The Girl You Left Behind

fathomless stares. Occasionally the driver stopped the
     truck and exchanged a fewwords with another driver, and I wished I
     knew some German so that I might have some idea of where I was going. The shadows were
     faint, given the rain, but we seemed to be moving south-east. The direction of Ardennes,
     I told myself, struggling to keep my breathing under control. I had decided the only way
     to control the visceral fear that kept threatening to choke me was to reassure myself I
     was heading towards Édouard.
    In truth, I felt numb. Those first few hours
     in the back of the truck I could not have formed a sentence if you had asked me. I sat,
     the harsh voices of my townspeople still ringing in my ears, my brother’s
     expression of disgust in my mind, and my mouth dried to dust with the truth of what had
     just taken place. I saw my sister, her face contorted with grief, felt the fierce grip
     of Édith’s little arms as she attempted to hang on to me. My fear in those
     moments was so intense that I thought I might disgrace myself. It came in waves, making
     my legs shake, my teeth chatter. And then, staring out at the ruined towns, I saw that
     for many the worst had already happened, and I told myself to be calm: this was merely a
     necessary stage in my return to Édouard. This was what I had asked for. I had to
     believe that.
    An hour outside St Péronne the guard
     opposite me had folded his arms, tilted his head back against the wall of the truck and
     slept. He had evidently decided I was no threat, or perhaps he was so exhausted that he
     could not fight the rocking motion of the vehicle enough to stay awake. As the fear
     crept up on me again, like some predatory beast, I closed my eyes, pressed my hands
     together on my bag, and thought of my husband …
    Édouard was chuckling to himself.
    ‘What?’ I entwined my arms
     around his neck, letting his words fall softly against my skin
.
    ‘I am thinking of you last night,
     chasing Monsieur Farage around his own counter.’
    Our debts had grown too great. I had dragged
     Édouard round the bars of Pigalle, demanding money from those who owed him,
     refusing to leave until we were paid. Farage had refused and then insulted me, so
     Édouard, usually slow to anger, had shot out a huge fist and hit him. He had been
     out cold even before he struck the floor. We had left the bar in uproar, tables
     overturned, glasses flying about our ears. I had refused to run, but picked up my skirt
     and walked out in an orderly fashion, pausing to take the exact amount Édouard was
     owed from the till.
    ‘You are fearless, little
     wife.’
    ‘With you beside me, I am.’
    I must have dozed off, and woke as the
     truck jolted to a halt, my head smacking against the roof brace. The guard was outside
     the vehicle, talking to another soldier. I peered out, rubbing my head, stretching my
     cold, stiff limbs. We were in a town, but the railway station had a new German name that
     was unrecognizable to me. The shadows had lengthened and the light dimmed, suggesting
     that evening was not far away. The tarpaulin lifted, and a German soldier’s face
     appeared. He seemed surprised to find only me inside. He shouted, and gestured that I
     should get out. When I didn’t move swiftly enough, he hauled at my arm so that I
     stumbled, my bag falling to the wet ground.
    It had been two years since I had seen so
     many peoplein one place. The station, which comprised two platforms,
     was a teeming mass, mostly soldiers and prisoners as far as I could see. Their armbands
     and striped, grubby clothing marked out the prisoners. They kept their heads down. I
     found myself scanning their faces, as I was thrust through them, looking for
     Édouard, but I was pushed too quickly and they became a blur.
    ‘
Hier! Hier!
’ A door
     slid sideways and I was shoved into a freight carriage, its boarded sides revealing a
     shadowy mass of bodies inside. I fought to keep hold of my bag and heard the door slam
     behind me as my eyes adjusted to the dim light.
    Inside there were two narrow wooden benches
     along each side, nearly every inch covered with bodies. More occupied the floor. At the
     edges some lay, their heads resting on small bundles of what might have been clothing.
     Everything was so filthy it was hard to tell. The air was thick with the foul smells of
     those who had not been able to wash, or worse, for some time.
    ‘
Français?
’ I said,
     into the silence. Several