Night Sky

by Clare Francis

  The thought of home was wonderful. More than anything she wanted to return to the safety of the small grey house. Yet the problem of having a British passport remained. Peter would still be at risk. For his sake perhaps it was wrong to give up so easily. Perhaps she should make another attempt to get away. To Brest: that was where the ships were. Perhaps there’d be a place on one of them …

  It was so difficult to decide. In her heart she wanted to stay, yet her main responsibility was to Peter.

  She would think about what to do on the way to Morlaix, she suddenly decided. Morlaix was the way home and the way to Brest. Yes, she would make up her mind there.

  One thing was soon clear: if they wanted to get into the town they would have to walk. While they had been eating only one car had come out of the village and, though Julie had stood up and waved, it hadn’t stopped. There was a bus stop, but the next bus wasn’t due for another two hours. If it came at all.

  As soon as they finished eating Julie stood up. It was six in the evening; they must get to town before dark. The bags were a problem: she hadn’t packed very much, but there was still too much to carry. She took the essential clothes and crammed them into one suitcase, leaving the other by the roadside. She wrapped the remaining food in some paper and put it in her raincoat pocket. Now she had one case, her handbag – and Peter.

  She wondered how far a four-year-old could walk before he got tired. One thing was sure: it wouldn’t be as far as Morlaix.

  He was very good to begin with, marching well, his little arms swinging back and forth. Then, after twenty minutes, he began to flag. Their pace slowed. After another fifteen minutes Peter said, ‘Mummy, please can we stop? I’m so tired.’

  Julie smiled down at him. ‘Of course, darling. We’ll stop for a minute.’ They sat at the roadside. When they started off again, Julie tried to make a game of it, pretending they were soldiers marching off to save Morlaix from ferocious bandits. It worked for a while, then Peter flagged again.

  For a while Julie half carried, half pulled him along. Later she put him on her shoulders, though the extra weight made her arms and back shoot with pain, and she often had to stop and catch her breath. Her feet were agony and she cursed herself for wearing unsuitable shoes. But then hiking hadn’t been part of the plan.

  In the end it took three hours to do the twelve kilometres. The bus never came; Julie’d had a feeling it wouldn’t.

  When finally they arrived in Morlaix it was strangely quiet, the streets empty of people, the shops and restaurants shut and boarded. Only a few bars were open, their customers peering furtively out as if they were expecting the Germans at any second. Perhaps they are, thought Julie. She didn’t honestly care. She sat on a bench near the port, her head back and her legs outstretched, and Peter cuddled against her side. She decided that whatever happened they would go no further tonight.

  She thought of going to her employer’s house. He lived on the edge of town, a ten minute walk away. Or there was a girl who worked in her office who had an apartment nearby. Or there was Michel.

  Michel would know the best thing to do; she would go to Michel. She knew the building he lived in; it was five minutes away. She looked at Peter: he was asleep. She left him on the bench for a moment and looked for a place to leave the case. In the end she left it under a parked van. If anyone drove the van off, it was too bad.

  She took Peter in her arms and walked. The rest on the bench had been a mistake: it had given her feet a chance to swell up and the blisters to weep. She stopped, kicked off her shoes and tucked them into the top of her handbag. It was a great improvement.

  When she reached the apartment building the door was locked and a ring on the concierge’s bell produced no answer. There were individual bells for each apartment. Beside each bell was a number but no name. She didn’t know which apartment was Michel’s, so she pressed them all. At last a man opened the door. It wasn’t Michel, but he let her in and told her which apartment she wanted.

  When she reached the apartment door there was no answer to her knock, so with Peter fast asleep in her arms, she sat outside the door and waited.

  He came back at eleven.

  When he saw her, he stared.

  She smiled stupidly at him and said, ‘Thank you for coming back.’

  When she first woke up she couldn’t remember where she was. The room was dark and shuttered and she couldn’t make out its features. Then she remembered and, hugging Peter’s warm body closer to her, closed her eyes and slept again.

  Later she was woken by someone opening the shutters. Brilliant sunshine streamed into the room and she screwed up her eyes against the light. She was lying on the sofa where she’d sat on her arrival the night before. She hadn’t had the energy to move, though Michel had offered to take the sofa and give her his bed.

  Now he was beside her, holding out a cup of coffee. He was frowning. ‘I found your case all right.’

  Julie exclaimed, ‘Oh! I’d forgotten about it!’ Then said hurriedly, ‘Thank you.’

  Michel nodded briefly. ‘Now, there isn’t much time, so we’ve got to hurry.’

  Julie stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that the Germans are almost here. They’ll arrive some time today. At least that’s my interpretation of the complete black-out on news. There’s nothing on the wireless except people telling us to keep calm. That must mean we’re for it!’ He spoke with a bitter smile.

  Peter was waking up, rubbing his eyes and looking round at the strange room.

  Julie said, ‘Then – should we go to Brest? Get on a ship?’

  Michel laughed. ‘Hah! There is nothing but good French chaos there.’ He shook his head. ‘A friend has just come back. He told me all about it. Evidently there are thousands of people at the port all trying to get on ships that do not exist. The military got away all right, then they started to let civilians on the few remaining ships. Some got away, but one large ship had a collision with a naval boat and sank. Right there, just outside Brest.’ He lit a cigarette. ‘Now? Well, there are no ships left, apparently. Just people trying to hide, running round in circles because there’s nowhere to go. They also say that it’s as black as night all day long. The fuel dumps at Maison Blanche were set on fire. It sounds like Dante’s Inferno!’

  Julie shivered. Thank God she hadn’t gone there. She was frightened by crowds and disorder. That’s what she’d hated most on the boat, the hysteria, the loss of control when the plane had fired on them.

  She said calmly, ‘Then I shall go home.’

  ‘Yes. But first we have work to do—’ He indicated that she should get to her feet. ‘Comb your hair, change your dress. We’re going out.’

  He was so firm, so definite, that it never occurred to her to question him. Instead she looked at herself. She did look dreadful. Quickly she washed, tidied her hair and put on a clean dress. She changed Peter’s shirt and trousers, gave him a tartine of bread and jam to chew on, and came back into the living room. ‘We’re ready.’

  Michel stuffed his wallet into the back pocket of his trousers and led the way out. She followed, pulling Peter along with her. Michel walked fast and Julie had to pick Peter up and half-run to keep up with him. She was too breathless to ask where they were going.

  They turned a corner, then another, until they came to some double doors set in a high stone wall. Michel took out a key and, unlocking the padlock, swung open one of the doors. He brought out a vélo.

  He locked the door again and said, ‘Hop on.’

  The little motor coughed into life and they were off, Michel bicycling furiously to get up speed and Peter giggling with delight on Julie’s lap.

  In contrast to the night before, the streets were busy this morning, people hurrying everywhere with baskets and bags in their hands. There were long queues outside the boulangeries and the charcuteries again. After a few minutes they came into a square and stopped. Michel got off. He jerked his head in the direction of a large building
and said briefly, ‘We’re going in there.’ Julie recognised it immediately: it was the Sous-Préfecture.

  She followed Michel in. Inside there was chaos: people were milling around, rushing from office to office, shouting, looking harassed. All the doors were open, showing empty desks and stacks of papers. Two women were going towards the main door carrying boxes. One said to Julie in amazement, ‘These are all to be burnt! I ask you – burnt!’ Michel lifted Peter into his arms and took Julie’s hand. He led her up the stairs and along a corridor with numerous doors leading off it. He looked at the labels on the doors and finally said, ‘Ha, here we are!’

  The office was empty. Michel gave Peter to Julie, went straight in and started searching the drawers and filing cabinets. Julie stared in astonishment. ‘Michel!’ she exclaimed. ‘Stop! Stop! What are you doing? Someone might come!’

  There was an old safe sitting on the floor in the corner. Michel tried the handle. It was locked. He told Julie to wait and left the room. Julie sat down and tried to work out what was happening. Why had Michel brought her here? What was all this to do with her? In a moment Michel was back. With him was a woman. The woman went to the safe and opened it with a key from a large ring hanging on her belt. She nodded at Michel, said, ‘It’s a pleasure,’ and left. She didn’t even look at Julie.

  Whatever was going on, the woman was in on it too. Julie took Peter off her knee and stood up. ‘Michel, please tell me what’s going on!’

  Michel grunted, ‘Here we are!’ He took two cards off the top of a pile and passed them to Julie. ‘Start to fill one in, will you? The second’s just a spare. I must go and make sure your name vanishes from the Aliens Registration and appears on all the voting lists.’

  Julie stared at the cards. They were identity cards. They were blank.

  Michel was disappearing down the passage. Julie ran and called after him, ‘Michel, I may be down under the name of Howard as well as Lescaux!’

  He waved an acknowledgement and vanished into another doorway.

  Shaking her head, Julie went back and sat at the desk. Suddenly she smiled. Peter looked up at her and asked, ‘Happy Mummy?’

  She grinned down at him. ‘Yes, very happy Mummy!’

  She looked at the blank card and thought carefully. After a moment she began to write in some of the details. She kept her name, Lescaux, and entered her father’s name correctly. But instead of her mother’s name she put ‘Jeannette Lescaux’. For her mother’s maiden name she put ‘Leforge’ because it was the first name that came into her head. Under the heading ‘Name Before Marriage’ she put nothing. To pretend to be married would complicate matters. She slipped the second identity card into her handbag.

  She sat back and smiled at Peter. Then her eye caught the safe. It was still open, the pile of blank identity cards visible at the front of the shelf. On an impulse Julie reached in and took a batch off the top.

  She stuffed them into her bag, her heart beating furiously. It was rather risky. But why not take them? They might be useful. She had never stolen anything in her life before.

  Michel came back. He looked at her new card, nodded, and looked through the rubber stamps on the desk. He found the one he wanted, picked it up, inked it and stamped her new card. He then inked her thumb and pressed it on the space left for thumbprints. ‘And again. Here.’ He pressed her thumb on an official form. It was an application for an identity card.

  Julie whispered. ‘You’re a magician!’

  Michel shrugged, but Julie could see he was pleased.

  ‘How on earth did you do it though? I mean, why did that woman open the safe for us?’

  ‘Oh I told her the Germans would torture and kill you if we couldn’t find you a proper identity.’

  Julie shook her head. ‘You’re amazing!’ And I mean that, she thought. She added, ‘I owe you a debt of gratitude. I hope I can repay you one day.’

  ‘It’s nothing. Anyway—’ he looked into her eyes ‘– it is an honour to do it for you.’

  Julie blushed and stood up. Perhaps – perhaps she’d been wrong. Perhaps she had misjudged him and he was rather nice after all.

  Her eye caught the rubber stamp. ‘Are there two of those?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I want one, that’s all.’

  Michel looked at her in surprise. ‘Good God, what for?’

  ‘I don’t know … just in case, I suppose.’

  He handed her the stamp. ‘Just don’t get caught with it, that’s all.’

  They walked quickly down the passage and out of the building. By the vélo Michel asked, ‘Can you drive one of these things?’

  ‘I think so, but – what about you?’

  ‘I have things to do. You drive back to Tregasnou. I’ll deliver your suitcase and pick the machine up another time.’ He glanced nervously round the square and Julie suddenly thought: He’s going to stir up trouble somewhere. She said, ‘Do be careful. You’re not going to do anything silly are you?’

  ‘My friends and I have got to make our plans, that’s all.’

  Julie looked at Michel with admiration: already he was making plans against the Germans, arranging meetings, doing something positive. She said, ‘I won’t ask what you’re planning. But whatever you do, be careful. Don’t risk your neck! And good luck!’

  ‘What?’ He looked at her in mild surprise.

  ‘I mean, the Germans … they might catch you …’ She trailed off, uncertain.

  ‘Ha! I won’t be going in for cheap heroics, if that’s what you mean. I’m not going to risk my neck. Quite the opposite. I think the Germans and I might get on very well.’

  Julie blinked. ‘What do you mean?’

  Michel leant over the bike until his face was close to hers. ‘My dear, I’m with whoever rids us of the scum corrupting this country – the right-wing dictators who’ve robbed the working people of their rightful inheritance for more than a hundred years. I’m for whoever’s against them!’

  ‘But you’re not going to work with the Germans?’

  He shrugged. ‘Who knows? It depends what there is to be gained.’

  ‘But they’re overrunning our country. They’re – enemies!’

  ‘Yes, but they won’t stay for ever. And after the war – after – there’ll be a chance to build a new state, a people’s state. In fact, it’s the best chance we’ve ever had to sweep the system clean!’

  Julie got silently on to the vélo, lifting Peter up in front of her. Michel untied a piece of cord attached to the small luggage rack and gave it to Julie. ‘Here, you’ll need this to keep Peter on.’ Julie took it and looped it round both her own and Peter’s waists, then tied a knot.

  Michel was saying, ‘You shouldn’t meet any Germans yet. But do watch out for planes. If you hear one, make for the ditch, and fast.’ He took her face in his hands and without warning kissed her firmly on the lips.

  Julie didn’t move or respond. While he kissed her she stared at the side of his head and his closed eyes and thought: Why did I ever think I might like this man?

  Michel stood back and said, ‘Juliette, keep yourself safe for me, won’t you?’

  Julie stared at the ground then looked up at him. She said, ‘No!’ and saw a look of surprise on Michel’s face. ‘Look, I owe you a big favour which I will try to repay one day. But while you … you play your dirty games, forget anything else. Especially friendship! How you can consider dealing with the Germans is … beyond me!’

  He was annoyed. ‘You just don’t understand.’

  ‘That’s right, I don’t. Goodbye, Michel.’

  She pedalled slowly away, wobbling slightly as she got her balance.

  He was shouting. ‘I’ll send your suitcase over when I can.’

  She didn’t turn round but pedalled rapidly until the motor fired.

  Peter squealed with excitement. ‘Mummy, we’re going so fast!’

  Julie didn’t answer. She was thinking about Michel. How could he? How could he? Whatever one believed
it must be wrong to actually help the enemy. That would mean helping to prolong the war. It might even mean helping to kill one’s fellow countrymen. As she rode along she shook her head and muttered in disbelief. God only knew what Tante Marie would say when she heard …

  The thought of Tante Marie and the small grey-stone house cheered her up. She bent slightly and briefly kissed Peter’s head.

  Peter’s small voice came floating up. ‘Mummy, are we going home?’

  Julie said firmly, ‘Oh yes, darling! We’re going home.’

  Chapter 9

  AT LAST A tender came into sight, nosing its way round the end of the distant pier and heading towards the warship anchored in the middle of the large natural harbour. Although the harbour was well protected from the rolling Channel seas and long Atlantic swells, a blustery west wind was funnelling between the hills, creating an unpleasant little chop which made the tender roll slightly as it progressed steadily across the water.

  Richard Ashley watched it approach and thought longingly of sleep. He’d snatched only a couple of catnaps in the last thirty-six hours and now he was dog-tired. It would be sensible to go back to his bunk and turn in. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. An evening’s run ashore was not something to be given up lightly, not when you’d gone without leave for three weeks. And particularly when the leave was here in Falmouth.

  The place had happy memories for him – of sailing here in Dancer, first, in the early days, with his father, then later with friends from Dartmouth. Once, though, he had come here alone. He’d been on passage to the Scillies, and Falmouth, being the most westerly port on the English mainland, had been the last stopping place before setting out on the final sixty miles of open sea. He remembered that holiday among the beautiful, bleak Scillies with especial fondness.