by Fortin, Sue
The disappointment rose a notch.
Chapter Seven
‘You know, I’ve been thinking,’ said Marcie sitting down beside Will on the sofa. She handed him a cup of coffee and took a sip of her tea.
‘Thinking?’ said Will. ‘You want to be careful of that.’
‘No, seriously, listen,’ she said. ‘That boy earlier, he’s definitely the boy I saw looking through the window at me. He’s obviously nothing to do with Yves and I don’t even think he can be French. He was shouting at Yves in a different language.’
‘Which was?’
‘I don’t know but it sounded sort of Middle Eastern, Arabic, something like that,’ said Marcie. ‘I don’t think he’s been in France for very long, not if he can’t speak the language. Maybe he’s a migrant.’
‘In times of stress, people revert back to their mother tongue,’ said Will. ‘I’d say getting a good beating classes as a time of stress.’
‘Okay, point taken. So if he’s not a migrant, what’s he doing creeping around here? Where does he live? Where are his parents?’
‘I’ve no more of an idea than you,’ said Will. ‘I haven’t given it much thought.’ That wasn’t strictly true. He had been thinking about the boy. A lot. He had the same look in his eyes that Will had seen far too many times. It was one of true fear. A look that you only get when you’ve faced the real horrors of life, when you’ve seen death and experienced terror at far too close quarters. The boy had that look.
‘What are you thinking?’ said Marcie. She placed her cup on the coffee table and took Will’s cup, resting it next to hers. She turned and faced him, slipping her hand in his. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing. It’s nothing,’ said Will. Then knowing Marcie deserved a better answer than that, he spoke again. ‘The boy reminded me of some of the kids I came across on my last tour. Bad thought.’ He gave her a smile and leaned over and kissed her, his hand slipping out of hers and cupping her face. ‘That’s better. Much prefer looking at you. Good thought.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ said Marcie.
‘You haven’t,’ said Will. ‘It’s cool.’
‘But you don’t want to talk about it?’
‘Not especially.’ It was an honest answer. She lowered her gaze and guilt pricked his conscience. Shit. Somehow, just one look or one word from Marcie and his carefully crafted cool exterior, a barrier to his conscience, crumbled a bit further. For the first time in a long time he was having to deal with emotions he had purposefully left on the Army shrink’s couch. ‘Ignore me,’ he said. ‘I’m just a bad tempered bastard at times. What’s troubling you about the boy?’
She looked relieved at his response and he felt he’d won a reprieve.
‘I think the boy must be living rough somewhere nearby. Maybe with his family, although I haven’t seen any adults.’
‘Living rough?’ It had occurred to Will earlier but he hadn’t said anything. His ability to keep himself emotionally removed hadn’t at that point been ruptured by Marcie. ‘If he’s living rough, then it’s logical to assume it’s somewhere nearby, in a barn or an outbuilding.’
‘Exactly,’ said Marcie. ‘And the outbuildings at the back of the garden are the ideal place. Ben and Lisa don’t use them, they hardly go down there as far as I know. I reckon that’s where the boy is.’
Will held up his hand. ‘It’s okay, you don’t need to say anything else,’ he said. ‘I can guess what’s coming next. You want me to go down and have a look.’
‘Not exactly.’
Will raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh?’
‘We are going to go down and have a look,’ said Marcie emphasising the plural. ‘I’m coming with you.’
Will sighed. ‘I had a feeling you were going to say that too.’
Marcie jumped to her feet. ‘Get your boots on.’
‘What now?’
‘Yes. Now.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Will. ‘We can’t just go bowling in there. We need a plan of action.’
‘This isn’t some military operation,’ said Marcie. ‘We’re merely going down to see if the boy is okay and who he’s staying with. Not only that, but if they are living rough, they might need some help.’
Will got to his feet despite his reluctance and went in search of his boots.
Marcie was waiting for him on the patio, her impatience to investigate was obvious.
‘What have you got there?’ said Marcie nodding towards the carrier bag in Will’s hand.
‘A bit of bread. Fruit. Fresh water,’ said Will. ‘It will go a long way to reassuring the boy and whoever he’s with, that we’re not a threat. Especially if they can’t speak French or English. Not that speaking French will make any difference to my communication skills with them.’
‘My French isn’t much better,’ said Marcie.
They walked on down the garden. ‘I’ll go in first,’ said Will. ‘You wait outside until I call you.’
‘You’ll frighten the bloody life out of them,’ said Marcie. ‘It’s best if I go first. I don’t look so much of a threat.’
‘My guess is, if they’re camping out, then they’re here illegally. Fear can be a dangerous thing,’ said Will. ‘It makes people jumpy. They react irrationally, in ways they wouldn’t normally. You go in first, surprising them, you could end up on the receiving end of punch. Or worse.’
‘But, the boy will know I’m not there to harm him,’ countered Marcie. ‘I helped him escape from Yves. He saw you step in too. He’ll know we’re friendly.’
They reached the gap in the hedge. The outbuildings were just a few feet away. ‘Okay,’ said Will. ‘Let’s flip for it.’ He retrieved a coin from his pocket. ‘Heads, I go first. Tails, you go first.’
Marcie raised her eyebrows. ‘Hardly a military tactic,’ she said.
Will grinned and flipped the coin, catching it on his hand as it dropped. He turned it over. ‘Heads. I win. And before you suggest it, we’re not doing best of three.’
Marcie gave a salute. ‘Aye, aye, captain.’
‘That’s the Navy.’
‘Sir. Yes, Sir,’ said Marcie.
‘That’s the US military. Why don’t you just stick to ‘Okay, Will’?’
‘Spoil sport,’ muttered Marcie good humouredly as she followed him across the field.
The outbuildings ran along the boundary line of the field and then returned at a right angle. Will’s eyes scanned the windows and doorways to identify the building most likely to offer dry and warm accommodation. The windows were either broken or non-existent. The barn in the corner drew Will’s attention. It looked like there was some sort of blanket or sacking up at the window and it was one of the few which had a serviceable door. He checked out the roofline. The corrugated roof was mostly intact. A couple of sheets were missing and there were a few holes dotted around, but for the most part, it looked to be doing its job.
Will nodded his head towards the corner. ‘Let’s try up there,’ he said. ‘Call out to them.’
‘What shall I say?’
‘You could start with hello.’
They walked towards the corner of the buildings. ‘Hello,’ called out Marcie. ‘Bonjour. Hello. Is there anybody there?’ She took the bag from Will and held up a loaf of bread. ‘I have some food.’
‘Keep going,’ said Will.
‘J’ai du pan. Bread. Apples. Pommes.’
They came to a stop a few feet away from the doorway. Will put his finger to his lips and they both listened for any sound of movement.
Will decided to call out this time. His deep voice travelled through the air. ‘Hello. We want to help.’ He turned to Marcie. ‘I don’t think anyone’s here to be honest. We’re wasting our time.’
‘Just humour me,’ said Marcie. ‘Let’s go in.’ She went to walk ahead, but Will stopped her. ‘What?’ she said. ‘If you don’t think anyone’s there, what’s the problem?’
‘Better safe than sorry,’ said Will. ‘Besi
des, I won the coin flip.’
Before they could argue any further, there was the sound of something being knocked over. It came from the barn in front of them. Will exchanged a look with Marcie. He was definitely going in first now.
Walking up to the door, he noticed the outside bolt had not been slid across. The fixing was rusty but the end of the bolt was devoid of any loose rust particles; a sure sign the bolt had been slid back and forth recently.
He pushed at the door but there was a resistance from inside the building.
‘Locked?’ said Marcie.
‘From the inside,’ said Will. He knocked on the door. ‘Open up,’ he said. ‘Don’t be scared.’ He gave another push, this time a bit harder. He felt something shift from inside. A barricade perhaps. He turned his back on the door and raised his right foot behind him. ‘Stand clear!’ he shouted before giving the door a donkey kick, at which it flew open.
A scream came from inside and, grabbing a small flashlight from his pocket, Will flicked it on and illuminated the small room. He stepped inside.
Marcie was right behind him. She let out a gasp. ‘Oh my god,’ she said.
Will took in the scene around them. A woman was lying on the floor on what looked like a mass of blankets and fabric. A tattered piece of fabric covered her body and a headscarf covered her head. Her eyes were huge, she was clearly petrified as she stared at Will and Marcie. Her lips were moving, but Will couldn’t hear what she was saying. A whimpering from the right caught his attention. He angled the light so its beam reached into the recesses of the room. There, huddled in the corner, was the boy they had seen earlier.
Marcie rushed over to the woman, offering reassuring words of comfort.
‘I think she’s sick,’ said Marcie. Will looked back at the woman. It was hard to determine her age but he guessed she was the boy’s mother. Marcie was stroking the woman’s head. She turned to look at Will. ‘I think she’s just passed out.’
‘Shit,’ muttered Will. He squeezed the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb as images from three years ago resurfaced. It wasn’t a dissimilar scene to those he had witnessed. The boy in the corner whimpered a little louder. Will turned to him, taking a moment to focus on the here and now.
Will took a few steps closer towards the boy and then crouched down onto one knee. ‘Chuck us the bag,’ he said to Marcie. She threw it over and Will took out an apple. He held it out to the boy.
The boy shrank back even further but his eyes fixed on the piece of fruit. Will made the action of biting into it. ‘Good. Mmmm. Nice.’ He rubbed his stomach and held it out again. Will shuffled forwards. ‘Take it,’ he said.
His patience was rewarded as the boy sprang forward, snatched the apple from Will’s hand, before shooting back into the corner. Will smiled at the boy. He kept his hand out, but flicked his fingers. ‘Come on,’ he said. The boy didn’t look so scared and Will moved in on him. He took hold of the boy’s bony little wrist and coaxed him out, guiding him to sit near his mother. ‘How is she?’ The young woman looked to be coming round, she rolled her head and focussed her eyes on Marcie.
‘It’s okay,’ said Marcie. She smiled at the woman who relaxed again. ‘She looks dehydrated.’ Marcie picked up a bottle of water and unscrewing the lid, she lifted the woman’s head and tipped the bottle to her mouth. The woman took small sips at first and then bigger gulps.
Will unscrewed the other bottle and offered it to the boy, who drank with rather less finesse than his mother. Will looked around the shelter. In the middle of the floor was the remains of a fire. It didn’t look like it had been lit for a couple of days, which probably reflected how long the woman had been laid up sick and unable to tend to it herself.
Against the back wall was a cardboard box. Will looked inside. A half-eaten cabbage, which was yellowing at the edges, and three potatoes. The sum total of their food supply, either scavenged or pinched. It probably explained the disappearance of the food from The Retreat recently.
Will turned back to the woman who now seemed more alert. Her eyes still held the fear he had seen earlier.
‘Will,’ he said, tapping his chest with his finger. ‘Will.’ He placed his hand on Marcie’s arm. ‘Marcie.’
The woman gave a small nod. Will reached out and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, looking at the mother questioningly.
She went to speak but struggled to get her words out. Marcie offered another sip of water which she accepted and tried a second time, with rather more success. ‘Asif.’
‘Asif,’ repeated Will. The little boy looked up, startled by Will’s deep voice. Will smiled to reassure him. ‘Hello, Asif,’ he said. He held out his hand. Asif looked from Will’s hand and then to his mother. She gave a weary nod of approval. Asif placed his hand in Will’s. Again, Will tapped his chest and said his own name.
‘Asif,’ said the boy. He gave a smile.
Will looked on as Marcie repeated the gesture with Asif and they too exchanged names. She put her hands to the side of her mouth and mimed playing a flute, whilst humming The Blue Danube. Asif’s smile broadened and he imitated her, resulting in them both laughing together.
‘Well done,’ said Will. ‘I think you’ve got yourself a new friend.’
Will looked back as Asif’s mother, inclining his head towards her. She understood the unspoken request.
‘Fatimah,’ she said. ‘Me. Fatimah.’
‘You can speak English?’ said Will. He pointed at Fatimah. ‘You speak English?’
‘A little,’ said Fatimah.
‘Well, that’s going to make life easier,’ said Will.
‘Where are you from?’ said Marcie.
Fatimah shook her head. Marcie tried again. She tapped both herself and Will. ‘England. UK,’ and then pointing outside, ‘France. You?’
For a brief moment Will saw a flash of resilience in Fatimah’s eyes. He suspected she could understand what Marcie was asking, but was choosing not to.
‘Leave it, Marcie,’ said Will. ‘She probably doesn’t want to say.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My guess is Fatimah is here illegally. If no-one knows where she’s from, then they can’t send her home. She can’t be deported.’
‘Deported?’ The look of alarm on Marcie’s face was equally matched by Fatimah, who immediately started speaking really fast in her native tongue, panic clear in her voice. She grabbed at Will’s jacket.
‘It’s okay, Fatimah,’ said Marcie trying to calm the other woman down. ‘No-one’s going to deport you. You’re safe here. I promise.’ The reassurances seemed to do the trick and Fatimah’s pleadings abated. Her head lolled to one side and she closed her eyes, the effort in just speaking was clearly draining.
Will stood up. ‘Got a minute?’ he said to Marcie. He walked outside, not waiting for her reply. Marcie followed him.
‘What’s up?’ she said.
‘You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,’ said Will.
‘What do you mean?’ said Marcie, placing her hands on her hips.
‘Exactly what I said. It’s not up to us what happens to them now. It’s up to the police. The authorities.’
‘Who said anything about contacting the authorities?’ said Marcie. ‘These people need our help. They’re half starving and living rough. It’s a wonder they are still alive. Have you seen how thin and bony Fatimah looks? If we hand them in, God knows what will happen to them.’
‘Medical attention for a start,’ said Will. He let out a sigh. He had a battle on his hands with Marcie on this one. ‘Looking after them is a nice thought but totally impractical, not to mention illegal.’
‘Are you really that heartless?’
‘Is not a case of being heartless. It’s being practical.’
‘They might get sent back to wherever it is they’ve come from. Back to some war torn country where their homes have been destroyed. Back to brutality. Imprisonment. Even death,’ said Marcie passionately.
/> ‘If that’s the case then they need to apply for asylum. They can’t stay under the radar,’ said Will keeping his patience in check. ‘I know it’s hard, but it’s life. What you want to do is a nice sentiment, but it’s not reality.’
‘You spent too long in the Army. So much so, you’ve become desensitised,’ snapped Marcie, anger flaring in her hazel eyes. ‘If you ever want to connect back with society and start living again, then you need to do that through people.’
‘You’re treading on dangerous ground,’ warned Will. ‘You hardly know anything about me and the Army.’
‘Maybe not, but I do know about human compassion. And I know you do have some left, despite what you’ve been through. I’ve seen it. The trouble is, you’re so scared of it, you’re fighting it. You’re not the enemy, Will. Don’t fight yourself.’
And there, she had found the chink in his armour. Will knew what she was saying was right. He dragged his hand down his face. ‘It’s just a bit too close to home,’ he said. ‘I came here to leave all that behind but now it looks like it’s found me.’
‘You can’t leave it behind,’ said Marcie. She placed her hand on his chest. ‘It will always be with you because it’s in here. In your heart. And in your head.’
Will covered her hand with his own. ‘I don’t know if I can do it.’
‘You can. Let me help you,’ said Marcie. ‘You can’t live your life through the lens of a camera. It’s all well and good connecting with nature but you have to connect with people too, connect with your heart. You can’t do that with a photograph, there will always be a degree of distance. You need to touch real life, to feel it, to live it.’ Her voice was gentle, all the anger gone. There was concern. She cared about him. It had been a long time since anyone had cared about him as a person, rather than a rank and number or statistic.
He studied her for a moment. She was beautiful both inside and out. He had only known her for a few weeks, but already she was having an impact on him. He was aware he probably cared more for her than he had previously admitted to himself. And for the first time since leaving the Army, someone else’s opinion of him mattered.