The Child Left Behind (23 page)

‘What did you think the Germans would do when we are trying our damnedest to disrupt things for them? Did you think they would have a welcoming committee set out for us and shake us warmly by the hand?’

‘No, but—’

‘No buts, Bridgette,’ Charles snapped. ‘We are at war and we either lie down and let the Germans walk all over us, or we fight. Face facts. Innocent people will get killed because that is how it is. Now are you with us, or against us?’

‘You don’t need me to answer that, surely?’

‘Good girl,’ Charles said approvingly. ‘We are having another supply of explosives flown in just after Christmas. This time they have given us a list of key places they want the charges laid. Are you up for that?’

‘Of course I am,’ Bridgette said. ‘I am not giving up now.’

At the end of January 1943, the Resistance nearly annihilated a whole company of soldiers one night travelling into the town by road. Bridgette had been hidden behind the trees lining the road that dusky evening as the soldiers approached, having helped lay the line of charges earlier.

When she was given the word she pushed down the plunger. Truck after truck full of soldiers exploded. Bridgette could see little through the swirling black smoke, but she could hear the screams and cries of the soldiers and hear the cracking of the flames. She felt only exhilaration that she had killed so many of them.

Charles pulled her away. Not all the men had been killed, and through the smoke he had seen survivors climbing the bank towards them, guns in hand. It had been the first time the Resistance
cell had been in danger of being caught, but they all got away safely.

When Bridgette was dropped outside the park, she made her way home as swiftly as possible, though mindful of patrols. She slipped inside the door with her heart pounding. She was dreadfully tired and sought her bed straightaway, but once there she lay wide-eyed and went over and over the scenes from that evening’s work in her head. She wondered what the German response would be.

They had once issued a directive that fifty Communists or de Gaullists should be killed for every German, and over the following days ninety prisoners were taken, many from St-Omer.

From the windows of the bar, Bridgette watched the men they had chosen march away, and she also saw the weeping women and the screaming children. Despite Charles’s words she felt both sorry for her fellow townspeople and also responsible for much of their grief.

In February 1943, in Buncrana, Biddy Sullivan’s funeral was held. When Christy Byrne was told this he fell to remembering what he knew about the mother of his best friend. She had never been what he would call an easy woman, and everyone knew of her violent temper. Of all her children, she had only ever had time for Nuala.

Tom, on one of his many visits to Christy, had said that was why Biddy had been so incensed when Nuala had married a Protestant in 1921.

‘She had built her up so much, you see, so she had further to fall,’ he said. ‘Nuala was no angel. She was human being, just like anyone else, but her only crime was falling in love with a man of a different religion.’

‘But didn’t your father die of shock when he got the letter telling him that?’ Christy asked.

‘Christy, my father was on borrowed time,’ Tom said. ‘His heart was very bad. He had had one warning attack and the doctor had told him to take life easier but he had taken no heed of it. I should imagine that, though he would undoubtedly have been shocked at Nuala’s news, his heart wouldn’t have given out if it had been fine and healthy in the first place. There was no need to blame Nuala and, like Mammy did with Aggie, forbid her name to be spoken and not allow us any contact with her, and we shouldn’t have allowed it to happen either.’

It been harsh, everyone said so, but few said it to Biddy herself. And when Joe went to America, not long after his father’s death, the only one Biddy Sullivan had to vent her spleen on was Tom. Most of the townsfolk didn’t know how he put up with his mother and nearly everyone agreed that he deserved a medal. Christy thought the same, because when Tom popped along to see him sometimes his manner and demeanour reminded him of a whipped dog.

He was certain that the way Tom’s mother behaved was the real reason that Tom had never
married. When asked he always said that he wasn’t the marrying kind, but Finn had never been able to understand that at all. He always said he had it made, as far as women were concerned, for he was a fine handsome man, kindly and considerate, and added to that he was set to inherit the farm. ‘You should see the girls lusting after him at Mass, Christy,’ he would say. ‘And their mammies encouraging them. Tom must go round with blinkers on, for he never even sees them.’

But how could he have married, Christy often thought. What woman could he take back to that farmhouse with his mother acting the way she did? What sort of person would stand it? He recalled what Tom had told him about the way she had been with Nuala’s daughter, Molly, when she had brought her back from England after Nuala and her husband had been killed in a car accident.

Christy had been sorry to hear that Nuala had died. She had been a pretty wee thing, and so friendly too. She and Finn had been the best of friends and Christy had heard she had been so upset when she’d heard of Finn’s death.

Christy had seen for himself the young girl, Molly, who looked the image of Nuala, when his father had taken him on a rare trip into Buncrana and he had caught sight of her. There had been a wee boy too, Tom had told him, but he had been left in Birmingham, England in the care of his grandfather, and Biddy Sullivan had led the orphaned Molly one hell of a life. ‘It was like she
had Nuala back and she punished Molly for what Nuala had done,’ Tom said.

Christy wasn’t at all surprised that Molly had taken off to find her brother and grandfather when war was barely begun. But Biddy had got her comeuppance, for a stroke had felled her in the end and eventually took away her speech too.

And now she was six foot under and could not do any more harm. Christy had come to a decision and he had something to tell Tom the next time he saw him. He hadn’t long to wait, for Tom paid him a visit the day after Biddy’s funeral.

‘I’m sorry about your mother, Tom,’ Christy said, because it was expected.

Tom smiled ruefully. ‘No you’re not, Christy. And, God forgive me, I’m not sorry she’s dead either. If I am honest, I’m relieved.’

‘Well, no one would wonder at that,’ Christy said. ‘Did it go off all right?’

‘So-so,’ Tom said. ‘There were only a handful of people there. As Joe’s wife, Gloria, said, what a wasted life she had.

‘It was of her own making,’ Christy said. ‘And now there is nothing to stop you going to see Molly and her brother in England.’

‘Spring’s a busy time on a farm,’ Tom said. ‘We have two calves ready to drop and Joe would be glad if I hung round for a while. I will write to Molly and explain. She lived on the farm for long enough to understand these things.’

‘Yes,’ Christy said and then he was silent,
thinking of what he was about to say to Tom, a secret that he had kept for years.

But Tom, watching him, knew that he was worrying about something and he said, ‘Come on! Out with it, Christy? Tell me whatever it is you are fretting over.’

‘I said I would never tell,’ Christy said. ‘And I wouldn’t have either while your mother was alive. She was the sort to cause trouble.’

‘She was indeed,’ Tom agreed. ‘So what have you done, Christy? Killed your granny and buried her on the farm somewhere?’

‘No, nothing like that,’ Christy said with a grin. ‘This is about Finn.’

Whatever Tom expected Christy to say it wasn’t that. Finn had been dead twenty-seven years. ‘Go on,’ he said.

‘Well, it was just that Finn got married.’

‘What!’ Tom exclaimed. ‘He couldn’t have. We would have been informed.’

‘Tom,’ Christy said, ‘I was his witness. The girl’s name was Gabrielle Jobert and she was the daughter of the baker in St-Omer, the town we were billeted near. We were all ready for the off, moving out that morning, and old man Jobert comes up to the camp screaming that his daughter has been taken down and she had named Finn as father of the child she was carrying.’

‘Christ,’ breathed Tom. ‘What did he do?’

‘What could he do but marry her? A Catholic priest attached to our battalion did the honours.’

‘We heard nothing, though,’ Tom said. ‘Honest to God, Christy. This has knocked me for six.’

‘I don’t think news of the marriage had filtered through to the authorities,’ Christy said. ‘We were on the march as soon as the marriage service was over and heading south, only staying a day or couple of days at each place till we reached the Somme.’

‘But why didn’t Finn write and tell us?’

‘Because he was under age,’ Christy said. ‘At the time of his marriage Finn wasn’t quite twenty so he gave the priest a false date of birth to protect Gabrielle. He was never sure whether that meant that the marriage was legal or not.’

‘If Mammy had known she’d have made trouble all right,’ Tom said. ‘She’d have ended up having the marriage annulled or something.’

Christy nodded. ‘That’s what Finn was afraid of. France is a Catholic country and they have the same view of unmarried mothers there as they do over here. That’s why he lied in the first place. I wrote to Gabrielle too and explained, because she had been so frightened and upset at the time of the wedding, and I might say quite badly beaten up by her brute of a father. I knew she was probably not aware what Finn had done and I didn’t want her to write to your parents.’

‘Oh, that would really have set the cat among the pigeons,’ Tom said. ‘I mean you are sure, I suppose, that the child was Finn’s?’

‘Absolutely,’ Christy said. ‘Gabrielle was a
respectable girl who loved Finn dearly.’ He shrugged. ‘They got carried away. It happens. Anyway, before we went into battle Finn left details of all this with the priest who married him and said if anything happened to him he was to send this news to his parents, but the priest was blown up before he was able to deal with it and all the letters, papers and everything blown to kingdom come with him, I should think.’

‘It’s amazing really,’ Tom said. ‘He used to boast to us of his sexual exploits. Bound to get his fingers burned one way and another. How did he die, Christy? I have wanted to ask you that for years but wouldn’t risk upsetting you.’

‘It won’t upset me any more,’ Christy said. ‘Finn died impaled on a German bayonet. I was with him to the end and removed his dog tag as he asked me to. Later, when I was carried in unconscious from the field, they found Finn’s tag and mine around my neck and just sent off the relevant telegrams. Twenty-one thousand Allies were killed in the first half-hour of that battle. Imagine the bodies littering the battlefield at the end of that first bloody day? I think they were glad to get the telegrams off to any they could as soon as possible, and I wasn’t able to put them right about Gabrielle, but I wrote to her as soon as I was able.’

‘Of course, the poor girl wouldn’t know until then.’

‘No,’ Christy said. ‘Must have been awful for her, not knowing anything. As it was, the shock
of the letter caused her to go into labour and she gave birth to a little girl she called Bridgette, after your mother.’

‘Oh God,’ said Tom. ‘I bet she doesn’t know what my mother was really like if she called a child after her. Do you know where she is now?’

Christy shook his head. ‘She could be anywhere, but wherever she is she is likely married, because she was a looker, and she had a lovely personality too. To be honest, I could see why Finn was smitten. I fancied her myself, but the only one she had eyes for was Finn.’

‘Even if she is still in the same town,’ Tom said, ‘as you say, she might be married and probably has many more children. Maybe none of them knows about Bridgette’s real father. It could cause a lot of upset and trouble if we tried finding out any more about this child—or young woman, as she will be now—even if she is Finn’s daughter. Anyway, France at the moment is an occupied country, but even if it wasn’t I think we should leave well alone.’

‘So do I,’ Christy said. ‘But I just thought you ought to know.’

‘Yes,’ said Tom. ‘Thank you, Christy. You were a good friend to my young brother. I don’t think I will tell Joe and Gloria about this, because there is little point.’

‘No,’ Christy agreed. ‘We’ll likely never hear from Gabrielle ever again.’

The Resistance continued in their sabotage work through the spring and early summer of 1943. Then one day Charles met Bridgette from work and told her that the rumour was there were going to be bombing raids soon.

‘Here? In St-Omer?’

‘Well, I would say that most will be concentrated on Eperlecques Forest.’

‘Why should anyone bomb there?’ Bridgette asked.

‘The Germans have built an enormous concrete bunker there. I’ve seen it through field glasses. No one would get near. That’s why the bombing will be from the air. Anyway, our bombs are not powerful enough to raise more than a dent in it, they say.’

‘Why do they want to bomb it anyway?’ Bridgette asked. ‘What’s it for?’

‘That I can’t answer,’ Charles said. ‘But you can bet that if Hitler is involved, whatever the purpose of that huge monstrosity, it will not benefit France.
And you should see the poor prisoners who have built the thing in the first place and now work in it.’

‘Well, they will have had no choice in that.’

‘None of us has any choice,’ Charles said grimly. ‘Not when our country is controlled by Germany.’

On the night of 27 August Bridgette heard the drone and rumble of many planes and went to the window to look.

After a few minutes Lisette joined her. ‘Oh, don’t they look menacing?’ she exclaimed.

‘These are probably the first of the Allied raids I was warned about,’ Bridgette said. ‘And if that is the case, they will be bombing the construction built in Eperlecques Forest.’

‘What’s it for?’

‘I don’t know,’ Bridgette answered as the blast of the first explosion shook the house. ‘But I would say the Allies have a good idea.’

‘I think you’re right there,’ Lisette said as the noise of another massive explosion rent the air.

However, despite the bombing raid in August and another in early September, the mood in France was more buoyant after the BBC gave the news of several German defeats. It seemed that for the first time the war was not going all Hitler’s way. And then on 8 September, two days after Leonie had joined her brother at school, Italy surrendered.

‘Told you,’ Maurice said. ‘No good at fighting, the Italians. Mussolini dragged them in. Their hearts weren’t in it.’

It was good news just the same, Bridgette thought. Was it possible that they might actually win this war after all? That would be almost unbelievable.

The winter set in early that year and it was a cold one. Bridgette had been worried about her mother for some time, for she had had a severe cold and her cough lingered. Legrand had told her to stay out of the shop because he didn’t want her spluttering and coughing over the bread and cakes, and he engaged a girl to serve.

‘That’s all well and good,’ Bridgette said, ‘and more than time you had a rest, but you really need to see a doctor.’

‘You know that your father won’t pay for the services of a doctor when all I have is a chest cold,’ Gabrielle said. ‘What can a doctor do for me anyway?’

‘Well, if you were to call him in, maybe you would find out,’ Bridgette pointed out.

‘I’ll be all right in a day or two,’ Gabrielle assured her. ‘Don’t fuss. I can’t bear it.’

But Bridgette had been very worried about her though and therefore she was not totally surprised when Legrand called at the Laurents’ house just a couple of days later. Bridgette was getting ready to go to work for the afternoon and evening shift and she asked her father inside grudgingly.

‘Your mother is ailing,’ he said. ‘She has need of you.’

‘What’s wrong with her?’ Bridgette demanded. ‘You have had the doctor out?’

‘Yes,’ Legrand said. ‘Your mother has TB. The doctor said she could go to hospital, for all they are so full, but she won’t hear of it. She wants you.’

TB. The dreaded disease. Whole families had been wiped out with TB and Bridgette’s concerned eyes met those of Marie. Marie saw how agitated and upset Bridgette was and couldn’t wonder at it.

‘I must go and see to Maman,’ Bridgette said. ‘But I am due at work.’

‘I will go and explain your absence, don’t worry,’ Marie said. ‘You go to your mother and pop back when you can and tell us how she is.’

‘You can be sure of that,’ Bridgette said, and she kissed Marie on both cheeks before lifting her coat and beret from the hook behind the door.

From the first moment that Bridgette saw her frail and pale-faced mother sitting in her bed, she knew that she was looking at a dying woman and her heart sank.

She betrayed none of her fears, though. She smiled at her mother and said as cheerfully as she could, ‘Well, what have you been up to? Glad to see that you are being a good girl now and behaving yourself.’

Gabrielle replied in like manner: ‘You know I always do as I’m told.’

‘Huh,’ Bridgette said. ‘Of course you do.’

Gabrielle had a spasm of coughing then and neither mentioned that the handkerchief she put to her mouth was blood-spattered or that Gabrielle tried to hide it in her fist. When she had recovered she looked at Bridgette directly, all banter gone from her as she said, ‘I don’t want to go to hospital.’

‘Then you won’t have to,’ Bridgette assured her.

‘But I am afraid for you,’ Gabrielle said. ‘Maybe I’m being selfish. This is infectious, Bridgette.’

‘I know that, and I also know that I have the constitution of an ox. And as for being selfish, you wouldn’t even know where to begin,’ Bridgette said. She knew there was only one thing to be done and the decision had been made as soon as she had seen how sick her mother was. ‘When I have made you comfortable I will go back to the Laurents’, pack up my things and come and stay here with you.’

Tears of gratitude stood out in Gabrielle’s eyes and Bridgette put her arms around her. ‘You looked after me when I needed it,’ she said. ‘Now it’s my turn.’

The Laurents could see as well as Bridgette where her duty lay. However, mindful of the reason Bridgette had come to them in the first place, Maurice went out and bought a large bolt and fixed it on the inside of Bridgette’s old bedroom door. She felt so much safer with that in place. She knew too that her days in the Resistance were over, for she could never put her terminally sick mother in any sort of risk.

Even Charles could see, albeit reluctantly, that Bridgette had to curtail her Resistance work, but even if it hadn’t been for Gabrielle being so ill, he knew it would be far too dangerous for Bridgette to do anything for the cell while sharing a house with Robert Legrand and his son.

The fear of infection also meant Legrand was now sharing a bedroom with Georges and would only come as far as Gabrielle’s bedroom door, and Georges never came near at all. This suited Bridgette just fine. She had wondered how she would cope living with them again, but they spent so little time in the place it wasn’t much of a problem.

She had also dreaded sitting around the table with them, but that didn’t happen either, because though she cooked for them, she ate her meals with her mother, and Gabrielle seldom left her bed, never mind the bedroom. The German officers didn’t come either now that there was serious illness in the house. She supposed her father and Georges met them somewhere else, because there was still no shortage of food in the house or coal in the cellar.

Bridgette seldom left her mother but she never minded this, she valued it as a special time in both their lives. They had few visitors but the doctor and the priest as people were frightened of catching TB. Marie Laurent came to see her friend, though, with Lisette, and Gabrielle was always glad to see them.

Christmas passed quietly. Around that time the people of St-Omer couldn’t help but be aware that the Germans were working on another building of some size very close to the town, on the site of Wizerness quarry, which had been disused for some years. Many saw the lines of gaunt and shackled prisoner offloaded at the huge site, and while they said some were French, the majority were Soviet and Polish prisoners.

‘And you say men and woman too?’ Gabrielle asked, as Bridgette brought in a tray with their breakfast on.

‘That’s what a couple of the men were saying after Mass,’ Bridgette said, as she helped her mother sit up in the bed ‘They watched it all through field glasses and said the prisoners looked half starved and some could barely walk.’

‘But what are these places for?’

‘I don’t know, Maman. But I know this much: whatever they are doing in these places is probably not good news for the rest of us.’ She placed the tray across her mother’s knees as she spoke. ‘And now let us eat this while it’s hot. You need to keep your strength up in this weather because, for all it’s almost February, it’s just as chilly as it ever was.’

The following day there was another air raid, which seemed again to be targeting Eperlecques Forest. This was followed by another five days later, and another five days after that. In March
there were also raids much closer to the town, so close that the windows in the bakery sometimes rattled. Bridgette realised the new construction was being bombed, and these attacks went on through March and into April.

It was hard not to be unnerved when the throbbing drone of many planes could be heard overhead, followed by ear-splitting explosions but she tried to speak reassuringly to her mother.

In mid-April as she was returning home with the shopping, Bridgette was alarmed to see Charles appear from a shop doorway and fall into step beside her.

‘What do you want?’ she said. ‘I told you I can do no more.’

‘I need a favour.’

‘I can’t help you. You know how I’m placed.’

‘There isn’t anyone else I can ask.’

‘There must be.’

‘D’you think I’d be here if there was?’

‘Charles, stop this,’ Bridgette said heatedly. ‘It isn’t fair to ask me, really it isn’t. My mother has only weeks to live.’

‘The person I am talking about might have only hours,’ Charles said grimly. ‘He’s a British agent. We were getting him out, but the escape route has been rumbled. Worse than that, someone has talked and so the Nazis know that he’s here. At least, they know he landed in this area. You could hide him until we could find a safe route out.’

‘Are you mad?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Charles said. ‘If they start house-to-house searches, they will find this British man and when they have finished torturing him, he will be glad to die, and so will the people who are harbouring him at the moment.’

‘I know that. So why should I take him into my house and risk that?’

‘Because your house will not be searched.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Because your father and brother are collaborators and informers.’

‘You know that?’ Bridgette breathed.

‘I make it my business to know,’ Charles said. ‘And when the war is over, they will pay, as all traitors will pay.’

Bridgette shivered from the look of sheer hatred in Charles dark eyes. ‘Don’t glare at me that way, I’ll not try to stop you,’ she said. ‘I would rather help you. I would like that pair to get their just deserts.’

‘Ah yes, but that is for later,’ Charles said. ‘The bakery is about the safest house in the town. Your father and brother as thick as thieves with the German officers, and your mother terminally ill with TB.’

‘But that is why—’

Charles reached out and grasped Bridgette’s arm. ‘Ask your mother before she dies, does she want to do this noble thing? Many lives will be saved if she does, and not just the British man’s. The Germans have obscene ways of making a person talk and this could break the Resistance cell wide
open. And it will only be for a week or maybe two until we can get another route organised.’

‘Charles—’

‘Ask her,’ Charles said. ‘Surely you owe her that. I will meet you here, same time tomorrow, for your answer.’

He was gone before Bridgette could say another word. She couldn’t do it. Anyone could see that. Charles was a fanatic. Nagging at her, however, was the fate of them all if she refused, and she knew the guilt that she had condemned them all to death would lodge on her conscience for ever.

Gabrielle knew every beat of Bridgette’s heart and so was well aware that something was bothering her. ‘Let me help you while I am able?’ she said later that day. ‘Tell me what you are fretting over and remember when a person is dying, nothing is too bad to hear. Your whole perspective changes.’

Gabrielle knew her mother was right and so with a sigh she sat on the bed and told her everything about her involvement with the Resistance. It was what Gabrielle had feared and yet she was so proud of her brave daughter.

Bridgette held her mother’s eyes as she went on, ‘I told Charles that I could no longer be in the Resistance when I came to look after you. He fully understood and then today I met him again and he asked me to hide a British agent. The Germans found out about the escape route to get him home, and Charles asked if I would hide him until they can make other arrangements.’

‘Do they know that he is here?’ Gabrielle asked.

‘Well, they know that he is in this general area.’ Bridgette said. ‘And I quite understand, and so will Charles, if you feel that you can’t do this.’

Gabrielle knew what she wanted to say, and that was to bring the agent here immediately. For her it wouldn’t matter if it were discovered what they had done—a dying woman views risk in a totally different way—but it was dangerous for her daughter.

‘What if he should be found?’ she asked. ‘What would they do to you?’

Bridgette shivered. ‘You don’t want to know.’

‘Well, won’t they turn the town upside down to find him? If they search everyone’s house, there is nowhere for him to hide here.’

‘Charles doesn’t think they would ever search the bakery,’ Bridgette said. ‘They know about my father and Georges’s involvement with the Germans, and think that they are the last people they would expect to harbour an enemy agent.’

‘Yes, I see that.’ Gabrielle nodded. ‘And if they’re right, and if this British man is willing to risk TB, then he can bide here in comparative safety until the Resistance can get him out.’

‘You do know what you are saying, Maman.’

‘Of course I do,’ Gabrielle said. ‘Tell this Charles that the man can come here for now.’