Northern Girl (25 page)

Merde! Merde! Merde!
Her immediate instinct was to get on the bike and pedal like fury. But she knew that she’d only fall off again if she didn’t straighten the valise, and that would draw even more attention. So, with a carefree smile, she turned to the driver, who had reached her side now, and answered calmly, ‘No, monsieur. I am OK, thank you.’

The man, who fortunately she’d never seen before, looked concerned and asked, ‘Is there anything I can do? Maybe I can give you a lift somewhere? I am on my way to Calais.’

Madeleine turned to look at his car. The driver’s door was open, and the engine running. For a moment she was tempted. But so many things had gone wrong already, and this could be another. After all, she had no idea who the stranger was.

‘Oh, no thank you. Er … I am going to see a friend, only a few doors away,’ she lied. ‘I’m staying with her for a few days.’ Madeleine pointed to her valise, wondering why she felt she had to explain anything to this stranger.

‘OK, if you are sure,’ the man said, still sounding troubled. He turned and walked back to his car.

Madeleine waved nervously as he drove past her, heading along the road that she was about to take to Calais. She watched until he had disappeared into the distance, and then mounted the bike. It was much better
balanced now, and she pedalled off confidently into the night.

Thankfully there was no other traffic for a while, and she soon found herself riding along beside the high cemetery walls. She slowed down. She remembered climbing them with Tom. But somehow she wasn’t frightened of moss-covered tombs any more, even in the dark. She’d outgrown that girlish hysteria: she was experiencing real life – and real fear – tonight. She was so engrossed in thinking about Tom that she had to fight the urge to stop and touch the stretch of wall where they had once laughed and kissed. The memory was suddenly so real that Tom could have been standing in front of her. Involuntarily, she reached out to touch him, lifting her fingers from the handlebar. The bike wobbled so wildly that she only just managed to get it under control before a second car overtook her, hooting.

She cycled on more carefully, angry she’d allowed herself to think about Tom. She had to stop doing it. After all, who was making this dangerous journey in the middle of the night on a never-ending road? Not him! She couldn’t allow him to slow her down, because she
had
to get to the station before eleven fifteen. If she missed that train, there wouldn’t be another until the morning. Filled with horror at the thought of having to spend the night on a station platform, she cycled faster.

She was so relieved when she finally reached the town hall clock in the centre of Calais. It struck eleven times just as she turned into the road where the station was.
But she still had to reach the far end.
Mon Dieu!
she thought. Am I going to make it?

The traffic lights turned red as she approached, so she jumped off the bike and pushed it on to the footpath, then, quickly jumping back on, pedalled for all she was worth. Outside the station she left the bike in a stand for Dominic to collect later. She’d send him a letter enclosing the padlock key, and telling him where it was. To her horror she realized she’d lost the chain the padlock threaded through. Hurriedly, she hooked the padlock through one of the spokes on the front wheel. She’d just have to hope that would be secure enough.

As she bolted for the ticket office, it crossed her mind that a pregnant woman probably shouldn’t be running with a heavy suitcase, let alone cycling at top speed. How stupid I am to worry about that! she thought. It doesn’t matter, because I won’t be pregnant for much longer, anyway!

Her ticket between her teeth so she could carry her case in one hand and steady herself on hand rails with the other, she realized she had exactly two minutes to get to a platform on the other side of the pedestrian bridge. On previous trips she’d never noticed how many steep steps there were to run up and down. But then she’d never been in such a hurry before.

She reached the platform just as the last door slammed shut and the silhouetted stationmaster, half-visible in the hissing steam, blew the final whistle. ‘Oh no! wait!’ she called, as the engine clanked into life.

‘You are too late,
ma fille
,’ the stationmaster said, seeing her.

‘Oh no, I’m not!’ said Madeleine, as the train jerked and ground, trying to pull away. She pushed her valise at the bewildered stationmaster, then yanked open the first carriage door that came alongside, and jumped in. Then, hanging out of the window, she called to the man, who looked impressed by her daring. ‘My case! Please run!’ The train began to speed up. ‘Give it here!
Quick!
’

The stationmaster sprang into action. He lifted the case above his head and ran level with her. Madeleine grabbed the case with both hands, nearly overbalancing as she hung out of the window. Pressing her knees hard against the inside of the carriage, she managed to hoist it in through the window.

‘
Merci
, Monsieur!
Merci!
’ she called as the stationmaster dwindled away into the distance.

With no energy left to lift her case on to the rack, she dropped it to the floor and sank breathlessly into her seat. Once she’d caught her breath she looked around, and, satisfied that no one in the carriage knew her, settled back again. She was pleased the seats facing her were unoccupied. The last thing she wanted right now was to have to talk to anyone. Or even worse, cope with those furtive glances that pass between strangers who aren’t speaking.

She tried to relax, but all she could think was: I wonder when they’ll discover I’ve gone? Maybe they know already, and they’re out looking for me. She felt a pang, knowing how much she was hurting her parents
by running away. But the thought of being packed off to England to live with someone who hadn’t even cared enough to write to her … No. It was impossible.

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 …

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 waited. 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.