Northern Girl

by Fadette Marie Marcelle Cripps

  Everything still felt so unreal. How can this be happening to me? she thought. I had such a happy childhood. I was born into such a loving family. And look at me now! I don’t even know how to fend for myself! Someone else has always looked after me, all my life. I should feel lucky, but right now I just feel desolate.

  Travelling so late at night, she was counting on the boulanger working into the early hours of the morning, as he often had in the past; no one else could tell her where Nicole lived. If he wasn’t there, then she would have nowhere to go until the boulangerie was opened at seven thirty the next morning by a bleary-eyed Nicole. So she still didn’t know where she’d spend the night. She was worrying about it when suddenly, feeling worn out and weary, she felt her eyes close. She was sleepy, so sleepy …

  Monday, 3 December 1945

  She managed to doze for most of the train journey. And just over an hour later she found herself outside the station in Boulogne trying to hail a taxi, and hoping that she had enough loose change in her purse to cover the fare.

  Before she’d left home she’d opened the tin box under her bed where she kept her dressmaking earnings. She’d taken all the notes, but only a handful of franc and centime coins, as she didn’t want too much small change cluttering up her purse, and making it bulky and heavy. Now she realized that was a stupid decision, and she should have brought every last centime. She knew that if she didn’t find a job, she would only have enough to live on – including bed and breakfast – for four days; and she would have to be very careful to manage even that. All the rest of her money – two hundred francs – was for the abortion.

  In the taxi she gave the address of the boulangerie. ‘You are travelling very late at night, mademoiselle,’ the driver commented inquisitively.

  ‘Yes, the boulanger is expecting me,’ she lied, having decided that the driver was far too slimy for her liking.

  ‘Ah, you work for a boulanger!’ He seemed to be satisfied with that, so Madeleine made no further comment and they drove on, until, as if suddenly finding the idea preposterous, he broke the silence by saying, ‘But it is still very late to be starting work, isn’t it?’ She didn’t like what he was implying, or the suggestive smirk on his face.

  ‘Well, I am a boulanger myself, and I am going to work,’ she answered, guessing what he must imagine she was really going to do. As if it was any of his business! Desperate to change the subject, she asked, ‘How much will the fare be?’

  ‘Oh, for you, mademoiselle,’ he said with raised eyebrows, ‘not too much, probably one franc fifty.’ Then, with sudden and obvious concern for himself, he asked, ‘You do have the money?’

  ‘Yes, of course I do,’ she answered becoming more agitated by the minute.

  No more was said by either of them until he pulled up at the kerb. ‘Here we are, mademoiselle.’ The fare was exactly what he’d said, and, pleased to get out, she handed it over, with no apologies for not giving him a tip. She grimaced as he mumbled something unpleasant, before driving off at speed.

  Standing there alone with her valise, she looked through the shop window, and felt enormous relief when she saw a glimmer of light seeping under the door to the bakery. She immediately ran round to the back entrance and banged on the door.

  ‘Hello, is anyone there?’ she called. When there was no answer she thumped at the wood with her fist. ‘Hello!’ she called more loudly, standing on tiptoe to peer through the tiny window at the top of the door.

  ‘Just a minute!’ the chubby, red-faced boulanger called out impatiently, wiping his floury hands on his apron. ‘Mon Dieu! Is the place on fire?’ he complained. He rattled about with the lock, then opened the door a crack. After all, you couldn’t be too careful these days, especially in the middle of the night. He was grumbling to himself – but stopped abruptly when he saw a pretty young girl standing in front of him. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t think why.

  On seeing his puzzled look, Madeleine explained, ‘I am Madeleine, Nicole’s friend. Don’t you remember me?’

  Realization slowly dawning, he said, ‘Ah yes, I remember now. Nicole sometimes asked me to bake an extra gateau when she knew that you were coming. Well, she didn’t tell me this time.’ He frowned. ‘No one bothers to tell me anything any more.’

  ‘Nicole doesn’t know I am here. It’s a surprise, you see.’

  She was surprised by her new-found ability to lie at the drop of a hat. ‘But I haven’t been to where Nicole lives before,’ she continued, ‘and I’d like you to give me her address.’

  He took out his pocket watch and glanced at it, then shook it before glancing at it a second time. ‘Well, it’s very late,’ he said.

  On seeing his uncertainty she burst out, ‘Oh, please! I’ll have nowhere to stay tonight if you don’t help me, and I do so want to surprise her …’

  Looking into her pleading eyes he said, ‘At this time of night it will be a surprise.’

  ‘Please!’ she begged.

  He took a step back towards the kitchen, and she thought for a moment that he was going to shut the door on her. ‘Just let me get these baguettes out of the oven, and I’ll take you there. It’s not far.’

  ‘Oh!’ she said, relieved, ‘You don’t have to do that. Just the address will be fine.’

  He took a pencil out of his apron pocket, and finding a piece of paper by the telephone, he scribbled something, giving verbal instructions at the same time. As he finished Madeleine said, suddenly anxious, ‘I hope they won’t be angry at being disturbed so late?’

  He handed her the paper, and said with a peculiar chuckle, ‘You don’t need to worry about that! Her mother won’t be asleep, anyway!’

  Perplexed by his attitude, she thanked him, picked up her valise, and set off towards the docks as instructed. He’d told her to take the third turning on the left. She glanced at the piece of paper: 58, Rue de la Mer. Pushing it back in her pocket, she looked up at the street sign.

  This is it! she thought. But what a strange name for a road that, as far as I can tell, is nowhere near the sea! Suddenly tired and weepy, and her valise feeling as if it was loaded with bricks, she gazed down the length of the road, at an area which, under the two dim street lights, looked to be barely more than rubble. Her spirits sank at the sight. Not just because it was worrying, but because she couldn’t help thinking about all the people who had lost their homes and families during the bombing.

  Where are they all now? she wondered, walking slowly down the road and fearing she was in the wrong place. But then the baker had said that she would see a lot of rubble.

  ‘The remains of a heavy air raid, waiting to be cleared,’ he’d complained, as if the French authorities were solely to blame.

  She squinted into the distance, where something more solid stuck out from the ruins. Whatever it was, it was well over halfway down the long street. As she got closer she was able to make out four or five fairly large houses, not detached, but all seemingly hanging on to each other. There was even greenery in front of two of them, which, although a bit out of place, helped soften the austere surroundings.

  Madeleine had always thought a well-tended garden meant the owners were caring people, and she approached hoping that No. 58 would be one of the two. After all, she had never met Nicole’s mother, who might be an ogre for all she knew. Maybe that was why Nicole had never invited her home. Maybe she was ashamed of her mother, Ginette.

  Madeleine was suddenly very nervous, and, for the first time since she’d decided to run away, accepted there was a chance she wouldn’t be welcomed by Nicole with open arms. She hesitated at the gate of the first house in the block of five, which had No. 58 nailed up on the right of the brightly painted door. It didn’t have a garden. But there were flowers in the wooden containers on each side of the door. Nicole’s maman is probably OK, Madeleine told herself, while trying to summon the courage to lift the huge anchor-shaped door knocker.

  She made the first feeble attempt, rat-a-tat-tat … and w
aited. Nothing happened and her nerve began to go. She looked up at the faint glow of light that showed through the gaps of the upstairs shutters, and once again took hold of the metal anchor. Her rat-a-tat-tat was much louder this time. The sound of the metal against wood must have reverberated around the whole street. Still she waited, and no one appeared.

  Feeling weak, she sat on the cold stone step and shivered, not knowing what to do next. And then, from somewhere inside, she heard the sound of footsteps running downstairs. She got up from the step and suddenly found herself face to face with a man who had just let himself out of the front door. ‘Well, well, well,’ he said with a grin, ‘What do we have here?’

  Madeleine said haltingly, ‘Er, I am Madeleine, a friend of Nicole’s.’

  ‘Sure you are,’ he answered. ‘I had better let you in then.’ And he stood to one side. Uncertainly, Madeleine squeezed past him, and was halfway up the stairs when he called, ‘Madeleine … I will see you next time, eh?’

  Madeleine stopped and looked over her shoulder, with no idea what to say in reply. Instead, she shrugged and continued to the top of the stairs. His quiet laugh as he closed the door made her uneasy, and she waited until she heard him run down the stone steps outside, before knocking on the door to her right.

  ‘One minute!’ said a voice from the room at the other side of the door. And, with relief, Madeleine recognized it as Nicole’s.

  ‘Oui?’ Nicole enquired, as she opened the door. Then she took a better look and exclaimed in horror … ‘Madeleine?’

  Madeleine, suddenly feeling her knees giving way beneath her, just managed to say, ‘Nicole,’ before collapsing.

  ‘Oh, mon Dieu! What is it, what is wrong?’ Nicole said, shaking Madeleine gently. ‘Wake up, Madeleine. Wake up!’ She called out in panic, ‘Maman! Come quickly!’

  ‘What is it?’ Ginette said, appearing from an inner room. Seeing Madeleine lying on the floor she said calmly, ‘Get her to the divan.’

  As Nicole tried to coax her to her feet Madeleine murmured something unintelligible, and Nicole and her mother half-dragged her to the divan.

  ‘Don’t talk, Madeleine, just lie still,’ Nicole said. Her mother fetched a blanket and a glass of water, and Nicole gently covered up her friend before tilting her head towards the glass.

  Madeleine sipped gratefully, then lay back on the cushion, murmuring, ‘So sorry, I’m so sorry.’

  Nicole glanced at her mother, who beckoned her to the kitchen. ‘Who is this girl?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s Madeleine, Maman! The friend I told you about, who used to call in at the boulangerie!’

  ‘What, the one who lives in Calais? Who suddenly disappeared?’ Her mother sounded tense.

  ‘Yes, Maman, the one who lives near Calais. And before you say anything else, I’m sure she had a good reason for disappearing like that.’

  ‘I can guess why it happened,’ Ginette said.

  ‘You think it’s because she found out about our life? I think it’s more likely her sisters did, and ordered her home without explaining why. I just know she wouldn’t have gone without saying goodbye to me. Not if she’d had any choice.’

  ‘I hope you are right. I remember how upset you were when she vanished.’

  ‘She’s here now. And she obviously needs our help.’

  ‘Obviously,’ Ginette echoed.

  Madeleine started to move and Nicole ran over to her. ‘Steady, Madeleine, take it easy.’ She helped her to sit up.

  Madeleine, trembling, looked around. The room was cosy and refined, with a red carpet and antique furniture. It was like something from a magazine, she thought fuzzily. Maybe she was still asleep, and this was all a dream. She slumped back down on the divan.

  As she lay there a soft voice that she remembered hearing earlier asked, ‘Are you feeling a little better now?’

  When Madeleine turned her head slightly she saw a slender, glamorous woman, who had to be Nicole’s mother, standing in front of her. Close to tears, Madeleine said, ‘I am so sorry to have disturbed you late at night, Madame Jobert, but I had nowhere else to go.’ She struggled up from the divan. ‘I must leave now, but thank you for your kindness.’

  ‘You will do no such thing,’ Nicole scolded. ‘You can sleep here tonight,’ she added, glancing at her mother for approval.

  Her mother nodded. ‘OK, we will talk tomorrow. There are a few questions that I’d like to ask you, young lady, before you disappear again.’

  ‘Maman!’ Nicole exclaimed.

  Madeleine put her hand on Nicole’s arm. ‘It’s OK. I understand. We do need to talk.’

  Chapter 19

  Marck, France

  Wednesday, 5 December 1945

  Tom and Dominic travelled all night. They were so tired when they arrived in Marck that they could have slept leaning on a clothes line. Maman opened the door, and when she saw Tom standing next to Dominic, she perked up immediately, and, taking his hand in both of hers, her voice suddenly full of hope, she said, ‘Oh, I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you, Tom!’

  ‘I’m so sorry for what’s happened, Madame Pelletier …’ he began, but in answer she just kissed him on the cheeks.

  Once she had closed the door firmly behind them, her mood changed again and she said, ‘I’d give anything just to know Madeleine is safe.’

  Dominic crouched next to the chair she’d sunk into, and took her hand. ‘We will find her, Maman, I promise.’

  ‘It’s been so long. Where could she be?’ Maman gripped Dominic’s hand tightly.

  ‘Try not to worry, Maman,’ Dominic said. He rose to his feet, concerned at how tired she looked.

  He glanced at Tom, who came over and put his hand on Maman’s shoulder, and she placed her hand over his before looking up at him. ‘We have looked everywhere that we can think of, Tom. Papa, Martine and Simone are out there now talking to her friends, but they don’t know anything. They’re simply shocked that Madeleine has run away.’ She added quickly, ‘Of course, we haven’t told anyone about the circumstances.’

  Dominic translated this into English for Tom, who paced around the living room.

  ‘She’s taken your bike, Dominic. How far could she go on a bike?’ Maman asked, her furrowed brow showing deep lines that he was sure hadn’t been there when he’d left home four days ago.

  ‘If she’s taken the bike, then she must have been heading further away than we think,’ Dominic said.

  The door burst open as Maman answered slowly, ‘But she knows no one outside the village—’

  ‘But that’s it!’ Martine interrupted, having caught the tail end of the conversation as she rushed in. ‘We’ve been looking too close to home! She does know someone else!’ She went over to Maman. ‘Oh, why didn’t I think of it before?’

  She stood up and quickly hugged her brother and Tom, while apologizing for the belated greeting. ‘I knew you’d come, Tom,’ she said gratefully.

  ‘Where do you think she is?’ he asked, trying to fight the guilt, and rising panic, that he felt.

  Papa and Simone had just come in through the door. Martine asked Dominic to translate for Tom. ‘Madeleine met a girl in Boulogne when she used to visit us there,’ she said. ‘She told me about her, but I wouldn’t allow her to continue the friendship.’

  Dominic explained this to Tom, who immediately asked, ‘Why, who was she? Where does she live?’

  ‘Slow down, Tom,’ begged Dominic. ‘One question at a time, eh? Mon Dieu, I cannot translate that quickly!’

  ‘OK, Dominic,’ Tom said. ‘But shouldn’t you all have heard something by now if she’s gone there?’

  Dominic looked at Martine. ‘Do you have the name of this girl?’

  ‘Yes. She is called Nicole, and she works in a boulangerie near my old flat.’

  ‘So what was the problem with the friendship?’ he asked curiously.

  Martine glanced warily at Maman before answering. ‘Her mother ran a brothel during the war.’

  Mama
n sat bolt upright in her chair. ‘A brothel!’ she exclaimed. ‘And her daughter, this … this Nicole, was she—?’

  ‘No, Maman, I don’t think so,’ Martine interrupted, ‘and Madeleine knew nothing about it at all, as far as I’m aware.’

  ‘You really think she may have gone to find this Nicole?’ Maman asked, a glimmer of hope in her tired eyes, because by now she didn’t care where Madeleine was – in a brothel or elswhere – just as long as she was safe.

  Dominic, knowing his sister the way he did, tried to second-guess what she would have done. He said slowly, ‘Yes … that makes sense. She’d have used my bike to get to the station in Calais.’

  And Tom, who was desperately trying to keep up with what they were saying now that Dominic seemed to have forgotten all about translating, raised his eyebrows enquiringly.

  ‘I will explain later,’ Dominic said in answer to Tom’s silent question. Then, firmly placing his arm round Tom’s shoulder, he said with a decisiveness that he didn’t feel, ‘Come, Tom, we’ve work to do!’ Everyone else got up from their chairs, as if the matter was resolved.

  ‘Well, I hope you’re right, mate,’ Tom said, begging Dominic to explain what was happening. He couldn’t understand why Madeleine had chosen to go to Boulogne rather than stay with a friend locally, if all she had needed was to get away from the house for a while.

  Martine, who was in the middle of writing down the address of the boulangerie, stopped and looked up, startled, as if a fresh idea had suddenly hit her. ‘Oh, she wouldn’t!’ she exclaimed in horror. ‘She couldn’t!’

  ‘Wouldn’t, couldn’t, what?’ Dominic was worried now.

  Martine glanced towards Maman, who was now standing at the kitchen table, making a late breakfast for everyone. While she spread her home-made strawberry jam on to thick slices of bread Papa poured coffee. Simone was nowhere to be seen.

  Martine whispered urgently to Dominic, ‘What if she’s trying to get an abortion?’

  Dominic, aghast at the suggestion, whispered back, ‘She wouldn’t do that! She wouldn’t know how. And anyway, she’s a Catholic!’