The French Retreat (Falling for France Book 1) (12 page)

‘I’ve just said that I’m a friend of yours and asked her to contact me,’ said Marcie. ‘Hopefully, she’ll get this before we leave.’

‘You do not have a phone?’ said Fatimah.

‘No, I dropped it. It’s broken,’ said Marcie.

‘I tell you what,’ said Will. ‘Leave my number for Fatimah’s sister to call and take my phone with you.’ He held out his iPhone to Marcie.

‘But you won’t have a phone then,’ she said.

‘I don’t need one,’ said Will. ‘No-one ever rings me and I don’t ring anyone. If you need to get hold of me for any reason, you can call the landline here.’

Marcie hesitated for a moment before agreeing. All things considered it was a sensible idea. ‘Okay, I’ll make sure you get it back though.’

‘No snooping through my messages,’ said Will with a wink. Marcie went to protest but Will cut in. ‘I was only kidding. I don’t actually know why I’ve got a phone. I barely use it. I don’t do social media in any shape or form.’

‘I’ll log onto Facebook on your phone,’ said Marcie. ‘That way I can keep track of any messages Fatimah’s sister sends back. I’ll just have to remember to delete the app before I give it back to you.’

‘You’d better get moving,’ said Will checking his watch. ‘You haven’t got much time and the weather’s closing in. I don’t want you getting stuck anywhere.’

Within half an hour, having sent another private message to Fatimah’s sister with the mobile number, they were walking out to the car.

‘I found some blankets,’ said Will. ‘When you get nearer to the port, lay down in the very back and put these over you.’ He turned to Marcie. ‘It will be dark when you get there, hopefully the French officials won’t look too closely. The rear windows are slightly tinted, so that should work in your favour.’ He passed Marcie some euros.

‘What are they for?’ she asked.

‘You’ll need fuel. Stop at a motorway station, you can get some sandwiches for the journey. Remember, when you get on the boat, the three of you go straight to your cabin and stay in there. Don’t come out.’

Marcie nodded. ‘I’ve spoken to Fatimah and persuaded her to take her headscarf off while we’re on the boat. She won’t be noticed so much.’

‘Good idea.’ Will glanced over at Fatimah. ‘Just as well the rest of her clothing are quite western looking.’

‘What will you say if the police come round to the farmhouse again?’

‘The truth. That you’ve left,’ said Will. ‘And you’re not coming back.’

Marcie gulped down a lump that sprang to her throat. She was struggling more than she thought she would at the prospect of leaving Will.

Will reversed the car out of the garage and turning it in the direction of the road, he hopped out, leaving the engine running.

Fatimah stopped in front of him. ‘Thank you.’ She held Will’s hand in both of hers and kissed it. ‘You are a good man. I told Asif not all the world is full of hate.’

Marcie watched as Will fought with his emotions. He bowed his head in acknowledgement. ‘May you find happiness and peace with your sister,’ he said. ‘Safe journey.’ Then he knelt down and smiled at Asif. ‘Look after your mummy. Be a strong boy.’ Fatimah translated and Asif smiled back at Will. He held out his hand to Will, who solemnly shook it. Then, ruffling the boy’s hair, he stood up and turned to the car to load Marcie’s pink suitcase. Marcie wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw Will wipe away a tear.

‘Thank you, very much,’ said Fatimah. She was weeping quietly. ‘You are both very kind.’

Having helped Fatimah and Asif into the car, Will closed the door and turned to Marcie. ‘Well, that was a crazy twenty-four hours or so.’

‘Certainly was.’

‘Although, for you, probably a run of the mill kind of day,’ said Will. He gave a half-hearted smile. ‘Just a shame this one’s taking you away from France.’

Marcie blinked back the tears that were gathering in her eyes. This was it. This was where she said goodbye to him. How was it possible that someone she had only known for a few weeks could have such an impact on her? She put her arms around Will’s neck, hugging him tightly.

‘I’ll miss you,’ she said.

‘I’ll miss you too,’ said Will. ‘Very much.’

Chapter Twelve

The journey up to Caen passed without event; all three occupants silent, lost in their own thoughts. The snow hadn’t settled on the motorway and by the time they had left Brittany and entered into Normandy, the snow had stopped completely.

They were about five kilometres from Caen, when Marcie pulled off the main road and stopped in a small layby. She turned to her passengers. ‘You had better hide in the back now,’ she said. ‘I’ll come round and cover you up.’

Fatimah and Asif laid down flat in the rear of the people carrier. Fatimah hugged her son close to her body, whispering reassuring words in his ear as Marcie laid the covers over them. The sleeping bag was a dark blue and blended in well with the dark interior of the car.

Marcie rejoined the main road, slipping in with the traffic, several of the cars had GB plates, as they all headed towards the ferry port. Soon she arrived at the port, coming to a stop at the ticket booth for the ferry company.

‘Nice and easy,’ she said out loud, as much to herself as to her stowaways.

She handed over her ticket and passport, trying to look casual as the ferry company employee checked her in. A few minutes later and Marcie had her boarding pass hanging on the rear view mirror and was being waved down to the queue of cars waiting to board the ferry.

It was another thirty minutes before the gates were opened and the cars were instructed to filter onto the ferry. Marcie was ushered into position on the car deck. She pulled on the handbrake and switched the engine off.

‘Stay where you are for the moment,’ said Marcie without turning round. She didn’t want to arouse the suspicions of a crew member who was walking along the lines of cars handing out tickets which indicated their deck number. As the woman reached the MPV, Marcie opened the door and took the ticket. She popped it into her handbag and waited for the crew member to make her way further along the line.

‘Okay, you can come out now,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘Just quickly sit in the middle seats and I’ll come round to let you out.’

Fatimah’s headscarf was now draped across her shoulders and her dark ebony hair was tied back in a bun. She looked uncomfortable. ‘I not like this,’ she said to Marcie.

‘I know. I’m sorry,’ said Marcie. ‘Let’s just get to our cabin as quick as possible.’

They followed the other passengers off the car deck and climbed the steep metal steps up towards the middle deck. Checking their location and the position of their cabin on the noticeboard, Marcie led her charges down the carpeted corridor to their room.

It was a two bed outside cabin with an en-suite shower room.

‘It’s a bit of a squeeze,’ said Marcie, ‘but it will do us just fine. Why don’t you try to get some sleep? I’ll wake you up in plenty of time.’

Marcie settled herself down on one of the bunks. She should really try to take some of her own advice, but she felt wide awake. Her nerves had settled somewhat now they were on board, but she was aware that entering the UK was going to be rather more stressful and hoped she would be able to keep it together. It was all well and good being full of bravado and gung-ho back at The Retreat, but actually going through with it was shredding her nerves.

‘You are worried,’ said Fatimah quietly as she sat on the end of the other bunk, stroking Asif’s head as he slept. ‘You wish you had not helped. I am sorry.’

Marcie sat up and swung her feet down onto the floor. ‘No, that’s not true,’ she said. ‘I wanted to help you. I still do. Yes, I’m a little worried but I am sure, even if we are stopped at customs and they find you, that you will be safe now.’

Fatimah didn’t look particularly convinced, but she didn’t take the issue any further, for which Marcie was grateful. She did, however, surprise Marcie with her next statement.

‘You miss Will,’ she said. ‘He is good man. He has much love for you in his heart. You must go back for him soon.’

Marcie opened her mouth to speak, to dispute Fatimah’s claims of love, but something stopped the words from coming out. Fatimah was certainly right about Marcie missing him but she was way off the mark with her other two observations. She looked at Fatimah and smiled, eventually finding her voice. ‘It’s easier said than done. He’ll be in France and I’ll be in England.’

Fatimah made a scoffing noise. ‘You think a sea can keep you from the one who is in your heart?’ she said. ‘Many, many miles of land and water has not broken my love. I would make this journey a hundred times if it meant being in the arms of those I hold in here.’ She tapped at her chest. ‘Do not let this small sea break yours.’

A few hours later and the ferry rumbled to a halt at Portsmouth dock. Milling in amongst the other passengers, Marcie, Fatimah and Asif made their way down to the car deck and climbed into the car.

Grateful for the tinted rear windows, Fatimah and Asif were able to discreetly hide in the back again. Marcie took time to arrange the bedding. This was the most dangerous part of the plan. She said a silent prayer that they would get through and that, hopefully, none of the other passengers had clocked three people getting into her car when now, only one was visible. With any luck, the other passengers were far too busy getting themselves organised to notice.

Eventually, it was their turn to drive off the ferry. Marcie followed the line of cars ahead of her and drove slowly over the ramps, conscious that Fatimah and Asif would be bumped around. Asif let out a small cry and Marcie heard his mother hushing him.

‘Okay, this is it,’ she said. ‘We’re driving to Passport Control.’ Ahead, half a dozen lanes were open and the vehicles were queuing to have their documentation checked at the booths.

‘Evening,’ said the customs official, as Marcie pulled forward.

‘Hello,’ said Marcie, she stretched across the passenger seat and held out her passport to the officer.

‘Not easy with a left-hand drive,’ said the officer.

‘No,’ agreed Marcie giving a small laugh. ‘Not here anyway.’

‘Is this your vehicle?’

‘My brother’s. I’m just borrowing it. Going to collect him to take him back to France. He lives there.’ God, she hoped she wasn’t rambling too much.

‘Just you, is it?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ Marcie wet her lips and made a conscious effort not to wipe the palms of her hands on her trousers. She was sweating. She was sure to give herself away if she wasn’t careful.

The officer stood up and peered into the car, looking all around. ‘Okay, thank you,’ he said, reaching in and handing Marcie’s passport back.

‘Thank you,’ said Marcie. All she wanted to do was to floor it out of there but she knew she had to hold her nerve for just a bit longer. Steadily, she pulled away and drove out of the ferry port. Immediately they were onto a roundabout and then a dual carriageway, heading out of the city.

She accelerated hard, putting as much distance between them and the ferry terminal as possible.

‘We did it!’ she cried, the relief flooding out of her. Her hands began to shake with the release of pent up adrenalin. At the first opportunity, she pulled over into a layby.

Fatimah and Asif climbed through to the front of the car. Fatimah was crying. Marcie held onto her and allowed the emotion of the moment a free rein.

‘Oh, look at us,’ said Marcie pulling away after a few moments. She took a pack of tissues from her bag and pulling one out, passed it to Fatimah. Taking another, she wiped her own eyes. She took a breath and leaned back in the seat, waiting for her emotions to settle. ‘What will you do if they let you stay in England?’ asked Marcie.

‘I want to teach,’ said Fatimah. ‘Before, I teach children like Asif. I want to continue to teach, to educate, to help children grow into beautiful adults.’ She put her hand on Marcie’s arm. ‘Like you.’

‘I’m not sure I’m a great example,’ said Marcie, feeling herself blush at the unexpected compliment.

Fatimah tightened her grip on Marcie’s arm. ‘Your heart is as beautiful as your face,’ she said. ‘One day, you come and see me teaching. You play your wonderful music for the children.’

Marcie’s raised her eyebrows. ‘You know about the flute?’

‘Yes. Asif told me about the princess with the golden hair who dances and makes music.’ She released her hold on Marcie and sat back in the seat with a sigh.

‘You’re still very weak,’ said Marcie.

Fatimah closed her eyes and leant her head against the seat belt. Marcie looked at her, seeing her in another light. She wasn’t just Fatimah the brave refugee who had fled her homeland, she was also an intelligent and compassionate woman.

At that moment Will’s phone began to ring. With fumbling fingers, Marcie grabbed the phone from the front pocket of her bag. ‘Caller Unknown,’ she said looking at the screen and then at Fatimah who was sitting up, equally alert. ‘This might be your sister.’ She accepted the call. ‘Hello?’

‘This is Maya.’ The voice was cautious.

‘Hello, Maya. I’m a friend of Fatimah’s. She’s sitting right next to me. I’ll pass you over.’

Fatimah was already reaching for the phone. ‘Maya! Maya!’ she called excitedly before becoming engulfed in sobs. Through the tears, she managed to have a conversation with her sister. Marcie might not have been able to understand a word of what Fatimah was saying, but the sheer relief and joy in her voice was evident. Finally, she returned the phone to Marcie. ‘Maya give you her address.’

As Marcie took down the post code and house number, programming it into the Satnav, she watched Fatimah hug Asif. As she finished the call, Asif looked up at her and under the light of the lamp post they had parked beneath, for the first time Marcie could see no fear in his eyes. If Marcie had ever doubted her wisdom in smuggling this mother and child into the country, it was now completely banished. She had done the right thing. She had done the human thing.

Marcie started the engine and headed away from Portsmouth, the city lights disappearing behind them.

It was a short journey to Southampton, the Satnav reliably taking them straight to Maya’s front door. It was a semi-detached, 1930’s property, situated in a quiet suburb of the city.

The front door flew open before Marcie had switched off the engine and, simultaneously, Fatimah exited the car. The two sisters fell into each other’s arms. As Marcie helped Asif from the car, a western looking man came out of the house. He too hugged Fatimah and then came over to Marcie, where he crouched down and said hello to Asif.

The boy looked uncertain for a moment but then threw himself at the man, who held him tightly. It was a touching moment and Marcie hung back not wishing to intrude on this family’s reunion.

After a minute or two, the man stood up. He held out his hand. ‘Hello, I’m Simon Pardew, Maya’s husband.’

He had no distinct regional accent, but Marcie guessed he was from somewhere in the south of England. She shook hands. ‘Marcie Grainger.’

‘Thank you so much for helping Fatimah,’ said Simon. ‘We’ve been so worried about her. Please, come in and have a coffee or tea. You must be exhausted.’

Marcie did indeed feel tired. The drama of the past couple of days finally catching up with her. The offer of a cup of tea secured the deal.

Will hadn’t been able to sit still. He had prowled the farmhouse like a snarling Doberman. His anxiety levels were sky high; a feeling he wasn’t used to. Even when in the Army, he hadn’t experienced this. Perhaps because he hadn’t cared about an individual so much. Before he had just been doing the job he had trained for. This, caring about Marcie, wasn’t in the training manual.

She should have arrived in the UK by now but he hadn’t heard a thing. He had no idea if she had made it through customs or not. The fact that the local police hadn’t turned up at the farmhouse, whilst a relief, was also unsettling. They had either given up or caught Marcie. He had no way of knowing. He’d give it another half an hour and then try to call her. He couldn’t take much more of this inactivity. Doing nothing was merely doing his head in.

As he made another lap of the living room, the house phone rang. He nearly stumbled over Poppy as he dived to answer it.

‘Marcie?’ His voice came out louder than he intended.

‘It’s okay, there’s no need to shout,’ said Marcie.

He could hear the smile in her voice. He took this as a good sign. ‘Where are you? You okay?’

‘Everything’s fine,’ she said. ‘We made it. No problems at all. Someone up there was definitely looking over us. Anyway, I’m here now, in Southampton at Fatimah’s sister’s house.’

‘Thank Christ for that,’ said Will.

‘I’m going to head off to London in a minute,’ said Marcie. ‘They’ve asked me if I want to stay but I think it’s best to go. They need to be together without worrying about looking after me.’

‘Okay, but go easy. It’s late and you must be shattered.’

‘You should get some sleep,’ said Marcie. ‘Although, knowing you, you’re probably itching to get out for a midnight walkabout.’

‘Yeah, something like that,’ said Will. She knew him well.

‘I’ll call again soon,’ said Marcie.

‘Good luck for Monday,’ said Will, although for purely selfish reasons, he didn’t really mean it. He half hoped she would come back to France.