Swim Until You Can't See Land (27 page)

I drop the sheet of paper into the toilet, watch as it sinks under, my lip mark like a bloodstain.

I’m fidgety, can’t relax, sit still. I wander into the hallway, pace up and down, up and down, up and down.

All this free time and I don’t know what to do with it.

I jump at a noise outside. Someone’s walking up the garden path, I see the shape of them through the frosted glass.

Closer and bigger.

Closer and bigger.

Closer and bigger.

I drop to the floor as the doorbell rings. Lie still. Don’t move.

I’m trembling and my heart thumps against the carpet.

Who is it?

Who’s there?

I lift my head slightly, so I can see the front door. They’re still out there.

Shit, what if they look through the letterbox? They’ll see me lying on the floor. I need to move.

I crawl forward along the carpet, my t-shirt rides up, catches on my belly button ring. The doorbell goes again. The shape in the glass hovers from side to side.

I move forward, reach up and push the nearest door open, then drag myself into her bedroom, the carpet burning my bare stomach. The door falls shut behind me and I sit with my back against it, hug my knees to my chest, try to stop the shaking. My stomach’s red and I rub at it, pull my t-shirt back into place. 

The letterbox rattles and something’s pushed through. I think I hear footsteps disappearing down the path but don’t want to risk moving. I sit there for a few minutes, let my breathing, my heart rate, go back to normal. Press two fingers against my neck, count my pulse. Feel it weaken and slow.

(resting pulse)

8 x 100m at pulse 180, 10 seconds rest

Eventually I stand, peer out into the hallway. There’s a card lying on the mat at the front door.

WE CALLED TODAY AT 4.35PM

TO READ YOUR GAS AND ELECTRICITY METER.

UNFORTUNATELY NOBODY WAS IN. IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO SEND US YOUR METER READINGS BEFORE YOUR NEXT BILL, YOU CAN DO SO USING THE CONTACT DETAILS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THIS CARD. THANK YOU.

I dump the card with the rest of her mail, peer out through the spy hole. Nothing.

There’s nobody there.

I head back into her bedroom, slump down onto the bed. Shit, what’s wrong with me?

I play the last few minutes back in my head, start to laugh, can’t stop myself. The doorbell, me throwing myself to the floor, crawling about on her carpet. Fuck sake, I’m such an idiot. My tummy aches from laughing but I can’t stop. I lie back on her bed, tears stinging my eyes. I’ve lost the plot completely.

This is it. What they warned me might happen.

(meltdown)

Her photos look down on me from the shelf above the bed. I reach up, take down the one of the two women. I hold it up above my head, move it towards me so it goes out of focus then away from me so I can hardly see it.

Towards me.

Away from me.

Towards me.

Away from me.

Towards. Away. Towards. Away. Towards. Away. Towards. Away.

The more I look at it, the more I’m sure that the brown-haired girl in uniform is Marièle. There’s something about her, around the eyes and the mouth. A similarity to that old woman in the hospital bed.

At first glance, the blonde girl takes all the attention. Her smile, dimpled cheeks. It’s only when you look at it for a long time that you realise how beautiful the other girl, how beautiful Marièle is.

How old is she here? My age? She looks so glamorous, so sophisticated. 

You should go in the boys’ changing rooms with shoulders like that. Are you a swimmer or a weightlifter?

Who’s the other girl in the photo? They’re too different to be related.

A friend?

Her best friend?

I sit up and put the photo back. It’s only as I’m setting it down that I realise how gently I’ve been holding it. Tender. Like it might shatter in my hands if I squeezed too tight.

I push myself up off the bed, stumble over the pile of books lying on the floor, they topple over, spilling across the carpet.

I tidy them back into place. A slip of paper falls out of one.

Dear Marièle,

Thank you for all your help with my research. Please accept this copy as a  small token of my
gratitude. I hope you enjoy it.

Yours, James

Women Agents of
WW
2 by Jam
es L Phillips.

I slip the note back inside, turn the book over and read the blurb on the back.

During World War Two, many women were selected and trained by the Special Operations Executive to work as secret agents behind enemy lines. These women were courageous and faced constant danger while working undercover. James L Phillips recounts the stories of some of these women soe agents, a number of whom made the ultimate sacrifice while working for the service of their country and the allied forces.

I open the book, scan down the chapter headings.

Fuck, there she is.

Chapter Fifteen: Marièle Downie, aka Sabine Valois, aka Blackbird
.

18

SABINE WAS GLAD
to be outside. It was dark, she couldn’t see the others, could just hear them whispering to each other. She could smell the ploughed earth, the blossom on the hedges which lined the edge of the field.

She sat on her coat, the dew damp underneath her. In the distance she could hear the thunder of an allied air raid. It was strange to think that the people she risked her life for, the people she sat in a field in the middle of the night waiting for, were bombing France.

Madame Poirier set down a carafe of red wine in the centre of the table. It was after curfew now, the shutters were closed and they sat by candlelight.

‘Out you go, Pacha,’ Madame Poirier said and opened the front door briefly to let the cat out.

Sabine saw Madame hesitate before she closed the door again, her eyes dart across the courtyard outside. If they were caught together like this, they would all be arrested without question.

The Germans have outlawed all public assemblies. A gathering of three or more people is forbidden.

The candle flame flickered as Madame shut the door and locked it. When had she last sat out on the stone patio at the front of her house? A glass of wine, a book, Pacha sunning himself at her feet. Not since the invasion probably.

Maybe in peacetime she’d be able to do it again. Sit outside her own house without fear of footsteps.

A few of the
résistants
had met at Alex’s hut earlier, listened out for the final signal.

Rachel Tremblay, the bicycle is unlocked
.

They ate bread and cheese, had a glass of sherry as they waited for it to get dark.

‘Where is Sebastian?’ Alex took Sabine aside, ‘he’s meant to be here.’

‘Maybe he’s with the others, or meeting us at the rendezvous point instead?’

‘He knows better than to change plans at the last minute.’

‘Isn’t Natalie supposed to be with him? Do you think they’re okay?’

‘They better be, it’s too late to call it off now. Right, everyone, on your feet,
La Marseillaise
, then we leave.’

‘You do realise we’ll probably all be heard and arrested before we even leave this hut,’ said Sabine.

‘Sing, you are a blackbird after all.’

‘Sabine, did you send the sked to London?’ asked Alex
.

‘Oui, mais
I had to cut off before the end. They should have got enough to understand though.’

‘
Problème
?’

‘Almost, I was in the cellar of that old farmhouse, you know the one that stinks of cheese…’

‘We don’t care about the smell, were you found out?’ interrupted Alex.

‘I asked Monsieur Simon to give me a signal if anyone came snooping. I was almost finished the sked when I heard him whistling our warning tune. He said he’d seen one of those detection vans drive past. I wasn’t on long enough for them to pick me up properly but I can’t use that cellar again. My wireless is still there though, I left it behind in case I was stopped.’

Sabine was surprised at the confidence in her voice as she told them what had happened. So matter of fact.

She felt a rush knowing that it was over, she had survived and had a tale to keep the men interested.

Sabine was happy to leave the confines of the hut. Away from the sweat and the nerves, the smells of men who lived on a diet based mainly of swede and rutabaga.

Cattle feed, before the war broke out.

Sabine had to admit that Alex was good. He led them to the field without stopping to switch on a torch or check the compass. Sabine still relied on Michelin maps.

Some of the men had argued for Alex to stay at home.

You are a wanted man, if we are found with you we’re all dead men.

It’s not safe for you to come, you must stay in hiding. You’re jeopardising everything
.

Sabine had stuck up for him, even though he’d ignored her pleas to leave France.

‘It doesn’t matter whether Alex is seen or not. If any of us are caught after curfew then we’re dead men. And women, I might add. He’s our leader, we need him there.’

She’d noticed the look of surprise on his face. She meant it though. They were better with him than without him. She trusted her gut reaction and it told her that Alex must lead the drop.

Sand Dune 9

Drop scheduled for 22.03.44 at O1.30

43.675818 2.252197

Number of containers:11

Sabine jumped to her feet at the rustle of bushes, the footsteps as someone approached.

Conversation stopped.

She reached for her pistol, ready to shoot, or run, or both. Whatever was required. She didn’t fancy trying to escape in the dark, if they all scattered now it would be a shambles.

She heard Alex whistle, the signal they all knew.

Nothing.

He whistled again.

Nothing.

Someone still approached them, she lifted the revolver, held it out in front of her. Alex leant in towards Sabine, whispered.

‘One more chance then I shoot and we make a break for it.’

Sabine nodded then whispered ‘
Oui
’ in reply, forgetting that he couldn’t see her in the dark.

He whistled.

Sabine lowered her revolver. Someone had whistled back, given the coded reply.

She felt her legs give way beneath her, warm and aching. 

‘Sorry,
c’est moi
, Sebastian.’

‘I almost shot you! One more second and I would have.’

‘
Je suis désolé
, put the gun down. It’s more likely to go off in your face than hit the target.’

‘Where have you been? You’re late. Where’s Natalie?’

‘Calm down, she’s not coming.’

‘What’s going on, Sebastian?’

‘I went to get her, we had an argument, that’s all.’

‘A lover’s tiff,’ Sabine heard one of the men whisper.

‘It’s not a laughing matter,’ said Alex. ‘Are we in danger? Sebastian, I’m talking to you,
sommes-nous en danger
?’

‘
Non, non
, of course not.’

‘
Amour de jeunesse
,’ someone said.

‘Not satisfying her needs, are we Sebastian? Tell her to come and see me, she needs a man,
pas un petit garçon
.’

‘
Fermes-la
,’ Sebastian replied.

‘Enough,’ hissed Alex. ‘Do you want to draw attention to us? It’s nearly time and we’re one man down. Positions. Now!’