‘Look, Dominic, I know that you and Madeleine were close, but maybe you don’t know her as well as you think any more. She has changed. She’s a woman now, and pregnant, with, she thinks, no support from her family, and no husband. Religion would be the last thing on her mind. She’d be more concerned about the shame and embarrassment she’s bringing on us all.’
‘Mon Dieu!’ Dominic whispered. ‘If you are right we’re going to be too late!’
He turned to look at Tom, who had wandered over to the kitchen table, near Maman. He had a slice of bread and jam in one hand, and a tiny coffee cup in the other, and was staring vacantly out of the window.
Papa, who’d said nothing so far, was feeding logs into the top of the range.
Dominic turned back to Martine. ‘We’ve got to leave at once,’ he said.
As he headed for the kitchen she gave him the piece of paper with the address of the boulangerie. Then she kissed him on both cheeks, and whispered, ‘Good luck!’
His mother looked up as he gently gripped her shoulder, but addressed Tom. ‘We must go now. I’ll explain on the way.’
Tom, perturbed to see Martine looking so distressed, could only nod in response.
Without speaking, Papa gave Dominic a hug. His eyes brimming with tears, he took Tom’s hand and said only one word: ‘Merci.’
With a lump in his throat, wishing he had the ability to apologize to – and thank – this wonderful family, Tom picked up the suitcases. Dominic threw back a cup of coffee in a single gulp before reassuring his mother that he would telephone Martine at work when he had some news.
At the front door Tom and Dominic turned and looked back at the Pelletiers, and the expectation in those faces was almost too much for them. They closed the door quietly and set off for Boulogne.
Boulogne, France
Monday, 3 December 1945
Madeleine slept fitfully while Ginette tried to convince her daughter Nicole that if she wanted her friend to stay she had no choice: she had to tell her about the brothel, and her maman’s way of life.
‘But, Maman, she will be horrified! Now is not the right time!’ Nicole exclaimed. ‘I can’t, I just can’t!’
Ginette, feeling her daughter’s pain, said sadly, ‘I am sorry, ma fille, that you are so ashamed of me, but I don’t need to remind you how desperate we were when your papa left.’
‘Oh, I know all that, Maman! But this is the first time I’ve ever had a proper friend, and I don’t want to embarrass her. Surely you understand that?’
Ginette held her daughter’s hands, and said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure that Madeleine knows you have nothing to do with any of this, and that you don’t sell your body like your maman.’
The despair in Nicole’s eyes brought tears to Ginette’s.
Nicole asked, ‘Oh, Maman, why do you continue to do this awful job?’
Ginette gestured at the flat. ‘Because, ma fille, it means we can live like this.’ Before Nicole could answer, she added, with a resigned shrug of her shoulders, ‘It’s as simple as that!’
Nicole realized that as far as her mother was concerned, the conversation was over. She decided to go to bed. ‘Goodnight, Maman,’ she said, smiling and kissing her on both cheeks.
‘Goodnight, ma fille.’
Nicole tiptoed over to the divan to check on Madeleine, who, she discovered, was lying there with her eyes open. She hesitated, wondering how much, if any, of the previous conversation she had overheard. But Madeleine only smiled weakly. ‘Goodnight, Nicole,’ she said.
And Nicole, bringing a second blanket, crouched down in front of her and moved her glass of water within easier reach. Then she asked, ‘Would you like something to eat?’
‘Oh no, thank you.’
‘OK.’ Nicole pushed a plate of biscuits towards her, saying, ‘Just in case, eh?’ She smiled. ‘Goodnight, Madeleine. We’ll talk tomorrow.’
‘Yes, tomorrow,’ Madeleine answered, touching Nicole’s hand.
Nicole went off to her room, grateful that Madeleine appeared to have heard nothing.
But Madeleine had heard what the two women had said, and felt shaky as she pulled herself up to a sitting position. She had a sip of water, took a biscuit from the selection on the little table in front of her, and stared at the doorway where Nicole’s mother had stood earlier.
Everything finally made sense: she understood now why she had only ever met Nicole at the boulangerie, and why her friend had never talked much about her mother. But even with these puzzling conditions, she and Nicole had become close. Not exactly in the way Madeleine was close to her school friends, of course, but it was still a loving friendship.
Madeleine was surprised to find she wasn’t horrified or shocked by what she’d overheard. On the contrary, she felt strangely at ease, as if she belonged here. The only difference between me and Ginette, she thought grimly, is that she is paid for having sex! But no sooner had this occurred to her than she realized she was being ridiculous. They weren’t the same at all.
Her mind worked overtime now. She found herself wondering why all prostitutes weren’t constantly pregnant. After all, she herself had done it only once – one time, she thought for the umpteenth time – and look at her! If Nicole thinks that I’m in for a shock when she tells me about her mother tomorrow, she thought, she’s in for an even bigger one when I tell her my news.
She couldn’t help smiling, albeit wryly, at the irony of it all. Here she was, staying with someone who must have come across this problem frequently. Surely it was fate. After all, who would know better than Ginette Jobert where to go and how to put an end to her nightmare?
The reality of what she was planning suddenly dawned on her. She shivered and slid shakily back under the blankets, pulling them up tightly around her neck.
Chapter 20
Boulogne, France
Wednesday, 5 December 1945
The last half hour of the train journey seemed interminable to Tom. Frustrated, and oblivious to the glorious countryside of la belle France outside the train window, he reached into his jacket pocket for a cigarette, and absent-mindedly lit it, not giving a second thought to Dominic, who was sitting across from him.
‘Oh, sorry, mate,’ he said, suddenly realizing what he was doing. He held out a Woodbine to Dominic. He was about to strike a match when it suddenly dawned on him that Maddie had been in Boulogne – alone and unprotected – for two days. ‘God Almighty!’ he said suddenly, burning his fingers and leaping up from his seat. ‘Anything could have happened to her!’ He pressed his forehead against the carriage window, willing the train to hurry.
When Dominic tapped him gently on the arm and held up his cigarette, Tom, startled, shook his head. ‘Oh, sorry, mate, I was miles away!’ he said, giving him the matchbox.
Feeling unbelievably hot, Dominic took out his handkerchief to dab the perspiration from his forehead. The train steamed into a little station, took two passengers on board, and juddered agonizingly slowly into movement again.
‘What if she’s not even in Boulogne, Dominic? What do we do then?’ Tom said, drawing heavily on his cigarette.
‘I don’t know, Tom. We’ll just have to see. I still don’t think Madeleine intends to get rid of the baby,’ Dominic whispered. ‘If she is in Boulogne, her plan is probably to stay there till after the birth.’
‘But it doesn’t make any sense.’ Tom frowned. ‘Why would she do that, when she has a family in Marck to take care of her?’
‘Oh, Tom, there is much you don’t understand. And why should you?’ Dominic said. ‘We think she has run away to take the shame from her family. I am afraid that our parents were upset at the prospect of a … how you say? An illegitimate baby.’
Tom was totally taken aback. ‘You mean nobody stood up for her?’
Dominic shook his head sadly. ‘Not even me, in the end.’
Tom opened his mouth to speak, wanting to say how desperately sorry he was, and how selfish he’d been not to realize
that he had to marry Madeleine, but Dominic put a hand up.
‘I know what you are going to say, Tom, I know that she always trusted me, and I should have stood by her. I know all that, but I had to think of our parents, also. And, when I came to find you in England, Madeleine did not know I was doing it. Not until I had gone.’
Tom, aghast now, sat rigid on the edge of his seat. ‘So she could be running away from me, then?’
‘She’s running from all of us, Tom,’ Dominic answered, almost in a whisper.
Tom leaned back in his seat, thinking, yet again, how unforgivably cruel he’d been, not contacting Maddie. Even though, at the time, he’d convinced himself that it was for her good as well as his. But none of his reasons made sense any more.
What did it matter if they didn’t speak the same language? They could learn, couldn’t they? Maybe, he thought, he could convince her to come back to England with him. But then he realized he was fooling himself. For God’s sake, he thought. She’s had enough time to turn against me, and who can blame her? She must have gone through hell to end up doing this!
It was some time before he spoke, but when he did he raised his head and looked directly at Dominic, saying quietly, but with total conviction, ‘I’m going to put everything right.’
Dominic didn’t speak, but with a tight smile he leaned forward and patted Tom’s leg. He hoped against hope that they would find Madeleine, especially now that Tom had at last been shocked into accepting his responsibilities. It was suddenly obvious that he really did care for her after all.
Fifteen minutes later the train finally chuntered into Boulogne station, and Tom, who’d been rummaging through his suitcase for a new pack of cigarettes, snapped the clasps shut and joined Dominic, who had his arm through the carriage window, and was already opening the door.
They stepped down on to the platform, both narrowing their eyes to see through the steam.
‘This way,’ said Dominic confidently, as he jostled through a group of giggling girls.
‘Blimey!’ said Tom, joining him after fighting his way through the unruly girls. ‘Is there a school outing, or something?’
‘Who knows?’ Dominic said without much interest. He’d been feeling queasy, and decided it was due to lack of food. ‘Before we go any further we will have a coffee and a sandwich,’ he stated, in a surprisingly authoritative manner. Seeing Tom’s hesitation, he said sharply, ‘Come on, Tom! We have to eat something or we will be no good to find Madeleine.’
‘OK, but let’s be quick. We can’t waste any more time. I could have walked faster than that bloody train.’
Dominic dived into the first café he saw, ignoring its grubbiness. He ordered two cups of strong coffee, and seeing baguettes filled with meat, two of those as well. He was feeling faint and irritable. In fact, now he thought about it, he realized he hadn’t eaten anything – apart from the bread and jam in Marck – since leaving Tom’s house in England.
He carried the tray over to the table and placed it on the sticky surface.
Tom gulped the coffee and almost spat it out. ‘This stuff’s like dishwater, man!’ He took another slurp. ‘It’s better than nowt, though, I suppose.’
After tasting his, Dominic was ready to take it back. He grumbled, ‘I asked her for strong coffee. Can’t anybody get anything right?’
‘Hey! Hey!’ said Tom. ‘Calm down! Come on, lad, let’s eat and sup up now we’re here.’ They wolfed the baguettes in no time, and washed them down, grimacing, with the coffee. Ten minutes later they were jumping in a taxi.
Dominic, noticing a look of reluctance on the taxi driver’s face when he gave the address of the boulangerie, asked, ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Well, not for you,’ the driver answered, with an irritating air of omniscience.
‘What do you mean, not for us?’ Dominic asked, trying to remain patient.
‘Well, they say all the women round there who collaborated with the Germans are going to be rounded up and taken to the market square today. They’re going to be taught a lesson.’
Dominic hadn’t time to answer before the man continued with undisguised glee, ‘And it’s anyone’s guess what they’ll do to them.’
Tom, seeing the colour drain from Dominic’s face, exclaimed, ‘What did he say?’
As Dominic turned to Tom, the driver added, as if doing them a great favour, ‘You can watch if you like. There will be seats in the square and—’
Dominic leapt forward and grabbed the man by the neck. He said fiercely, ‘Just shut up and get us there.’
As he released his hold, the driver coughed and spluttered. ‘Yes, yes, OK! No need for that, I was only telling you!’ There was a distinct shake in his voice.
Tom was astonished, having never ever seen Dominic be violent before. He pulled him back into his seat. saying, ‘Hey, hey, come on, Dominic, man! What’s all this about, anyway?’
‘When I tell you, you must also stay calm. Otherwise we will have an accident.’
‘OK, OK. Just tell me,’ said Tom, who was really worried now.
Watching how pale Tom’s face went, Dominic wasn’t surprised when he shouted out, ‘But Maddie, man! If she’s staying with a prostitute, she’s in danger! We all know what they got up to in the war, don’t we? Didn’t matter to them if the punters were German, Canadian or what, as long as they were paying! Aw, man! But I thought all that vigilante stuff happened just after the war ended,’ he continued, his voice raised in disbelief.
‘Me also,’ said Dominic. ‘Perhaps they couldn’t get hold of these ones back then. But even so, I can’t believe the police would allow it to happen now. Not after all this time!’
‘Get a move on!’ Tom shouted at the driver, who was looking panicky now, thinking he’d picked up a couple of lunatics. Every gear change grated, and the car bucked and lurched, throwing them around, as he pushed the old Citroën to its limits. He wanted these idiots out of his car as quickly as possible.
Arriving at the patisserie, Tom had the door half-open even before the car had ground to a halt. He jumped out, closely followed by Dominic, who threw some loose change into the front of the car, not even asking what the fare was. There was no way the taxi driver was going to argue: he couldn’t get away fast enough, judging by the trail of smoke and dust he left behind.
Boulogne, France
Monday, 3 December 1945
The buzz of the coffee grinder woke Madeleine early, and when she appeared at the kitchen door Nicole looked up in surprise. ‘Oh, Madeleine! I’m sorry if I woke you. Are you OK?’ She sounded concerned.
‘Yes, I’m OK,’ Madeleine watched her friend pull out the little drawer at the base of the grinder before emptying the freshly ground coffee into a pot. ‘I needed to get up. Where’s the toilet?’
‘We have to talk, Madeleine, but first things first. It’s through here.’ Nicole opened a door in the hall.
‘Your toilet is inside the house?’ Madeleine said astonished. She’d expected to be directed downstairs, to a garden at the back.
Nicole smiled widely. ‘Ah, your toilet is outside at home, eh?’
Nicole was buttering bread and humming to herself when Madeleine got back to the kitchen. ‘That was a real luxury,’ Madeleine said. She had watched in awe as water flushed the pan, and revelled in the pretty flowered hand basin and scented soap she’d found in the bathroom next to the toilet.
‘Here’s your coffee, Madeleine!’
Madeleine glanced around the cheerful room, which, though not quite as big as the kitchen at home, was still spacious. Struck by how uncluttered it was, her gaze fell on a painting hanging below a set of gleaming copper saucepans. It was a seascape – she assumed of somewhere local.
‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ said Nicole, noticing her interest. She added with enthusiasm, ‘It was painted by one of Maman’s clients.’ She immediately wished she hadn’t spoken. Desperate to lead the conversation away from any questions about what her mother did for a living, she put
in quickly, ‘It’s the sand dunes at Sangatte, quite a distance north of here, but only a few kilometres south of where you are in the Pas de Calais.’
‘I know Sangatte,’ Madeleine replied. ‘I used to go there before the war. That was when I was young and carefree, of course.’
Her wistful tone caused Nicole to glance at her thoughtfully. ‘Madeleine, you sound as if you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. What is it, what’s wrong?’ she asked, sitting down opposite her friend.
‘Oh, where do I start?’ Madeleine said.
‘Please, just tell me, Madeleine,’ Nicole coaxed.
Madeleine looked around self-consciously. ‘Where is your maman?’
‘She always sleeps late,’ Nicole waved dismissively.
‘I’m pregnant,’ Madeleine blurted out.
Nicole caught the despair in her voice, and her heart went out to her. There was a short silence before she asked calmly, ‘And where is the father?’
‘In England … he lives in England.’ Their eyes met as Madeleine looked helplessly at her friend.
‘Oh, Madeleine!’ Nicole came round to her side of the table and hugged her. ‘And he doesn’t know?’
‘No, he doesn’t, and I didn’t want him to, but my brother has gone over there to tell him. Can you believe that!’ Madeleine’s look of outrage made it clear she’d been terribly wounded by this betrayal. She began crying as Nicole pulled her closer.
‘Hey, hey, come on,’ Nicole said soothingly. ‘There’s no need to say more. I understand.’
‘I want to get rid of it!’ Madeleine interrupted, struggling to control her tears. There was another silence before Madeleine went on, ‘Don’t look at me like that, Nicole. I’ve made up my mind, and I need your help—’
‘Oh, Madeleine! What makes you think I could help?’ Nicole said.
‘I’m sorry, Nicole, but I overheard your conversation with your maman last night.
‘Oh, no!’ Nicole’s hand flew to her mouth.
‘It’s all right, Nicole. Please don’t look so horrified. It’s good, because I understand everything now. You must not be ashamed of your maman. I’m sure she did what she thought was best for—’
Northern Girl Page 21
