by Daisy Waugh
‘Take it, Maude,’ Fawzia nods. ‘Don’t be silly. You must allow us to say thank you.’
‘But you don’t need to say thank you.’ Maude sounds impatient. ‘For heaven’s sake –’
‘Maude,’ Ahmed puts a hand on her shoulder. ‘Enough of this. We shouldn’t stay here arguing. It’s dangerous for you – for all of us.’ He looks at her. ‘So we leave now. Thank you, my friend. And bless you.’
Hassan, the teenager, and the source of all this trouble, steps in front of his father to offer Maude his hand. ‘I am so sorry,’ he says. ‘And I will never forget your kindness –’
‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ Maude says, embarrassed. She laughs. ‘I’m sure you’d do the same for us!’
‘Of course I would.’
Ahmed calls to him, so he turns towards his family. He lifts his small luggage from the back of the van and heads off down the track behind them, towards the village, towards the next new life. And Maude stands and watches them leave, the briefcase untouched at her feet. No one notices Daffy and Jean Baptiste emerging from the wood behind them.
Jean Baptiste spots the open van first, and the briefcase; the travel-worn family of Africans trekking away towards the village. He sees Maude, supposedly in Wiltshire visiting her mother, and draws his own conclusions. Instinctively protective of all of them – Daffy, Maude, even the travel-worn Africans – he grabs hold of Daffy’s arm and pulls her back. ‘Be quiet!’ he says. Too late.
‘Maude?’ Daffy’s voice rings out across the sun-baked track. ‘Maude? Is that you? What on earth are you doing? I thought you were in England.’
‘I –’ Slowly, Maude turns, holding a hand to protect her eyes from the sun. She sees Daffy and Jean Baptiste, and she can tell at a glance that Jean Baptiste has understood. ‘…Jean Baptiste –’ she says limply. ‘…And Daffy…’
‘What are you doing?’ Daffy persists. ‘Why aren’t you at the party?’
Maude offers a faint smile. ‘I was going to ask you the same thing.’
‘But it’s your party!…What are you doing?’ She glances at the strange family. They look unhappy, Daffy thinks. It’s the main thing that strikes her about them. Unhappy and frightened. ‘Are your friends all right?’
A silence. Everyone’s waiting for Maude to speak but she seems unable to find the words. ‘The – er,’ she begins at last. ‘I’m not sure. I think they’re a bit tired.’
‘Tired? The poor things look exhausted, Maude! What are you all doing, standing in the wood? What’s going on?’
Nassir, the seven-year-old, looks from Daffy to Maude, to his parents, to his older brother – and bursts into tears.
‘Sweetheart!’ Daffy cries. It happens that Nassir is the exact same age as James. The sight of him crying makes her forget all her questions and rush towards him. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, darling,’ she says, falling to her knees, ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. Oh God –’ She glances up at Fawzia, standing above her with a hand on the child’s shoulder. ‘May I?’ She doesn’t wait for permission. She wipes the child’s tears with both hands and pulls him into a tenacious, claustrophobic embrace. The child is shocked into silence. He stops crying at once. ‘I’m so sorry, darling,’ Daffy says, her eyes closed. ‘I’m so, so sorry…’ Until it seems she can’t let him go. Fawzia gently unclasps Daffy’s arms from around his small shoulders. ‘Oh, God. Sorry,’ Daffy says. ‘I’m so sorry…’
She looks completely lost for a moment. More confused than any of them. Until Jean Baptiste steps across and slowly pulls her back to her feet, and the moment seems to pass.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she says again, looking at the child. ‘That was silly, wasn’t it? Hugging you like a rag doll, when you’re so tired!’ She smiles at him; a sweet, kind smile. ‘But you suddenly reminded me of my little boy. I have a little boy about your age. Called James. He’s in England. His daddy’s sent him away to a thing called a tennis camp. Would you like that? I think it’s horrid. Horrid. He hates it, you see. It sounds like fun, but he hates it. I wish he was here with me. Then you and he could play together. Wouldn’t you like that?’
Jean Baptiste clears his throat. ‘Perhaps we should be going,’ he says. ‘Good to see you, Maude.’ He turns to the others, tips his head. ‘Monsieur. Madame…les enfants. Bonne journée.’ And, with his arm firmly around Daffy’s shoulders, he steers them both back towards the wood, the way they came.
‘But where are they going?’ Daffy demands.
‘It’s not our business,’ mutters Jean Baptiste. ‘Allez viens, Daffy…Laisse-les tranquilles.’
‘Wait!’ Maude calls out suddenly. ‘Jean Baptiste – wait!’
He stops.
‘Daffy. Jean Baptiste –’ Maude looks at the two of them. Of course, she could have changed the plans, dropped the family off at an alternative hotel and simply prayed that this incident would be forgotten. But she knows it could never be. Daffy Duff Fielding may not be the sharpest pencil in the box, but even she would begin to wonder, would eventually put two and two together…Maude thought all of this, in the second and a half it took for her to call them both back, and for them to have turned, to be waiting. She does what she thinks she has to do; to treat the impostors with some respect; to offer them her trust in the hope that it might then be returned. ‘I want to introduce you to my friends from England. This is Fawzia. And Ahmed. And the two small ones are Nassir and Fathima. And this is Hassan. Hassan is going to be a doctor…and Fawzia’s an old friend. We knew each other years ago. When I was working in Mogadishu…’ She turns to Fawzia. ‘Fawzia, this is Daffy Duff Fielding…’ Maude gives her a pained smile,’…whose hotel you’re meant to be staying in tonight.’
‘Oh!’ Daffy says at once. ‘Goodness! How lovely! I’ll have to make the beds. When were you thinking of coming?’
‘…Daffy,’ Maude says finally. ‘Daffy…the thing is…my friends are in trouble. I’m in trouble. And we need your help.’
‘Well, of course, Maude!’ she replies without hesitation. ‘Anything. Absolutely anything. I’d love to help. You only need to say. Just tell me what I can do!’
Maude glances at Jean Baptiste. ‘Jean Baptiste, I’ve a feeling you have a pretty good idea of what’s going on here already?’
He nods. ‘You prefer if we don’t tell any people of this meeting. N’est-ce pas? I won’t. Bien sûr. You can trust me, Maude, comme tu sais très bien.’
‘Thank you. I know I can.’ She pauses. Then turns to Daffy. ‘Daffy, it’s really – vital – I’m not sure how much I should explain –’
‘Mais, explique tout,’ Jean Baptiste interrupts impatiently. ‘She is not a child. You want her help, Maude. Tell her what is happening here.’
Maude nods. Frowns. Hesitates. ‘Daffy –’ she begins. ‘The – the thing is. The point is, my friends – they have to hide. If they’re found they’ll be arrested. They’ll be arrested. In the current climate they might even be packed off back to Somalia. All of them…But Daffy, you have to understand – they can’t go! It’s not safe for them in Somalia. And they’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘…Nothing wrong?’ repeats Daffy. ‘If they’ve done nothing wrong then surely –’
‘Surely what, Daffy? Surely the world’s always a fair and decent place?’
‘Well, no, I wouldn’t say that exactly –’
‘It isn’t.’
‘I know it isn’t. But surely, if they’ve done nothing wrong –’
‘Then surely they should be allowed to live in peace. Somewhere on this planet. Surely that’s not too much to ask?’
‘Of course not. Of course it isn’t, Maude. Don’t be ridiculous. But I don’t understand –’
‘Daffy – we don’t know each other that well.’
‘Well, no. Not really, I suppose –’
‘And I know I haven’t been as friendly as I should have been sometimes, knowing you were here. On your own out here. And I should have been. And I’m sorry. I was too wrapped up in my own
problems. I was selfish. I should have been more welcoming.’
‘Not at all! Don’t be silly, Maude –’
‘But I’m begging you –’ Maude takes a step closer to her. ‘…You’ve probably heard half the rumours about us anyway.’
Daffy nods slowly. ‘I must admit, I’ve heard one or two.’
‘Right. Well we’re not drug-runners.’
‘Ha! No! Well that’s good!’ she says, desperately jovial.
‘We’re not arms dealers or slave traders. We don’t run a brothel or a paedophile ring.’
‘Ha ha. No, thank goodness. I’m glad to say!’
‘…What we do…is this. We help people in situations like this. If people connect Horatio and me with Fawzia and her family, it’ll be –’ Maude shakes her head, unwilling to finish the sentence.
Daffy stares at her, large eyes brimming with fear, amazement, shock, revulsion, disbelief. ‘You – Maude, you smuggle illegal immigrants! You and Horatio are people smugglers! That’s – God, Maude, that’s – that’s worse than –’
‘Not people smugglers,’ Ahmed interrupts smoothly. ‘They are kind and charitable friends. They come to the aid of people like myself and my family; people in grave danger, you must understand, so we can come to your country and work. So we never have to be a burden on your state. Maude and Horatio’s work frees us to work for ourselves.’
‘Oh.’ Daffy listens to Ahmed, not entirely clear what he’s on about, but feeling dimly wrong-footed by his courteous manner; and, after the initial shock, sorry; sorry for having been rude; strangely ashamed that these peculiar strangers should somehow have to be applying for her mercy. She shrugs. ‘Well. Crikey. I didn’t mean to be…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be…After all, it’s really none of my business. What do I know? Nothing!…Lucky for you my husband’s not here, though, isn’t it?’ She pauses and then giggles, slightly hysterically. ‘Thank goodness! He’s got a lot to say about people like you. Especially the – Araby sort of ones. No offence.’
‘None taken,’ Ahmed says easily. ‘Your husband sounds like quite a character.’ He smiles at her.
Daffy nods. ‘Well. You could put it like that.’
‘Daffy,’ Maude interjects quietly. ‘Can we – Can I trust you? Can I? When my friends arrive at the hotel, Daffy, will you take them in as if they were any other people?’
Daffy looks carefully at Maude. ‘And I mustn’t tell anyone we met here on this track?’ she asks slowly. ‘Or mention you or the van or you supposedly being in England visiting your mother? And I must just turn a blind eye to everything, even if it’s illegal, and just say, “Hello Mohammed whatever-your-name-is,” when he comes down for breakfast, and not say a word to the police about having criminals in the hotel…? Is that what you’re asking me?’
‘That is what she’s asking,’ Jean Baptiste says solemnly. ‘Isn’t it, Maude?’
Maude daren’t look at either of them. ‘Well.’ She scuffs at the dust. ‘…In a manner of speaking…but…’ She falls silent.
A long, agonising pause. Nobody dares look at Daffy, but Daffy looks at them. One by one. And, finally, she nods. ‘That’s OK,’ she says. ‘I just needed to be clear. Don’t you worry, Maude. We won’t breathe a word, will we, Jean Baptiste?’ Daffy grins at them. Makes a mime of zipping her mouth. ‘My lips are sealed. I swear I won’t say a word. You can trust me one hundred per cent. Can’t they, Jean Baptiste?’
Jean Baptiste hesitates just a fraction. Nobody spots it but Daffy.
She looks at him seriously. ‘…You can trust me,’ she murmurs quietly to him. She turns back to the others. ‘Well. Best of luck to you. You certainly need it. Actually, Jean Baptiste and I were just having a little wander, so, er…We’ll let you get on, shall we?’ She turns to the family. ‘And I’ll see you all later.’
It’s not until afterwards, when Maude is on her own on the short drive homewards, that the significance of Jean Baptiste and Daffy having a little wander together finally hits her. It makes her smile for the first time all day.
NAKED TORSOS
It should only take a couple of minutes to drive from the end of the hidden track home to La Grande Forge, but suddenly Maude doesn’t feel like hurrying. Tomorrow, once she and Horatio have stacked its unwanted contents into the wood shed, she’ll need to return the van to La Rochelle. Right now she sits in it, watching as Fawzia and family make their slow way towards the village, savouring the peace.
It takes a while for her to drum up the strength to move; and then it’s only fear of discovery which pushes her to it. Maude rehearses the lies she and Horatio have told to explain her absence. She rehearses the carefree smile she will give to him for the cameras, and tries to imagine greeting her children, after all she’s been through, without bursting into tears. She feels her heart begin to hammer as she draws closer to home. What if she forgets to lie? What if Daffy comes back to the party, bursts in, and tells everyone what she’s really been doing? What if Horatio and Emma are nowhere to be seen? What if they’re upstairs, now, fucking like donkeys, and nobody’s noticed – or everybody’s noticed and nobody cares. What if –
There are more than twenty cars parked along the lane outside her house, among them Emma’s open-top 1970s gold Mercedes. It stands out, as it always does. So she’s still here, Maude thinks sourly. She slows the van to a crawl, muttering to herself to be calm. Through her open window she hears the children by the pool, and the gusty exchanges of her guests in the garden on the other side of the wall, and then, from directly above her head, from the open window – her own bedroom window – that tinkling, caressing laughter. As distinct as her golden car. Maude looks up and sees the outline of Emma turning away, into the room, her long, thick hair falling loose against her naked back.
Maude cranes her neck but only sees the faint movement of another body behind her – an unclothed torso, slim, male. She tries to listen, over the children’s screaming, the guests’ guffawing, the turning engine – but hears nothing, and assumes the worst.
She doesn’t know what to do. A moment of white rage. She wants to storm right in there and rip the two of them apart. She would do that – except the children, the cameras, the house jam-packed with strangers…
She puts her foot on the accelerator, and drives on. To a hotel somewhere, anywhere. She’ll spend the night on her own and come back tomorrow, when it’s quiet.
WHEN THE KISSING HAD TO STOP
The strange incident with Maude and the illegal immigrants finally broke the ice between Jean Baptiste and Daffy. They had been ambling slowly through the hot French countryside for over an hour when they came upon the van. After that, with his arm around her, Daffy seemed to lose some of her reticence. ‘That poor family,’ she kept saying. ‘There’s me thinking I have problems…’
Jean Baptiste, who has witnessed Daffy’s problems at first hand; has seen her pine for her child, heard her husband speaking to her, says carefully: ‘Well, Daffy – you have problems also. Those people – they have to do something to save themselves. And –’ He stops, pulling Daffy round to face him. ‘I think you have to do something, too.’
Daffy lets out a low moan. ‘…God, I’ve thought and thought. I’ve got to do something. But what?’ she says. ‘What can I do?’
Jean Baptiste says gently: ‘You can talk with a lawyer. Your husband can be forced to send James to see you. Or he can be forced to return your passport.’
Daffy laughs. ‘Timothy? You don’t understand, Timothy’s not like other people. He has so much money…His entire life is sort of glued together by lawyers, so far as I can see. He spends half his life with them. He pays them a fortune especially so he can always do exactly as he likes, whenever he likes, to whoever he likes…’ The sound of her own bitterness seems to take Daffy by surprise. She falls silent for a moment.
Jean Baptiste says, ‘Excuse me for saying so, but he is a disgusting man.’
Daffy smiles. She doesn’t bother to deny it. ‘I hate him,’ sh
e says suddenly, and then inhales, holds both hands to her mouth and looks up at Jean Baptiste. ‘I mean –’
‘Tu le déteste,’ he nods. ‘I am glad. Now at least you know it…Now you have to do something for yourself. And for your boy. He must miss you very much.’
‘Oh, he does.’
‘You must find a lawyer. Either that,’ Jean Baptiste smiles, ‘or I kill him.’
‘Oh!’
‘I am joking with you.’
‘Oh.’
‘But first –’ He stops, pulls Daffy towards him and kisses her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
‘…Goodness,’ Daffy says finally, the sound of the crickets ringing in her ears, a state of euphoric, liquid drunkenness swirling inside her. ‘…Goodness, Jean Baptiste!’
‘Yes,’ Jean Baptiste smiles, caressing her neck and cheek. ‘Yes, it was very Goodness also for me…’
She laughs out loud, aware of nothing for the moment beyond the warmth in his eyes, and his hands on her face. ‘I think I love you,’ she says simply. ‘I mean – sorry. Oh God. That’s the last thing – We’ve only just kissed and I’m already saying…’
He kisses her again. ‘And I love you, Daffy.’
They stay there, wrapped around each other, slowly kissing the life back into each other’s hearts and senses until the sun grows low in the sky.
‘I should get back. I’ve left poor Sara holding the fort. She won’t know what’s hit her.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No. OK. Really,’ she says. ‘Honestly, you don’t need to.’
‘But I do,’ he mutters, kissing her yet again. ‘I have been waiting for you for a long, long time.’
KEEPING A TAB
‘There you are,’ Murray says grumpily, glancing up from his lager, seeing Daffy and Jean Baptiste float into the room, their eyes glazed. ‘God knows where you’ve been. Sara’s disappeared off the face of the planet. Not that it would make much difference, poor little thing. And so’s Skid. You’re bloody lucky we didn’t just raid the bar and be done with it.’