The Girl You Left Behind

wondered briefly if I could throw myself through the small gap, but then I heard,
     ‘
Whore!
’ followed by Édith’sthin
     wail, and the sharp crack of a stone as it hit the side of the truck, causing the
     soldier to bark out a warning. I flinched as another struck, behind where I was sitting.
     The German looked at me steadily. The slight smirk in his expression told me of my
     terrible mistake.
    I sat, my hands pressed together on my bag,
     and began to shake. As the truck pulled away, I did not try to lift the canvas flap to
     see out. I did not want to feel the eyes of the town upon me. I did not want to hear
     their verdict. I sat on the arch of the wheel, and slowly dropped my head into my hands,
     murmuring, ‘
Édouard, Édouard, Édouard
,’ to myself.
     And: ‘
I’m sorry.
’ I’m not sure who I was apologizing
     to.
    Only when I reached the outskirts of the
     town did I dare to look up. Through the flapping gap in the canvas, I could just see the
     red sign of Le Coq Rouge glinting in the winter sun, and the bright blue of
     Édith’s dress on the edge of the crowd. It grew smaller and smaller until
     finally, like the town, it disappeared.

PART TWO

11
    London, 2006
    Liv runs along the river, her bag wedged
     under her arm, her phone pressed between ear and shoulder. Somewhere around Embankment,
     the loaded grey skies over London have opened, dumping a near-tropical rainstorm across
     the centre of the capital, and the traffic sits stationary, the taxis’ exhaust
     pipes steaming, their windows obscured by the breath of their passengers.
    ‘I know,’ she says, for the
     fifteenth time, her jacket darkened and her hair plastered to her head. ‘I
     know … Yes, I’m well aware of the terms. I’m just waiting on a
     couple of payments that –’ She ducks into a doorway, pulls a pair of high heels
     from her handbag and slips them on, staring at her wet pumps as she realizes she has
     nowhere to put them. ‘Yes. Yes, I am … No, my circumstances
     haven’t changed. Not recently.’
    She ducks out of the doorway and heads back
     on to the pavement, crossing the road and heading up towards Aldwych, the wet pumps in
     one hand. A car sends a spray of water over her feet and she stops, staring at its
     departing wheels in disbelief. ‘
Are you kidding me?
’ she yells. And
     then, ‘No, not you, Mr … Dean. Not you, Dean … Yes, I do
     appreciate you’re just doing your job. Look,’ she says.‘I’ll have the payment by Monday. Okay? It’s not like I’ve
     been late paying before. Okay, once.’
    Another taxi approaches and this time she
     ducks neatly back into a doorway. ‘Yes. I understand, Dean … I know. It
     must be very hard for you. Look – I promise you’ll have it on
     Monday … Yes. Yes, definitely. And I’m sorry about the whole shouting
     thing … I hope you get the new job too, Dean.’
    She snaps shut her phone, stuffs it into her
     handbag, and looks up at the restaurant hoarding. She dips to check her reflection in a
     car mirror and despairs. There’s nothing to be done. She’s already forty
     minutes late.
    Liv smoothes her wet hair from her face, and
     glances longingly back down the street. Then she takes a breath, pushes open the door of
     the restaurant and walks in.
    ‘There she is!’ Kristen Solberg
     stands up from her chair in the middle of the long table and opens her arms to greet
     her, air-kissing Liv noisily some inches from each side of her face. ‘Oh, my
     goodness, you’re drenched!’ Her hair is, of course, an immaculate chestnut
     sheet.
    ‘Yes. I walked. Not my best
     decision.’
    ‘Everybody, this is Liv Halston. She
     does wonderful things for our charity. And she lives in
the
most amazing house
     in London.’ Kristen smiles beneficently, then lowers her voice. ‘I’ll
     consider myself to have failed if she hasn’t been snapped up by some lovely man
     before Christmas.’
    There is a murmur of greeting. Liv prickles
     with embarrassment. She forces a smile, deliberately not meeting the eye of any of the
     people seated around her. Sven looks at her steadily, in his eyes an apology for what is
     about to come.
    ‘I saved you a seat,’ Kristen
     says. ‘Next to Roger. He’s lovely.’ She gives Liv a meaningful look as
     she directs her towards the empty chair. ‘You’ll love him.’
    They are all couples. Of course they are.
     Eight of them. And Roger. She feels the women surveying her