Cut for Life

by Lucinda E Clarke

  “It is more than horrific, Amie. Yes, I know your real name is Amie, I know everything about you. Don’t worry!” He laughed at the look on her face. “Your secret is safe with me. Now, they are afraid for their children to come back to France. It will be discovered, of course, so for the honour of the family – Pah – they leave them to be married to an old man in their African country.”

  “Wait,” Amie grabbed his elbow. “These parents are not expecting their children back?”

  Jean-Pierre stopped and nonchalantly leant against a blackthorn tree. The threat this very handsome Frenchman had posed seem to have melted away with his words; she could see how angry and impassioned he was about the subject. “For these parents,” he continued, “it is better to have this, this family honeur. Their daughters must be cut like an animal and then married to a disgusting old wealthy man back in their native land. Then the honeur of the family is preserved and they appear big and important. Prison is too good for them.”

  “Hang on a minute! How do you fit into all this?” she asked.

  He squatted down on his haunches. “I am like you. I work under the blanket for my government.”

  Amie’s lips twitched. “I think you mean undercover.”

  “Ah, oui, under the cover. So, I pretend to have the connections in Africa and they come to me with the girls. The organisation is enormous, so big we did not know. I am to pretend and see who the people are so we can eliminate them. All the plans were going well. I was to meet up with the aid workers and they would pretend ...”

  Amie gasped. “...You were expecting us?”

  “But of course. You were to come and help take out these people. What did you think?”

  “But I saw Kirsty, I saw ...”

  “Yes, it was not good. One of the aid workers, they are not a good person. They told the child takers, how you call them ...?”

  “... kidnappers.”

  “Oui, the kidnappers. One of you was on the other side and I knew it wasn’t you.”

  “Well, it can’t have been Kirsty. I saw her body.”

  “And I think they kill one other too. I not say this before the children.”

  18 ARRIVAL IN TAMARA

  “Which one? Who else did they kill?” Amie was horrified.

  Jean Pierre looked sad. “It was the miserable looking one with the smart jacket.”

  “Oh, no! Poor Nigel.” A wave of sadness washed over Amie. Dear Nigel! His only ambition had been to cook before he was packed off to Africa and an early death. “Fazia and Linda told me there were lots of other children in the village. What happened to them?”

  “They take them all away in the vans and they say they are going to take them to a place near Atari. We stop to give them food and water and then I have the good idea. I pretend that I have left something important back in the village.”

  “And just what could you have left behind?” Amie’s voice was as frosty as the look on her face.

  “You, ma cherie. I was going to go back to let you out of the hut, but I pretend that I left the papers in one of the huts, papers with the names of the children and the people who had taken them. So I go to look for you and maybe the children who had run away but when I go back, poof! You had all gone.”

  “And then?” Amie prompted.

  “Now I don’t know where you are, or the kidnappers and the children. I cannot find them in the city. Then I see you and I call to you, but I do not have the chance to talk to you.” He glanced down and Amie was tempted to chuckle.

  “Yeah, well I’m sorry about that but how was I to know?”

  She would trust this Frenchman. Her instincts had been wrong before and she’d been betrayed in the past, but like it or not she needed his help. The Land Rover didn’t have enough fuel to get to Apatu, and even if it did, she would not be able to move around freely. She lowered the gun and for an instant she thought Jean-Pierre was going to try and grab it, but he made no move.

  “You keep it.” He nodded at the little Glock, so snug and comforting in her hand. “I think you know how to use it, yes?”

  She nodded. “So, what’s your connection with Maddy?”

  “But, of course, I know about her. I tell you our governments are working together so they tell me all about you. You see, we are on the same side? We work together. So, we can become friends now, yes?”

  “Friends? I’m not so sure about that, but maybe not enemies. How can they have told you about me?” Amie raised the gun again.

  “En bien.” Jean-Pierre smiled nodding his head in such a French way Amie was tempted to think him attractive.

  “La Maddy, she send me a description of how you look, blond and very beautiful. I have the photograph.”

  Amie frowned at this unexpected colleague, was he telling the truth? “What else did she say?”

  Jean-Pierre rubbed his face, he was sweating as the heat was mounting. “It did not make all the sense. She said that she is disappointed you did not stay with the Animal Farm.”

  Amie laughed. Ok, now it made sense. “Let’s walk and talk,” she said, “I can’t leave the children too long.”

  “Of course, not far now.” He pulled himself away from the tree and Amie followed him across the blazing savannah.

  “She, Maddy also says to take the children to a home base. They would overtake them from there. And then you were to work with the person who knew who you were.”

  “Oh yes? And who might that be?” Amie enquired lengthening her steps to keep up with him.

  “Mais, c’est moi, ma petite belle. Tu le sait déjà, you know this already.”

  Visions of her French lessons flashed through Amie’s mind. For a brief moment she felt a pang as she flew back to the past, to Jonathon waiting outside her classroom door. She brushed away the thoughts; time for that later, she thought.

  Jean-Pierre had told the truth. When they reached his Nissan 4WD she saw three large jerricans of water and six containing fuel, plus several cardboard boxes of tins, packets and jars of food. He had come well prepared.

  Before hopping into the passenger seat, Amie replaced the Glock in her hip pocket feeling for the wallet which she considered returning to Jean-Pierre, but then decided against it.

  It took only minutes to cover the short distance back to the children and even from several metres away Amie could see there was a ruckus going on inside the vehicle. Heads were bobbing up and down, arms flying in all directions. At least it showed they were getting back to normal but she couldn’t help wondering what the future held for them. Life with some of their extended family? Or would they be taken into care and then fostered out? No good worrying about it now, there was nothing she could do but make sure they were returned to England in one piece, unblemished and undefiled.

  Jean-Pierre’s jerricans came with an integral spout so the Land Rover’s tank was filled without spilling a drop. Linda raised her eyebrows at Amie and she grinned back.

  Even though Amie was beginning to like the big Frenchman, she still didn’t trust him enough to allow any of the children to travel with him. Each little girl, in their own way, clung to her like a limpet; they, too, were wary of him. They were unsure why Amie was friendly with him now, after all, he had been in the village with the bad men there.

  Jean-Pierre set off after Amie and the children. She was very appealing, no doubt about that, and she had some good martial art skills. She might not be a very good spy but he would need to stay alert, she’d nearly got him twice.

  They stopped in a shady grove to have lunch, sitting like a normal family on a red, white and blue rug. Only a Frenchman, would think to include an extra like that, thought Amie looking up at the sky. She just wished she had a phone so she could contact Maddy and find out if anything Jean-Pierre had said was true.

  “Watcha’ thinking about?” Linda shuffled across the rug to sit next to her.

  “Just wishing I could talk to my friends. I’m missing my cell phone.”

  “You mean your mobile?” />
  “Yes, mobile phone. I’ve had two and lost them both.”

  “Maybe Mr Froggy’s got them. He’s the one who threw you in that hut.” Linda sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand.

  Hmm. Had Jean-Pierre destroyed her SIS phone? Someone had, she’d seen what was left of it, but who had removed the pay-as-you-go from the truck? They would now have a record of her calls. There was nothing she could do about that, but it was another reason not to trust this charismatic Frenchman completely. She would need to watch him carefully. The little Glock in her pocket was a comfort; she wouldn’t hesitate to use it if she had to.

  The sun had set again before they hit the tarred road leading to Apatu and at Jean-Pierre’s suggestion they travelled along it for a while before ducking back into the cover of the bush for the night. It was too late to go hunting for people to help them anyway, and they still hadn’t made a plan as to what they were going to do. After her last stay at the British Embassy in the Togodo capital, Amie had no wish to repeat the experience. Common sense told her that she couldn’t just leave the children at the gate and walk away; that would be a cruel and heartless thing to do. Would anyone there recognize her? Would the staff believe who she was? Would they allow her to contact London and would they confirm her story, or disown her? Should Jean-Pierre take the children in? Could she openly tell them which government department she worked for, or would they throw her out thinking she was mad? She would just have to think on her feet when the time came.

  Before they set out the following morning Amie had an idea. “I’ll take the children to an orphanage I know and leave you to approach the French or the British Embassies by yourself. Then you can make all the arrangements.” If he had the courage to visit the embassies then that would go some way to proving he was telling the truth.

  “You know this orphanage?” Jean-Pierre’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Yes I do. They are people I trust. Follow me there, then you can go to the British Embassy. Then come back and tell me what you’ve managed to find out and what else we need to do.”

  He nodded. “It is a good plan. I will follow you.”

  Once they got closer to the city, Amie’s nerves started playing up. She wished she didn’t have to be there, her memories were mixed and not pleasant but she couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.

  She kept well clear of the centre of town, shivering as she drove past the cemetery where she was supposed to be lying in peace beside her husband. As she approached Tamara, it was much as she remembered it, although the original buildings had been completely burned down during the civil war. She could tell her old friend Mrs Motswezi had been determined to re-build it to its former glory and had acquired tents from heaven knows where which were doubling up as classrooms and sleeping areas. But as Amie drove closer, she could see that some building work was in progress and it would be bigger and better than before. They had even partly constructed a new wire mesh fence around the perimeter.

  As she approached the gates, Amie took a deep breath. She still had a hazy recollection that Mrs Motswezi was one of the people who knew she’d not died when her house had been blown to bits, but she couldn’t be certain. She only hoped she wouldn’t give the elderly lady a heart attack.

  “Nearly there, girls.” Amie smiled at them in the rear-view mirror. “You’re going to love this place and it’s only for a night or so. Better than sleeping in the Land Rover.”

  As they approached the gates, the two little ones in the back knelt up.

  The old gatekeeper, Dodo, wasn’t there any more, possibly one of the casualties of the civil war, but a new man whom Amie didn’t know was leaning against the gatepost. She smiled at the enthusiastic gentleman guarding the gates so carefully when it would be easier to drive straight up to the buildings round the edge of the uncompleted fence.

  “I have come to see Mrs Motswezi. She is expecting me,” Amie said with as much confidence as she could muster. The gatekeeper frowned at the foreign number plates and the filthy condition of both driver and children, and hesitated. “Come on, hurry, open the gates, these poor children are hot, tired and hungry. The Nissan behind me won’t come in now but will be back later. OK?”

  He hesitated for a moment and then slowly opened both gates and waved her through. Amie stuck her arm out the window and waved to Jean-Pierre who flashed his lights and drove off towards the city.

  Once inside the compound Amie parked near one of the tents and looked around for the headmistress. She saw several children playing in a sand pit and another group splashing in a small paddling pool. They all looked up curiously as the Land Rover drove in. A couple of the older children started towards Amie, but there was no sign of any adults, until at last, the word spreading like wildfire, the familiar figure of Mrs Motswezi appeared, waddling towards her from the one completed concrete building.

  Mrs Motswezi hadn’t changed a bit, perhaps a few more wrinkles. She was wearing her usual polyester suit; the only woman Amie had ever known who preferred nylon clothing even in the fierce heat. The lime green material was stretched over her protruding tummy and even larger behind. Amie climbed out of the truck into an enormous bear hug. Her return was obviously not going to give the old lady a heart attack.

  “My Amie, my Amie,” she squealed in delight. “You have returned to us. I, Mrs Motswezi, I am so pleased to see you.”

  Linda jumped down from the back. “I thought you said your name was Felicity.” Her sharp voice cut into the reunion.

  “Just a pet name Mrs Motswezi has for me.” Amie improvised, giving her old friend a little wink.

  Mrs Motswezi turned to Linda and the other three children as they piled out of the Land Rover. She looked puzzled for a moment and then said, “Yes, yes, a pet name I have for her, it means ‘loved one’ and I do love her so very much. And who do we have here? No, wait, come with me into the office out of the sun and then we will talk and make friends.” She set off briskly, squeezing Amie’s hand. The children followed behind like a row of ducklings.

  “We get away from the eyes which see, eh? And this child, she has been injured?” Mrs Motswezi’s sharp eyes missed nothing. She lifted up the edge of the makeshift bandage on Fazia’s arm and tutted. “I send for muti and clean strips.”

  “I patched her up from Jean-Pierre’s first aid box but the dressings do need changing.”

  “It’s from a lion paw! It attacked the car and Amie was so brave and saved us!” Linda couldn’t resist it.

  “We will make it better.” The elderly headmistress smiled as she hurried ahead of them.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” Amie whispered as she caught up.

  “That you lived? Yes, of course. I saw you in the hospital, remember?”

  It wasn’t a dream, her dear friend had fooled even the staff of the British Embassy who were convinced they were the only people who knew Amie had survived.

  “And Ouma Adede?”

  “She knows too, of course, she would always know.”

  Mrs Motswezi smiled her wonderful African smile and Amie was so pleased to see her she felt the tears well up in her eyes.

  “She is the most important of all our sangomas (witchdoctors), she knows much that we cannot know.” Mrs Motswezi was still chattering as she ushered them all inside the building.

  “Mrs Motswezi, I have been travelling with a French friend, Jean-Pierre. I’ll explain later, but he’ll be coming here soon.”

  Mrs Motswezi gave Amie a playful nudge and smiled. “This is not a problem. I look forward to seeing this handsome man.”

  “But I never said ...” Amie began then smiled, it almost sounded as if Mrs Motswezi had been expecting him!

  Mrs Motswezi found a chair for Amie once they were out of the sun although the breeze block building with its corrugated tin roof felt like an oven. The headmistress sent her assistant off to fetch the first aid box, cool drinks for the children and tea for Amie and herself.

  “Now you must tell me your names.�
�� The headmistress turned to the new arrivals.

  “I’m Felicity, of course.” Amie jumped in quickly so Mrs Motswezi would know her new name.

  “I know you are Felicity of course, but I do not know who the children are.”

  It was Linda who answered for them all. Winnie came over to clutch at Amie who put her arm round the tiny body, while the others crowded close to her.

  “I’m Linda and that is Fazia, and them’s Winnie and Maisie.”

  “You are English?” Mrs Motswezi’s eyes opened wide.

  “Yeah, ‘course we are.”

  “Don’t be so rude Linda.” Fazia admonished her. “Yes, Ma’am. We are all English.”

  “Are you here on holiday?” asked the headmistress.

  “No, we were ...” Linda paused. She looked at Amie uncertain as to what she should say

  Amie filled the gap. “Well ... no. Not exactly a holiday. These poor little ones were abducted, kidnapped really, with their parents’ permission it seems, to undergo ... uh, female circumcision. It’s illegal in Britain, but it still goes on and ...”

  “...The police came to the party and took everyone away in a van and the fuzz were so angry,” Linda interrupted.

  “What is this party?” Mrs Motswezi looked puzzled.

  It took a good half hour to recount the full story and the headmistress and her assistant, who was now seeing to Fazia’s shoulder, were just as horrified as Amie had been. “My poor little ones,” she kept repeating. “You are safe now, you are safe.” Then she looked up. “And the other man?”

  “Yes, another long story,” said Amie. “I’ll tell you about that later.”

  As if Jean-Pierre had heard a summons, he poked his head around the door.

  “Excusez-moi, Madame. I am back from the city now. The places, they were closed, so we will go tomorrow, no? And I go now to watch the cars. There are plenty small boys interested in them.” He smiled, bowed a little Gallic bow and exited.

  Amie grinned at Mrs Motswezi whose eyebrows had hit the ceiling. “Jean-Pierre and I must take the children to the British Embassy so they can arrange their flights home.”