by Fortin, Sue
Fortunately, Poppy was doing a great job of getting under Yves’s feet as she bounced around, yapping constantly. Marcie scrambled towards the door, her legs felt heavy and slow but she got there first. She blocked Yves’s path. Her hands on either side of the door frame.
‘Allez!’ she snarled the word out. ‘Allez! Go. Away.’
Yves swiped at her arm, knocking it away from the doorframe. He went to backhand her shoulder to force her out of the way but Marcie was too quick. Not knowing what else to do, she kicked him as hard as she could in the shins, never more grateful that she had her walking boots on.
Yves howled in pain and grasping his shin with both hands, hopped backwards. Marcie leant down and hooked Poppy by the collar, pulling the little dog into the kitchen. Slamming the door behind her, Marcie bolted it. She leant against the solid oak door. A thump from outside made her jump but she knew there was no way Yves could get in.
He bellowed at her and then all went quiet. Marcie listened intently. She could hear his footsteps scuffing across the patio and the click of the side gate as it opened and closed. She rushed to the front of the house and standing flat against the wall, she hooked the curtain with her finger and stole a look outside. She was relieved to see Yves stomping away up the road.
Marcie’s head fell back against the wall and she closed her eyes. She began to shake as the shock of the last few minutes took hold. Her knees buckled, leaving her to slide down the wall onto the stone floor. She rested her arms over her knees. A tear leaked from each eye.
God, she wished she had a car. She’d be out of here like a shot, taking Asif with her. She’d find somewhere safe for him and Fatimah.
A tickling on the back of her hand made her open her eyes.
Kneeling in front of her, holding out a piece of kitchen roll was Asif. His own eyes were full of concern. Marcie could feel more tears building up. She tried to blink them back but only succeeded in making them fall down her face. Asif shuffled closer. He placed one hand on hers and with his other dabbed the kitchen roll at her face, soaking up the tears.
‘Oh, Asif,’ said Marcie. ‘It should be me looking after you.’ She took the tissue and dried her face. Asif moved round to her side and Marcie put her arm around him. He was such a kind boy. Despite all he had been through, he still had compassion and empathy for others. It humbled her.
The morning passed slowly as Will watched the hands of his wrist watch crawl around the dial. The nurses had been in and checked on Fatimah. Will had waited outside, straining to hear the conversation, ready to jump in if necessary. However, the questions were routine and once they realised Fatimah didn’t speak French and her English was limited they didn’t pursue their attempts at conversation.
Will went in to sit next to Fatimah. ‘How are you?’ he said.
‘I feel little better,’ said Fatimah. ‘I think doctor see me today.’
Will drummed his fingers on his knee. He hated being confined in one place. It was putting him on edge. ‘Fatimah,’ he said. ‘When you are better, what do you want to do? You need to decide what happens next.’
Fatimah looked away. Will thought she probably understood what he was asking. He waited for her to answer. She turned her head back towards him.
‘I cannot go home,’ said Fatimah. ‘Please do not make me go home.’
‘It’s okay,’ said Will, thinking of Marcie and how passionate she was about helping this woman and her child. ‘No-one is going to make you go home. Not if we can help it.’
‘I have sister,’ said Fatimah.
‘A sister?’ said Will. Why hadn’t she mentioned this before? Fear probably. ‘Where is she? Here in France?’
‘England. Southampton.’
‘Why haven’t you contacted her?’ said Will.
‘I have no telephone. Men bring me here.’
‘People traffickers?’ said Will.
‘Yes. They take my money and my phone. I do not know my sister’s number. I do not know what to do.’ A tear trickled down her face, quickly followed by another. ‘I was to meet my sister at St Malo but the men, they leave.’ She paused to catch her breath. ‘My sister has passport. She has passport for her son. She was going to give them to me. We look similar and the boys are same age.’
‘And then once you were safely in the UK, your sister was going to report her passports lost and come back home a few days later on new passports.’
‘It was the only way,’ said Fatimah. ‘I give all money to men who bring me to France. They lie. They say they get me to St Malo. They want other payment.’ She lowered her eyes and crumpled the bedsheet in her hand.
Will understood. She didn’t need to explain further. The people traffickers were ruthless bastards. He had seen way too much during his time in the Army, heard too many stories of maltreatment and abuse. A small flame of anger ignited within him. He was aware that some moral ground had shifted under him. No longer was he unable to do anything about it, his hands weren’t tied by orders from his superiors and bureaucratic red tape anymore. Now he could make a difference, albeit it a difference to only one person. In order to survive his tours, he had become immune to the suffering of individuals, blocking it out and becoming emotionally detached. However, now he had the chance to help Fatimah and her son, he could in some small way begin to balance the scales.
The door to the room opened and in walked the doctor who had dealt with them yesterday.
‘Good morning,’ he said to both Will and Fatimah. ‘How are you today?’ He inspected the charts at the end of the bed. He looked up at Fatimah, waiting for a response.
Will interjected. ‘She is feeling much better.’
‘Très bien,’ said the doctor. ‘We will take the drip away now. Fluids are a good level.’ He flicked the page on the notes. ‘Your wife has a … erm … virus, perhaps. Maybe like the flu. I think she can go home with antibiotics. It is not serious.’
‘Great news,’ said Will.
‘I will arrange for medication.’ The doctor smiled and nodded towards Fatimah before leaving the room.
Will let out a sigh of relief. ‘We’ll be out of here soon,’ he said. ‘I’ll just give Marcie a call to let her know what’s going on. I’ll be back in a minute.’
Will went out into the corridor and took his phone from his pocket.
‘Monsieur.’ Will looked up as a nurse emerged from the room opposite. ‘Portable. Par ici.’
She was shaking her head and pointing towards his mobile. Will got the message and headed outside to make the call.
Frustratingly, he couldn’t get through to Marcie’s phone. He checked his phone which appeared to have good reception. The problem must be at Marcie’s end of the line. He sent a text instead, hoping that would work.
As Will walked back into the building via the reception area, something made him take a second look at the desk.
‘Shit,’ he muttered to himself as he recognised the navy blue uniform. A Gendarme was standing at the desk speaking to the receptionist. A feeling of unease kicked in Will’s stomach. What were the police doing here?
Will kept his eye on the Gendarme as he waited for the lift doors to open. The receptionist was now making a phone call. The lift arrived with a ping and Will stepped inside, impatiently hitting the first floor button several times. As the doors closed, the Gendarme turned around, his gaze resting on Will. The other man’s eyes narrowed. The doors closed and the lift travelled upwards.
Will walked calmly towards the ward, pressing the bell to be let back in. Inside his heart was beginning to pick up the pace. It took another press of the bell, this time rather more insistently before he heard the click of the lock being released.
He stopped at the desk, noting the wariness in the nurse’s eyes. ‘Has the doctor given my wife her medication?’ he said. The nurse looked blank. ‘Medication for my wife?’ Will pointed to a plastic medicine cup on the desk and then towards Fatimah’s room.
‘Monsieur Adams.’ Will turned to the vo
ice behind him. It was the doctor. ‘I have given your wife the antibiotics.
‘Good. We need to go,’ said Will.
‘No, Monsieur,’ said the doctor. ‘There is some paperwork to complete. You must wait.’
Will didn’t miss a look pass between the doctor and nurse. He responded calmly. ‘Okay. I’ll wait with my wife.’
‘That will be good,’ said the doctor. ‘Thank you. I will try to make it quick.’
Will forced himself to walk casually back to Fatimah’s room. He paused at the door and glanced down the corridor. They were watching him. Will raised his hand and smiled before going in. He slid the blinds closed on the door.
‘Fatimah,’ he said striding over to the bed. ‘Where are your tablets? Medication?’
She pointed to a box on the bedside cabinet. Will grabbed the box and shoved it into his pocket.
‘What is happening?’ said Fatimah sitting herself up.
‘We need to leave. Now,’ said Will. He drew the curtain around the bed and pulled Fatimah’s clothes from the cupboard. ‘Get dressed. Quickly.’
Fatimah’s eyes opened in alarm. ‘Now?’
‘Yes. I’ll explain later. Just do it.’ He darted out from the curtain and went over to the door. Tilting the blinds he peered down the corridor. He could just see the desk. The doctor was still standing there but several nurses were scurrying around, closing doors to the other private rooms up and down the corridor. Another patient was being hurried back to his room.
‘I’m ready,’ said Fatimah. ‘My legs are not good.’
Will looked over his shoulder. Fatimah was holding onto the bedside table. She was still very weak and wobbly. ‘Can you walk?’
‘A little.’ She took slow steps over to him.
‘We just need to get to the car,’ said Will. ‘We’ll have to risk it. Hold on tight to me. When I say go, we move straight away. We’re going to go right and take the fire escape. Understand?’
Fatimah nodded.
Will watched through the blinds as the corridor’s flurry of activity died down. He guessed they were clearing the way for the Gendarme to come up so it wouldn’t cause any distress to the other patients.
Will went over to the window and looked down at the road below him. Fatimah’s room was situated directly above the main entrance and Will had a clear view of what was going on.
‘Fuck,’ he said out loud as he clocked a police van pulling up alongside the police car that was already there. Ben had been right when he said Yves may only be a farmer, but his family connections made him a very powerful man. This most definitely was overkill for a kid who had pinched a chicken and a mother who was just trying to find a safe place to live. The local police clearly meant business. Will knew he couldn’t wait any longer. ‘Time to move,’ he said to Fatimah.
He opened the door a couple of inches so he had a better view. The desk was empty. Will opened the door fully and stepped outside. He beckoned to Fatimah and supported her under the arm. Propelling her forwards, Will steered Fatimah to the end of the corridor. He had already noted the door wasn’t alarmed and pushed against the bar.
A rush of cold December air blasted their faces and Fatimah caught her breath. They stepped out onto the landing of a wrought iron fire escape. Will took off his jacket and put it over Fatimah’s shoulders.
‘Watch your step,’ he said as they began their descent down the rear of the building. It took longer than Will would have liked but eventually they reached the ground. Keeping close to the wall, Will peered round the corner. He could see the empty police vehicles. All he had to do now was get Fatimah across the road and into the car park where the MPV was waiting.
Chapter Eleven
Marcie managed to cobble together something resembling lunch after finding a tin of soup in the back of the pantry. It wasn’t much and although Asif gobbled it down, he didn’t gesture for any more. It was with some sadness that Marcie guessed he was probably used to going without meals.
After this morning’s run-in with Yves, Marcie was on edge. She was terrified the policeman would come back again, more determined to find Asif or to question her about kicking Yves. She simply couldn’t risk going out and leaving Asif on his own. Her phone was now broken completely. The screen had turned black and although she had charged it, nothing had changed.
Marcie found something on the television for Asif to watch and sat down on the sofa next to him. There was nothing she could do except to sit and wait for Will to come back, hopefully with Fatimah.
Will knew time was against them. As soon as the hospital staff realised Fatimah was gone, which would probably be within the new few minutes, the police might come after them. He hoped, however, they might decide they had better things to do. As they reached the car, Will blipped open the door with the remote key. Opening the rear door he practically lifted Fatimah into the middle seats.
‘Lay down,’ said Will grabbing a travel rug from the rear seat. ‘The police will be looking for two people travelling together,’ he paused and looked at Fatimah. The poor woman had already been through more than any person should in their life. ‘Trust me,’ he said. He gave Fatimah’s hand a squeeze and then pulled the blanket over her head.
He shivered as he jumped into the driver’s seat. The grey clouds above began to shed their load and small flakes of snow fluttered down. Will started the engine and pulled out of the parking bay, taking a quick glance at the entrance to the hospital where all seemed quiet. He was glad the MPV was left hand drive and had French plates, that way they would be harder to spot. He drove steadily out of the hospital grounds.
Once further down the road, he threaded his way through the town and out onto the back road towards The Retreat.
Will tried Marcie’s mobile again, he desperately needed to get hold of her. He was concerned the police might turn up at the cottage before he got there. Still he couldn’t connect to Marcie’s phone. Then he remembered the house phone. Frustratingly, he had never saved the landline number to his mobile.
With one hand on the steering wheel and one eye on the road, Will used his phone to Google The Retreat. The link to the website came up and he tapped on the blue writing with his thumb.
The website took a while to load but gradually the image filled the screen. The telephone icon appeared and Will pressed the link. He knew he only had a few minutes before he would be driving through a wooded area where he would probably lose signal for a time.
‘Come on, Marcie,’ he urged. ‘Pick up the sodding phone.’
‘Hello?’ came a wary voice at the other end.
‘Marcie, it’s Will. You ok?’
‘Am I pleased to hear your voice,’ said Marcie. ‘How’s Fatimah? Are you on your way back?’
Will interrupted her. ‘Stop a minute,’ he said. ‘Listen. The police came to the hospital. I’m pretty certain they’re after Fatimah.’
‘How did they know she was there?’
‘I passed Yves in the road yesterday when I was taking Fatimah to the hospital. I had to swerve to avoid hitting him,’ said Will. ‘He’s certainly got some powerful friends. I can’t believe they’re going to so much trouble for a mother and son.’
‘He’s been round here this morning,’ said Marcie.
Will could hear a small crack in her voice. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Put it this way, he’s going to have one hell of a bruise on his shin,’ said Marcie. ‘How far away are you?’
‘About ten minutes, fifteen tops,’ said Will. ‘We need to sit down and work out what we’re going to do. Fatimah says she has a sister in England. She got as far as here before she ran out of money. And luck.’ Will felt the anger in his stomach flare again at what Fatimah had been through. He swung the car left onto another road. Marcie was speaking but he could only hear every other word before there was a buzz of interference and the line went dead. He dropped the phone onto the seat between his legs and accelerated down the tree lined road.
Marcie heard the c
ar pull up into the drive and rushed to open the door. The tyres cut a track through the thin layer of snow that had settled.
‘Come inside, quickly,’ said Marcie as she helped Fatimah out of the car. Asif burst from the doorway of the farmhouse and raced to his mother, bundling into her, nearly knocking her off her feet. Marcie smiled at Asif. ‘I told you mummy would be back.’
‘I’ll park the car in the garage, out of sight,’ said Will. ‘Keep your fingers crossed the snow will keep falling and cover our tracks.’
Marcie settled Fatimah in the living room in front of the fire. Asif was practically glued to his mother’s side, not wanting to leave her.
‘It’s freezing out there,’ said Will. He stamped the snow from his boots on the mat.
‘I made some coffee,’ said Marcie placing the сafetière on the kitchen table. ‘There’s no milk, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s okay. A strong shot of coffee will do me good,’ said Will.
Marcie sat down at the table next to him. He looked tense. The relaxed Will she had seen more and more of in recent weeks had disappeared. ‘I’ve been thinking about what to do,’ said Marcie.
‘Join the club,’ said Will.
‘I’ve worked it out, though,’ said Marcie. ‘I take Fatimah and Asif with me to the UK. There’s an overnight crossing from Caen. If we leave within the next hour, we can get there in time.’
‘How do you intend getting them through customs?’ said Will. ‘You’re not really going to smuggle them in on the back seat of the car, are you?’
‘Actually,’ said Marcie, ‘that’s exactly what I intend to do.’ She looked Will straight in the eye.
‘It’s too risky,’ he said. ‘What if you get caught?’
‘I’m not thinking about that,’ said Marcie.
‘Well, you should,’ said Will. ‘It’s bloody irresponsible and reckless.’
There was a hint of unease in his voice, an uncertainty Marcie hadn’t heard before. ‘What choice do we have?’ she said calmly. ‘If we can make it through French customs, then whether we get stopped in the UK is neither here nor there. Once we’re in England, Fatimah can apply for asylum.’
