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Authors: Catriona Child

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BOOK: Swim Until You Can't See Land

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Brrrr Brrrr

Whoever it is, they’re insistent. My hand leaves the mail, hovers over the receiver. If it’s the hospital I should answer.

But if it’s not…

Then I hang up and get the hell out of here.

Brrrr Brrrr

(if it is the hospital, it won’t be good news)

I’ll give it four more rings. Four more then I answer.

Brrrr Brrrr

Brrrr Br…

‘Hello?’

There’s silence on the other end.

‘Hello?’

The line clicks and an automated message starts, the woman’s voice slow and robotic.

‘Hello, how many times have you…’

I slam the receiver down, angry and relived all at the same time. Making me get up, interrupting my reading,

(scaring me like that)

Thank fuck it wasn’t the hospital.

I take the book into the living room, it’s chilly in here. I grab a fleecy blanket tucked into one of the armchairs, lie on the sofa with it draped over me.

Where was I?

‘Those first few days were awful though, I was so saddle sore. Everything ached, when I got off the bicycle at the end of the day, oh it was bliss.’

Marièle hadn’t been in France long before disaster struck the Sand Dune circuit, following a routine arms drop.

One of her fellow résistants, Sebastian Tholozan, arrived late. It transpired that he’d had an argument with Natalie Charron, a local waitress who was involved with the circuit.

‘Sebastian wouldn’t tell us what the fight was about. We knew they were having a relationship, and we hoped it was just a lover’s tiff. Alex and I were concerned, but it was too late to cancel the drop.’

Unfortunately, unknown to Marièle and the rest of the network, Natalie had become involved with a German officer and had let slip about the drop.

Shit, what happened?

To Marièle?

She must have got away. I’m in her house now, I know she survived. I’m glad I know she survived. It makes it easier to keep reading.

‘I don’t hold any animosity for her. She was young and she fell in love. She thought he would marry her once the war was over. And she was punished, they called it a
collaboration horizontale
. They shaved her head, made her parade through the village. Not the Germans, you know? The French did that…’

There’s a click, then light floods the corner where I’m sitting.

The standard lamp behind the sofa has switched itself on.

Switched itself on.

I grip the book, can feel my heart banging inside me

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump thumpthumpthump.

I lean over the back of the sofa, see the timer switch, hear it click, click, click, click as the dial works its way round.

It’s just a timer, just a timer, just a timer.

(not a ghost)

I mark my place with the compliment slip. I can’t concentrate now. I’m too on edge. Besides, something bad’s about to happen to her, the book is working up to it, I can tell. If I read on I make it happen and I don’t want to make something bad happen to her.

Not after all she’s been through.

I push the blanket and the book to one side. I’ll get a drink, something to eat. Come back to it after that.

My mobile’s lying on the kitchen table. I bring up the internet, put Marièle’s name into Google. Maybe she’s really famous?

As I’m waiting for the page to load, my phone buzzes with a text.

I’m sorry about what happened I need 2 CU

‘Fuck sake, not again. Will you leave me alone,’ I switch my phone off, dump it back down on the table.

‘Did you know all that stuff about Marièle?’ I say to the fish.

He sits on the bottom of his bowl, tail swaying from side to side. I automatically open the fridge then remember there’s no milk, make myself a black coffee, help myself to a couple of Digestives from her biscuit tin.

‘Not the most nutritious meal, I know, but we don’t all have flakes to keep us going.’

I switch the
TV
on when I go back through, turn the volume down low. It’s getting dark outside and it feels a bit weird being in her house this late. The background noise makes me feel better, covers the unfamiliar creaks and strains from the walls and furniture.

The book lies next to me as I drink my coffee, dunk the Digestive biscuits. It feels wrong to read and eat at the same time. Disrespectful. I want to give her my full attention, not drop bits of soggy biscuit onto those crisp pages and treat her story like some cheap entertainment.

Her life.

I watch the images flicker across the TV screen, not really taking them in. The book lies in my lap.

I finish my coffee, toy with the idea of making another. I can’t bring myself to start reading again. It’s more than just making bad stuff happen to her, I feel like I’m spying on her, snooping. Which is stupid, considering I’ve already broken into her house. Anyway it’s a book, a real book. I could get it in the library if I wanted to. It’s not like I’m reading her diary.

But she’s lying in the hospital and I’m skimming through her life like it’s a gossip magazine. Something’s not right about that.

I’m curious though, and the curiosity trumps the guilt.

I lie back, pull the blanket over my legs again. Open the book where I left off.

‘I don’t hold any animosity for her, she was young and she fell in love. She thought he would marry her once the war was over. And she was punished, they called it a
collaboration horizontale
. They shaved her head, made her parade through the village. Not the Germans, you know? The French did that to her.’

Je m’appelle Sabine Valois.

She kept muddling up her cover story, getting it mixed up with other thoughts. Thoughts which pushed their way to the front, forced her alias into the background.

Je m’appelle Sabine Valois
.

Where were they taking her?

Je suis Sabi
Would they hurt her?

J’ai vingt-et-un ans
.

Je suisThey’d caught her, they’d caught her, they’d caught her.

J’ai été malade
.

What did they tell her in training about getting caught? Concentrate, Sabine, concentrate, get your story straight.

Je suis Sabine Val
This is happening, this is really happening. Oh God, what would they do with her?

The part of her training she didn’t want to put into action.

Wake up, wach auf, wach auf.

What had they told her? How was she to behave? What if she’d missed one vital piece of information, the piece of information that might keep her alive?

Don’t let your guard down, they won’t always resort to violence. Sometimes they will be gentle and persuasive.

Je m’appelle Sabine Valois
Je m’appelle Sabine Valois
Je m’appelle Sabine Valois
Je m’appelle Sabine Valois
Je m’appelle Sabine Valois
Je m’appelle Sabine Valois
Je m’appelle Sabine Valois

She just had to stick to her story. It would keep her safe. They’d planned it out for her, gone into great detail, made it watertight.

She had to trust it. Trust those who had created it for her.

It was designed to keep her alive.

Wasn’t it? Or was it just designed to keep their secrets safe? Maybe her death was a regrettable consequence of war. To win there had to be casualties along the way.

George.

No, if she thought like that she had no chance of surviving this.

It was all very easy telling her not to speak, to stick to the story, but they weren’t here now, handcuffed in the back of a Gestapo car. Where were they taking her anyway? Paris?

Je m’appelle Sabine Valois
.

J’ai vingt-et-un ans
.

J’ai été malade
.

Try to stay strong, at least for the first twenty-four hours. This will give the other members of your network time to escape.

D’accord
.

She would try and hold on for at least twenty-four hours.

Twenty-four hours.

She wouldn’t allow herself to think any further ahead than that.

Just survive for one day, then we’ll take a rain check. See where we are. How Sabine is holding up. Maybe Marièle will make an appearance after that.

MarieNoNoNoNoNo

Don’t even think of that name.

Je m’appelle Sabine Valois
.

Sabine Valois.

Sabine Sabine Sabine Sabine Sabine Sabine Sabine Sabine Sabine Sabine Sabine Sabine Sabine Sabine Sabine Sabine Sabine Sabine Sabine Sabine Sabine

... .- -... .. -. .

Try to stay strong, at least for the first twenty-four hours. This will give the other members of your network time to escape
.

What others? Who was left? Alive or dead.

Maybe the game was already up?

Had someone betrayed her? She had lived alongside them, thought they were her friends, but could she really trust a friendship based on lies?

No matter how tempted you may be, no matter how close you get, don’t give anything away about your real life.

All that time she’d spent with Alex, Sebastian, Madame. They didn’t even know her real name.

She was good, she hadn’t let them in. She stuck to the rules. Even with Madame, she never let her guard down.

Madame.

Oh God, her face. Her face as she came out, as they shot her, as she lay there on the floor. Oh God, when Sabine closed her eyes she saw Madame’s face.

And Sabine could have saved her. If she’d said run, told her to run. So what if it was a false alarm – at least she’d be alive. Instead of that face. That face on the floor.

And Alex. Alex lying…

Oh God, she couldn’t think of them, if she did, she’d crack. She had to force the images away.

Je m’appelle Sabine Valois
.
Je m’appelle Sabine Valois
.
Je m’appelle Sabine Valois
.
Je m’appelle Sabine Valois
.
Je m’appelle Sabine Valois
.
Je m’appelle Sabine Valois
.
Je m’appelle Sabine Valois
.

.. / .- -- / ... .- -... .. -. . / ...- .- .-.. --- .. ...

It was no use though. They flickered in and out, stamping themselves on her thoughts, blocking out everything else.

Madame.

Alex.

Madame.

Alex.

Madame. Alex. Madame. Alex. Madame. Alex. Madame. alexmadamealexmadamealexmadamealexmadamealexmadam

God, they were so vivid, like a scene from the pictures, she couldn’t make them go away.

Madamemadamemadamemadamemadamemadamemadamemadame

She could have saved her.

Sabine’s head rocked to one side, her forehead hit the car window. She slumped forward. The soldier, the one sitting next to her, he’d hit her, slapped her across the face.

She hadn’t seen it coming, unaware until it had happened. She was at their mercy, but she relished the pain, the throbbing. It took her mind off Madame and Alex, brought her back to the present, the now.

‘Try to control yourself,’ the soldier said.

Tears prickled behind her eyes, she could feel her throat swell. She didn’t want him to see her cry. She hung her head, looked down at her feet. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She could feel a pulse beating in her eyelid, twitching her eyelashes, sticky with dried blood. The pain spread out and she became aware of everywhere she ached. Her shoulders, arms, wrists, back. She stretched out her fingers, tried to circle her hands, loosen them off inside the handcuffs.

She breathed in and out through her nose.

In. Out. In. Out.

Calm, calm, calm.

Je m’appelle Sabine Valois
.

Paris.

She hadn’t been there since she was a little girl.