by Mary Wood
The release from the pain had her dropping her head forward. He yanked it back with her hair, pulling it until her neck was stretched as far as it would go and restricting her breathing even more.
‘Tell me. Tell me your name. Your real name. I know your code name, Olivia Danchanté. I know your cover story, as we have it documented from soon after you landed in our midst, but somehow you escaped our net. Clever. But not clever enough, because we have you now and you are going to tell me all I want to know. Your real name, your nationality and your poem. And then you will reveal what you know of the French and American positions and their plans for their next assault. All of this you will reveal in the next few hours, as I have decided not to give you a break after all.’
Still she did not speak.
He let go of her hair and walked around to the back of his desk, once more calling for the guard. One nod of his head and one of them swivelled her chair around. The other landed a blow to her stomach that billowed the vomit from her.
Choking on the remnants in her throat panicked her as the flow of air into her lungs was cut off completely. The room spun, and her eyes bulged out of their sockets. A darkness and a peace took her into its blessed depth.
The shock of cold water hitting her brought her out of it and back into reality. One guard stood in front of her with an empty bucket tilted her way. This he put down on the floor as he was commanded to loosen the ropes binding her and help her to breathe. ‘I do not want her dead, not yet. She is too valuable.’
This gave her hope, because now she had decided she didn’t want to die. Not yet. She wanted to live to see the destruction of this brutal regime. To see the world free and to bring Jacques and Olivia up in the world that Pierre and the millions of others had given their lives for, and to share that world and her memories of Pierre with them.
After enduring she didn’t know how many hours of sexual, mental and physical abuse by a relay of different interrogators – some who treated her with kindness, others who raped her body with theirs and with hot pokers, causing her excruciating and unendurable pain – she’d lapsed into a kind of coma. The lack of sleep had disorientated her, so that now she was in a state of delirium – a wonderful place where all she heard was you are the breath in my body, the blood that flows through my veins, and the life that is my heart.
When she next woke to the real world, she was lying on a hospital-type bed. A man she assumed was a doctor stood over her. Her mouth tasted of blood and felt soft . . . My God, I have no teeth! Why hadn’t she felt them extracting them? Had that made them decide to stop the torture? She tried to speak, but couldn’t. The doctor leaned over her. His smile held something she could trust.
The injection stung. The smile went away from her. A voice, sounding like those of singers when the gramophone needed winding up again, came to her, but she could not understand the words. The black hole took her again, but before it did she wondered if this was it. Had they injected her with a lethal substance? Would she never see her children again? If not, may God grant them happy lives on which she and Pierre could look down.
When she woke again, she was still in the hospital bed. There seemed a peace around her, but that was soon shattered by the harsh voice of the fat woman. ‘Get up! Get out of that bed!’
Where am I?
‘Get up. Here, put these clothes on. Ha, you are no longer beautiful. Being toothless does not suit you. I will not want to play with you. You are ugly. Dress. You are coming out to the fields to work with my women.’
Memory slapped every part of her. The horror of the torture crawled back into her, but none of it matched the pain of seeing Pierre standing in front of her, his eyes conveying love – until the arm had raised. Her body drooped . . . A hand grabbed her arm.
‘Get off that bed. Do as you are told. Do it now!’
Though weak beyond belief, Theresa slid off the bed. Her legs gave way beneath her. The woman shouted and the doctor appeared.
From what she understood of the conversation, conducted in German, the doctor protested at her being moved, saying that she hadn’t eaten or been taken out of the bed for four days. Four days? Is that why they are not interrogating me any more? Was the French–American attack successful? Is France liberated? It must be so. It must be that they know I no longer have any information that would be useful to them, so they are going to make me useful in other ways. Put me to work. France is free! I’m going to live! The next part of the conversation she heard dispelled this fresh hope.
The fat woman laughed and said in English, no doubt for her benefit, ‘Ha! You need time to get her well for what? Her execution? The commandant is only awaiting orders from Herr Hitler. She is one of five on his request. All of them dissident scum who have hindered our progress, murdered our soldiers, and sent intelligence that gave our enemy the upper hand. She is scum, I tell you, and she is going to die! What is the use of making her well?’
Also in English, the doctor said, ‘If she dies before the order of execution, it will be on your head. I need two more days to get her fit for work. She is of no use to you how she is, as she cannot stand. Her internal injuries are healing, but still prone to infection.’ At his command, two nurses came forward and lifted her back onto the bed. The female officer huffed, turned, and left the room.
There was something indefinable about this doctor. Tall and blond – a typical Aryan – his exterior was as if made of steel. Very little expression, apart from the smile – the strange smile she’d seen as he’d injected her. Somehow she thought he had his own agenda. At this moment she could only be grateful to him, and tried to tell him so. Still she could not talk. And with this knowledge came awareness of the pain in her mouth. Letting her tongue travel tentatively over her gums, she felt what could only be stitches. Then she remembered they had pulled all her teeth. Why couldn’t she remember the pain of that? Putting her hand to her mouth, she felt how swollen it was. Her lips felt like balloons.
Ugly. Well, what would it matter:
Thirty-two
A Reunion
Patsy and Jacques
‘Patsy, love, it’s so good to have you home. By, lass, you’ve been through sommat – stuff that isn’t easy to live with, I know that from experience. But you know, the best thing you can do is to talk to someone. I am here for you, but I might not be the right one. Only you will know who that is. The thing is to be sure you don’t bottle it all up. I know you’re a strong person, but it can eat away at you and cause bitterness and even make you ill if you don’t have that outlet of sharing it and getting it out of yourself.’
‘Thanks, Mam. I’ve already made a start. On the way home I told Ian everything that happened on the boat – not just the facts, as he knew them, but all the details and how I felt and everything. Besides what was going on in me head when I left the Leeds hospital to set off for London. He has another side to him, Mam. It’s one he hasn’t shown before, not to me anyway, but he helps me.’
‘Ian? Look, love, take care when you deal with him. He . . . well, I think he has a bit of a thing for you and I don’t want him hurt. Try not to give him hope that he may have a chance with you.’
‘I know. I’m not without feeling for him, I’m just a little confused at the moment. I need to get well. I have a lot to deal with. I can’t believe me brother has turned up. It’s amazing.’
‘It is. But he is so nice, You’ll love him. Ha, that’s a daft thing to say! Of course you will, he’s your brother, but he could have turned out to be someone horrible. Lizzie’s reet taken with him, and him with her. Anyroad, the lass hasn’t got up yet, so if you feel up to it, how about you go in to her and I’ll bring in a pot of tea for you both, eh?’
‘Hey, you, lazybones. It’s nearly lunchtime and you’re still stinking in bed!’
‘Patsy Oh, Patsy, I’m so glad to see yer.’
‘And me you, love. Hey, there’s no need to cry at the sight of me . . . Lizzie . . .?’
‘I’m alright. I . . . Oh,
Patsy, it’s all been so awful. I can’t get things out of me mind. I keep reliving Rita’s scream and seeing you go overboard and . . .’
‘I know, I’m the same. Mam’s been saying that we need to talk to someone, but I don’t think each other is a good idea. We’re both too close to it with it involving us both. We’re bound to have different feelings about different parts of it. We’ll upset each other and make things worse for ourselves. I used to have Harri, but she’s run off just when I need her most.’
‘I don’t think she had a choice in that. Love is powerful; it consumes yer thoughts and yer just want to be with the person.’
‘Oh, listen to the voice that knows!’
‘I – I do, actually. I have fallen in love.’
‘Crikey, mate, I knew you had an attraction for me brother, but . . .’
‘It’s more than that, I feel like we are two halves of a whole.’
‘Does he feel the same?’
‘I think so. He has said things. Oh, I don’t know, I know he likes me and wants to take me out, but . . .’
‘What’s he like?’
Listening to Lizzie set up a worry in Patsy, about how Lizzie was, with her not being able to walk and how delicate and vulnerable she was physically as well as mentally. She feared for her. What if Jacques didn’t feel the same? The hurt to Lizzie would be much more than, say, to Ian if she found she couldn’t return his feelings. As it was, Lizzie might think it was her condition that had put Jacques off, and that would add to the burden she already carried on that sensitive subject.
Suddenly it hit home to Patsy that what she’d been through wasn’t worse than what others had. Yes, she’d been abandoned as a baby and never felt she belonged to anyone, but it hadn’t been all bad. She hadn’t lived in fear like Lizzie had, or been so badly injured by someone who should love her, like Lizzie had. She hadn’t grown up with violence, or lived amongst criminally minded people and been totally reliant on them for her needs. Christ! I’ve wallowed in self-pity all me life. And I’ve let that eat me up and guide me actions! I’ve blamed other people for it . . . Harri, oh, Harri, I must have made your life a misery at times. And me mother! God, how could I have wanted to hurt her?
‘Patsy, you’re crying!’
‘I’ll be alright. I’m sorry, Lizzie, I’m so sorry. I caused all of it to happen. I was so bitter and twisted. I should never have gone to Rita.’
‘Don’t be, Patsy. It wasn’t a good thing to do, but good has come from it. My life has changed for the better since yer came into it. I was like a prisoner . . . I’m sorry that they’re dead, and for all that happened, but a big part of me wouldn’t want them back. you’ve done more for me than You’ll ever know.’
‘A bit of an unconventional way of doing it! And although I wouldn’t like to go through it all again, or put you through it, I’m glad of the outcome. And I’ll take care of you, Lizzie. You’ll always have a friend in me.’
She’d sat on the bed when she’d first come in, but now she lay down next to Lizzie and put her arm around her. ‘We can get strong from this, Lizzie. We both have a lot of healing to do, but we can do it.’
‘We can, Patsy. And You’ll always have a friend in me too. I promise yer that.’
They lay a minute in silence, and they were still lying together when Sarah came in. ‘Eeh, it’s good you lasses have each other. Here’s your tea. I’ll leave you to it.’
‘Mam, it’s even more good that we have someone like you in our lives. You needn’t have taken us in. Especially me. I’m sorry, I must have caused you a lot of heartache turning up how I did, and . . . well, me silly obsession with Harri. That must have worried you at times. It was just that I’d never had anyone of me own before. Not related to me. I’m over it now. I’m on the mend. I know I’m not like me real dad, like I feared.’
‘Eeh, Patsy, love. Come here.’
It felt good to be in the arms of this woman she would always call ‘Mam’. When she met her own mother, she wouldn’t call her that. She only had one mam, and it was Sarah. Sarah, who’d opened up her home to her despite who she was. Sarah who she’d paid back by causing concern with her actions and was still causing concern over her son. Coming out of her arms, Patsy said, ‘Don’t worry about Ian, Mam. I’ll take care with him. I love him very much, I just don’t know if it is the kind of love he wants from me. But I will take care of him, I promise.’
‘Oh, Patsy, I’m so glad to see you come out the other side of whatever held you in that place where you were so bitter about everything. You’ll be alright, lass. You’re amongst folk who love and care for you. And you have others who are waiting and wanting to love you, if you can just let them.’
With this Sarah kissed her on the cheek. ‘Now, just take it easy. You’re not well yet. We have to build you up. Don’t be asking too much of yourself all in one go.’ She went to leave, but before she did she said, ‘Are you alright, Lizzie, love? You had a big day yesterday.’
‘I’ve never been more alright in me life, Sarah. And I add me thanks to those of Patsy’s. Because between yer, you’ve saved me life.’
Sarah picked up the bottom of her pinny and wiped her eyes. ‘Go on with the pair of you. You’re making me blab now.’
When she’d left, Patsy said, ‘Why don’t we sit in the window to have our tea. Get you out of this bed, eh?’
‘Yes, I feel I can get up now. It’s boosted me with you coming.’
‘What made you feel so down, love? Oh, I know you’ve enough on your shoulders to put up with, but . . .?
‘It . . . well, it was what I read in yer mother’s books. I haven’t been able to sleep.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’ll tell yer about it, but it’s not going to be easy for you, though some of it will make you happy. Patsy, yer know Jacques is going to see his – your mother today, don’t yer?’
‘No, he’s not as it happens. He gave me a say in the matter through Dad. Ian has rung Jacques this morning and told him that I’d like to meet him first, and then go from there. And I want to meet our grandmother. I want us, Jacques and me especially, to know one another before seeing our mother. I think it will be easier for her. If we are not united first, it may all go wrong. My mother may feel too much strain from so many people coming back into her life. She may feel like she is in the middle of us all and besides that, each one of us is going to provoke different feelings in her. If we are already a family we can help her better than if we don’t know each other. Does that make sense?’
‘It does. And it’s a measure of how well yer are. I worried about you, Patsy. You didn’t seem to think right. But what you’ve just said is very different to how yer were. I think you’re going to be alright, and that’s what matters to me.’
‘I know. I’ve been in a dark place. I even . . . well, I won’t talk about that. I need to think of what I just did, and had planned on doing, as me hallucinating and nothing more. If I let meself think that I am capable of such actions, I’d go down the road of thinking I am like me dad again, and I am not like him.’
‘No, you’re not. You’re good and kind and care about people. you’ve cared for me and me feelings ever since I met yer. And not in the way most people do, with pity for me condition, and that has meant a lot to me.’
A knock on the door stopped Patsy answering her. It opening and Ian saying from behind it, ‘Can I come in?’ gave her a glad feeling she didn’t expect. But she told herself to stop being daft. It’s only Ian!
‘Jacques has just phoned. Hi, Lizzie, you’re looking better.’
‘Thanks, but what did Jacques say?’
‘Nice to see you, too, lass . . .’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Ian, it is nice to see yer. I didn’t mean . . .’
‘Only teasing you.’
‘Well, don’t tease her, Ian. Put the poor girl out of her misery.’
‘The call was more about you, Patsy. He said if you are up to it, he’d like to come round to meet you. That he can’t
wait any longer, and that he has told your grandmother you want to meet her and she would love to meet you, if you are ready. He said to say that neither of them are going in today to see your mother, but your grandmother would like to go to see her tomorrow as she is asking for her. And not to worry, your mother doesn’t know about either of you being found as yet, but your grandmother would like to tell her tomorrow. Though they both agree with what you have said, that you should all meet before she is told and show her that there is nothing more to worry about where you are all concerned.’
‘Oh, that’s great news. Ring him back and tell him yes. I am ready to meet him and . . . and my grandmother. Oh, Ian, I can’t believe it all!’
Ian came over to her. He went down on his haunches and took her hand. ‘I know, love. But are you sure as you’ll be alright, lass? Do you want me to be with you? I’ll even come to your grandmother’s if you’d like me to?’
For a moment she didn’t know what to say. Part of her wanted to do this alone, but to have Ian supporting her would make it easier. She looked down into his face, reading the love and concern there, and said, ‘Yes. I would like that.’ His expression showed she had done the right thing. But, more than that, she knew she had.
‘D-did Jacques mention me, Ian? Only we are supposed to be going for a drive later.’
