slide down like I did!’

There was no reply. For a moment she thought she was going to have to climb back up again. Then she heard his voice, almost carried away by the wind. ‘You sure?’

‘Yes, yes. Just slide!’

There was a moment’s pause, then a figure shot down and fell on to the pebbles beside her. Julie said, ‘Well done.’ She helped him up and, holding hands again, they started slowly down the beach.

Julie could just make out a line of pale grey that revealed the breaking surf and, to the left, a blackness, much inkier than the sky, which marked the high cliffs around the cove. But where were they meant to go? Where were the others? She stopped uncertainly and looked around, peering into the darkness.

‘What’s happening?’ The pilot’s voice sounded frightened again.

‘It’s all right. I’m just waiting for them to find us.’

She only wished they would.

As if in answer, a shadow, darker than the rest, emerged in front of them. A voice said, ‘Here! Follow me!’ Julie sighed with relief and, pulling the pilot behind her, followed the dark figure along the beach. They came to a finger of rock which protruded from the cliff. The rest of the group were waiting on one side of it, some of them sitting against the rock, their faces pale and indistinguishable in the gloom, others standing in groups of two or three. As Julie walked up she was surprised to hear the sounds of raised voices. With dismay she realised that there was a row going on.

The pilot pulled at her hand. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ It was a good question. But she said, ‘Don’t worry. It doesn’t mean anything. They’re just having a friendly argument.’

‘Jesus … Can’t they shut up, for Chrissake?’ Julie found a place against the rock and sat down with the pilot next to her. She listened anxiously as the angry voices continued. The pilot was right: it would be a good idea if they shut up. She wondered what on earth they could be arguing about. What could possibly be so important at a time like this? She peered at a man who sat down wearily on the other side of her. She thought she recognised him. She asked softly in French, ‘Who’s that?’ The reply came back, ‘One of us.’ Julie whispered, ‘Can you tell me what’s happening?’ ‘Well, we’re waiting for the boat but … it may be badly delayed by the weather.’ He bent over towards her. ‘In truth, it’s doubtful it’ll come at all …’

Julie’s heart sank. The thought of having to look after her pilot for much longer filled her with despair. She imagined having to lead him up the cliff again. That was bad enough. But then what? Would they expect her to keep the young man with her? To hide him at the house? No, it was impossible! She said to the villager, ‘What happens, then, if the boat doesn’t come?’

‘We all go home – with our guests, I suppose.’ ‘Do they go back to – where they were before?’ ‘I have no idea. You’ll have to ask our leader.’ There was contempt in his voice as he spoke the word ‘leader’, and Julie realised he disliked the man too. She asked, ‘But why’s everyone arguing?’

‘Because the whole thing’s a mess. No-one knows who’s meant to be doing what. Virtually all our helpers are down here on the beach when some should still be up on the cliff. Half say the boat won’t come, the other half want to wait. Our leader is telling all those who want to stay to go and all those who want to go to stay. Marvellous, isn’t it?’ The man spat with contempt.

Julie looked around. The mention of the dreadful man reminded her of Michel’s warning. It had been quite clear. He’d said that the Germans probably knew all about this … If he was right and they did …

God.

She closed her eyes. She was terribly frightened, that was all. Just frightened. And yet … she couldn’t shake off a terrible sense of foreboding. She was certain it was all going to go wrong. It was partly instinct and partly a feeling that nothing could go right while this leader was in charge …

Something had changed. Julie opened her eyes. It was the arguing – it had stopped. Instead everyone was staring out to sea. Involuntarily Julie squeezed the pilot’s hand.

There was a sudden burst of activity. Orders were passed. Three men ran down the beach. Others came along the line and told the waiting passengers to be ready to move. Julie and her pilot stood up. A tall, lanky figure detached himself from Julie’s group and started moving down the beach. A dark figure ran after him and pushed him back against the rock, saying in ragged English, ‘Wait! When I say!’

Julie stared at the line of surf, straining her eyes to distinguish the shadows in the darkness. At first she thought she was mistaken, but then she saw it: the dark shape of a small boat coming through the surf, and then there were men jumping out, two or three of them, pulling the boat up the beach and blending with the men who had run down to meet them. Incredible. The boat had come in spite of the weather. It had not forgotten them after all.

Now four people were being led down the beach. Julie’s pilot said plaintively, ‘Why not me? What the hell’s happening?’

He sounded tearful again and Julie said soothingly, ‘It’s all right. You’ll be next. I expect the boat can’t take everyone at once.’

The shape of the boat showed black against the whiteness of the surf and Julie realised it had been launched again. Dark figures climbed in, a curtain of water rose up as the boat met a wave, and then they were gone, vanished into the night.

Julie wondered how on earth the small boat found the large one in the darkness. She hadn’t seen a single light.

It was twenty minutes before they returned. The pilot kept saying, ‘Christ, they’re not coming back! They’re not coming back!’ And Julie replied, ‘Of course they are. Honestly, I promise they are, I promise.’

And then at last the boat was back and it was time for Julie’s pilot to go. She started to say goodbye but one of the villagers hissed at her, ‘No, you must come too. Now! Come!’

‘What?’ But he didn’t reply and Julie found herself hand in hand with the pilot again, stumbling uneasily down the pebbles towards the water. As they approached the boat two men detached themselves from the waiting group and came towards them.

A man next to Julie said, ‘She’s here, over here.’

The two figures came up and a voice said, ‘Hello, do you speak English?’

Julie laughed nervously. ‘Yes.’

‘Look, there’s this walkie-talkie we’d like to give you. I was trying to explain how it worked. Do you think you could remember a few instructions?’ His voice was very English and upper class: an officer.

‘I’ll try.’ Julie made the effort to concentrate as he handed her the walkie-talkie, a small oblong object which was surprisingly light. The British officer spoke slowly and carefully, repeating everything twice. He spoke about frequencies, range, aerials, batteries, and procedures. Eventually he said, ‘Do you think you’ve got all that?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘It’s always best to explain it verbally, but it is all written down as well, on the plate on the side. Look, why don’t you give it a go? Turn it on now and then you can listen to me talking to the MGB and get the idea. Okay?’

‘Yes.’

The officer looked nervously round. ‘Must go now! Bye!’

Julie had a ridiculous urge to ask him to stay for a while, but he was gone, striding towards the boat which was already being pushed down into the water. Julie looked for her pilot, but couldn’t distinguish him among the group of people waiting round the boat. In case he could see her she raised her hand and waved goodbye before walking back up the beach.

When she reached the finger of rock she sat down and turned on the radio. There was a slight hissing and crackling. Then suddenly there was a voice which made her jump.

‘Safely launched and on the way.’

‘Roger.’ The acknowledgement was so clear it sounded as though it had come from a few feet away. Julie listened, waiting for more. But there was nothing, just the hiss of the receiver.

A figure came up beside her and said, ‘Come on! Time to go! Hurry!’

She got to her feet and reached for the button to switch the radio off.

Suddenly a voice crackled, ‘Have run my distance but no visual yet.’

‘Try further west.’

‘Roger.’

Julie waited, mesmerised.

‘Found a rock. Any ideas?’

There was a short silence. A new voice came on, stronger than the one before. ‘Go north, Jimmy, you forgot the tide. And look out for more rocks on the way.’

‘Roger.’

The man at Julie’s elbow hissed, ‘We
must
go. Come! Come!’

The radio had a strap. Julie hooked it over her shoulder and began to follow the man along the beach, back to the path. She left the radio on. It couldn’t do any harm while they were down on the beach blanketed by the sound of the rumbling surf.

They were almost at the path when the radio crackled again.

The strong voice said, ‘Got you, Jimmy. Turn east, fifty yards.’

‘Roger. Yes, visual now.’

There was a pause, then, ‘Where the hell are you going, Number One?’

‘Avoiding a rock, sir.’

The radio hissed, then, ‘Well, try and avoid the scenic route, will you?’

Reluctantly Julie turned the radio off and handed it to the man who was waiting to push her up the slide, the steep slope immediately above the beach. Another villager was waiting on the path above, ready to pull her up.

Halfway up the slope Julie almost slipped and slid back on to the beach again, but then she managed to find a foothold and push herself up until she could reach the hand of the man above. Once on the path the climb was much easier than the descent had been. It felt safer, going up, and her shoes seemed to grip the stony surface better.

As she climbed she felt ridiculously happy. The mixture of fear and elation made her want to laugh. Then she remembered the awful row on the beach and the risks they had all taken and realised it was relief that had made her lightheaded.

As they reached the clifftop, she remembered too that there was still a long way to go. She didn’t think about laughing again until they had crossed the heathland and reached the fields, and her uncle had emerged from the shadows and taken her arm and led her firmly back to the farmhouse: only then did she smile. She suddenly understood why men enjoyed danger so much. She’d never felt so alive in her life!

It took her until dawn to sleep. She heard the clank of the milking pails and the sound of Tante Marie leaving to fetch Peter from Madame Boulet’s before she finally began to doze off.

She kept remembering the scene on the beach and the dark silhouette of the boat against the surf. There was something warm and comforting in the memory, in the sight of the boat and the sound of the voices on the radio. The voices made her feel nostalgic, almost homesick. It had been a long time since she’d heard an English voice.