Swim Until You Can't See Land (25 page)

PM  FC  DO  OA  PF  MU  BJ  BD  JU  PM  FD  BT  AR  UA  FG

She wiped under her armpits, her back, the first proper wash she’d had in days. Then she sprayed herself with perfume, ran a comb through her hair.

‘D’accord,
Sabine Valois, you will have to do.
’

She stood in front of the bedroom door, breathed in then counted.

‘Un, deux, trois.’

Once she opened the door, that was her. She needed a few seconds to compose herself before she was thrown in at the deep end.

‘Quatre, cinq, six, sept.’

The voices whispered now, they must have heard her moving around, realised she was awake.

‘Huit, neuf, dix.’

She pushed open the door.

‘
Mademoiselle
, stop,
arrêtez-vous
.’

Sabine gripped the handlebars of her bicycle.

Stop or keep going?

The shout had come from behind her, she didn’t recognise the voice.

Je m’appelle Sabine Valois
.

   
DB  JT  CL  FG  IY  CA  VG  XA

Please don’t be German, please don’t be German, please don’t be German.

It was an older man. He stood in front of his house and waved her over. He was dressed in a waistcoat and trousers and smoked a pipe. Sabine caught the aroma of pipe tobacco as it wafted from where he stood. The smell was comforting, reminded her of father, of being home, safe. Her warning voice told her not to make such a rash assumption. She shouldn’t risk her life on something so silly as a smell.

Keep your wits about you and learn to trust your gut. Usually the first hunch you have about a situation will be the right one. If something, no matter how trivial, feels wrong then it probably means that you’re in danger
.

Sabine wheeled her bike towards the old man, leant it against a tree.

‘
Bonjour monsieur, comment allez-vous
?’

‘
Je vais bien
.’

‘
Pas mal
.’

The old man disappeared inside his house then reappeared with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

‘I’ve seen you go past my house three times today,
mademoiselle
. You look thirsty, please have a drink with me.’

‘
Merci
, but I really should be…’

‘I won’t take no for an answer. You won’t find wine like this in all of France. If those Germans knew I had this… Come, sit down.’

Don’t accept food or drink from strangers, especially if you haven’t seen it being prepared.

Sabine looked at the man. He smiled at her, his face shook slightly. She shouldn’t let her guard down, even for an old man trying to be kind. She hated having to be so suspicious of everyone. They’d trained her to always be on her guard, not to trust, to think the worst. It was a sad way to live, but the only way to stay safe.

She nodded, sat down next to the man. If Alex could see her now. Wasting valuable time, having a break, drinking wine.

God, it was strong. She felt it blossom through her, tighten round her head like a vice.

‘
C’est très bon
.’

‘I told you, didn’t I? I used to have a vineyard nearby,’ he gestured behind his house, ‘but it was destroyed during the invasion.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Those allies were supposed to be helping us,’ he shook his head. ‘Instead they trampled my land then ran away back to England.’

Sabine opened her mouth to argue, felt the anger rise. George was one of those allies, he died over here. And they would be back, they weren’t cowards. Maybe it was even George who had trampled through his vineyard, hungry and trying to get home.

But she was Sabine. Not Marièle. She did not have a brother called George.

   
DB  JT  CL  FG  IY  CA  VG  XA

She’d seen a new poster in the village that day, it showed an
RAF
bombing raid.

AND THESE ARE YOUR ALLIES?

It angered her to think that people actually believed the propaganda. But she took a sip of wine, counted to ten.

Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix.

She shook her head, pitied the old man for his loss, drank the wine while he moaned.

‘To be honest, sometimes I don’t think the Germans are all bad. Don’t look at me like that. Obviously I’d rather they weren’t here, but we have food, don’t we, a roof over our heads?’

‘Not everyone does,’ she answered. She found it harder and harder not to argue with him. Not to scream at him for being such a fool.

‘We have suffered more than anyone, in this war and the last one.’ Sabine nodded, swirled wine around her mouth rather than answer him. ‘What’s a girl like you doing cycling so much anyway?’

Je m’appelle Sabine Valois.

‘I’ve not been well, rheumatic fever. The doctor prescribed fresh air and exercise. I’ve been staying with my aunt, helping her out.’

The man nodded, stroked his whiskered chin as he sucked on the pipe. Sabine inhaled the smell, held it inside her, could feel Father with her. She downed the remains of her wine, held the glass up to the old man.

‘Well, I must be on my way, monsieur.
Merci pour le vin
.’

‘Nonsense, nonsense. We are on Berlin time you know.’

He refilled her glass. The red wine chugged from the bottle. Her lips were dry and she licked them. She began to feel light-headed. If she drank anymore, she might start to argue. Give herself away.

Losing your inhibitions can result in you giving important information away or letting your guard down
.

‘Those Germans, if they knew about this wine…’ the old man laughed and shook his head. ‘You know they think they can ban me from drinking this.
Les jours sans
, they say. They can’t make me do anything.’

Sabine nodded, slugged the rest of the wine from her glass. She had to get away from here, from the old man and his contradictions. She risked her life to save old fools like him.

She set down her glass, put a hand over the top of it.

‘
Non, monsieur
, I must be going.’

She swayed back to her bike, giddy and off balance. Her bike swerved from side to side as she tried to manoeuvre it back onto the road.

‘
Au revoir, mademoiselle
, come back again. My wine has made you feel better,
oui
?’

‘
Oui, merci monsieur
.’

Sabine turned to wave at the man, lost control of her bike and crashed into a bush at the side of the road.

The kitchen and dining area lay just off Sabine’s bedroom. Madame Poirier and Alex sat at an oak dining table which ran the length of the room.

‘Good morning,
Mademoiselle
,’ said Madame Poirier, standing up from the table.

‘What’s left of it,’ said Alex.

‘
Je suis désolée
, you should have woken me, I didn’t mean…’

‘Don’t listen to him my dear, now,
assieds-toi
, sit, let me fix you some breakfast.’

Sabine sat opposite Alex. He rocked in his seat, smoked a cigarette. The top few buttons of his shirt were open and Sabine could see the wiry, dark hair from his chest. He stared at her, flicked the ash from his cigarette onto his greasy breakfast plate, pulled a fleck of tobacco from his tongue. Madame Poirier tutted, put an ashtray down in front of him.

Alex was better looking in the flesh than he was on the wanted posters, but he still didn’t get her hot under the collar.

PM  FC  DO  OA  PF  MU  BJ  BD  JU  PM  FD  BT  AR  UA  FG

Madame Poirier thought they were crazy about each other, that all the fighting and arguing was really just a
façade
for the mad, passionate love affair.

The wanted posters had gone up that day in the village. Sabine hadn’t stopped long to look, didn’t want to draw attention to herself. It wasn’t the greatest likeness but there was no denying it was Alex.

They had accentuated some of his features, made him look menacing and fierce, as if he’d come and kill your children in the night. Trying to scare the villagers into giving him up.

REWARD 1,000 FRANCS

Sabine didn’t think he would do anything as evil as the poster suggested, but there was a side to him that scared her. A side that was unstable and dangerous.

It was worse now that he’d become an outlaw.

Madame Poirier said that being inside all day drove him crazy.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he snapped and went on a rampage. You must go and see him, you are very calming,
mademoiselle
. Go and sort him out.

His current hideout was a woodsman’s hut outside the village. Sabine cycled there before curfew. He’d left a cracked flowerpot lying outside to signify that it was safe to come in. At least he still followed safety procedures, that had to count for something.

Her hope was dashed when she entered the hut and found him opening a crate of  guns and ammunition.

‘Alex, what are you doing?’

‘What do you mean, what am I doing? You heard about Monsieur Allard, didn’t you?’

‘
Non
, what happened? Tell me.’

Sabine knew exactly what had happened, but she hoped to buy some time. Calm Alex down.

‘What sort of useless agent are you, Sabine? Why did they send you? You have no idea what’s going on here.’

‘I’ve been running around the French countryside doing errands and sending skeds for you all day. Excuse me if I don’t keep up with the local news.’

He ignored her, emptied another Sten from the straw lined crate. Sabine put a hand on the gun.

‘Tell me what’s so important that you’re happy to risk all our lives for it.’

He pulled the gun away from her, threw it down onto the mattress in the corner of the room.

‘Those
salauds
murdered Monsieur Allard today. Burnt his house and hung him up from a tree.’

He slammed his hand against the wall of the hut and Sabine flinched. Was he going to take that temper out on her? Would hitting her help to calm him down?

She had seen the smoke rising from the outskirts of the village, smelt the fire. Heard the murmur among the villagers, then the eerie silence that followed. The stillness as their confusion turned to realisation.

That could happen to us.

People went home, hid themselves inside, locked their front doors.

‘The railway line?’ Sabine asked.

‘Of course, the railway line, what else?’

It was their fault.

Sand Dune.

Alex, Sebastian and three other
résistants
had blown up part of the line three nights ago. Sabine and Madame Poirier sat up waiting for them to come home. Toasted their success.

Now an innocent man was dead.

A man who Sabine had drank wine with, a man who actually toasted the health of the German soldiers for leaving him alone.

‘What are you planning to do?’

‘Kill the
salauds
who did that to an old man.’

‘And what good will that do? Get yourself killed, take a few with you maybe? They will seek more and more retribution. Sand Dune will collapse. All the good work we’ve done will be for nothing.’

‘I don’t care, I can’t sit here hiding like a coward.’

‘If you do this, you might as well have hung that man yourself. Stop being so selfish. You need to leave France. I can send a sked, get you to London.’

Alex spun on her, lifted a hand. Sabine closed her eyes, braced herself. Instead he grabbed her by the shoulders, shook her.

‘How dare you speak to me like that? I’m not going to run away.’

‘Don’t be a fool. This is what being brave is, Alex. Making hard decisions.’

His grip weakened and there were tears in his eyes. Spittle clung to his bottom lip and his voice clicked as he spoke.

‘Get out, get out,’ he pushed her towards the door of the hut, slammed it behind her. She looked in the window, saw him sink onto the stained mattress.

The room was warm from the stove, drops of sweat ran down Sabine’s forehead and she wiped them away with her sleeve.

Madame Poirier put a plate down in front of Sabine. A fried egg, a sausage and a slice of bread. Then she took the metal coffee pot from the stove, filled a bowl and put it down next to Sabine’s plate of food.

‘
Merci, Madame
.’

‘You need a proper meal after being at sea.’