The rapping at the front door made me leap from the bed, bleary-eyed and fumbling for the alarm. Light seeped through the crack in the curtains. With horror, I groped for my glasses and picked up the clock. Six thirty. How the heck did that happen? Oh Lord, I hadn’t forgotten to set the alarm, had I? I’d meant to, but could I actually remember doing it …? What a blethering idiot. And now here was Mrs Flanders, come to get started with the baking.
I threw on my candlewick dressing gown and shot down the stairs, almost tripping over the dangling cord as I went.
Rachel was hopping up and down putting on her shoes.
‘Quick! Upstairs!’ I hissed at her.
The knocking was even louder now, and I heard the letterbox open. A voice boomed into the shop. ‘Céline! Get up, you lazy lump. It’s six thirty! Let me in.’
I was about to go and open the door when I saw our two plates still on the table. I shoved them both into the cupboard under the sink and ran to the door.
‘Sorry, Mrs Flanders,’ I said, out of breath, ‘I must’ve overslept.’
‘I can see that. You look like you’ve spent the night in a hedge. Well, get out of the way, then, and let me in. And get yourself dressed whilst I get the oven lit. There’s a frost this morning and that wind’s sharp.’
I rushed upstairs again, and seeing no sign of Rachel in my bedroom, I stuck my head around the door into Tilly’s room. A tap on my shoulder made me yelp. Rachel was behind the door. I flashed her a warning look and put my fingers to my lips.
‘You all right up there?’
‘Fine,’ I called out. ‘Just stubbed my toe.’
I dressed in a panic, throwing on an old skirt and a darned jersey, and splashed my face in the bedroom washbowl. There was no soap of course. We hadn’t had any for months.
By the time I got downstairs, Mrs Flanders had got the ovens heating and was kneading the first batch of bread. ‘We’ll have to get a shift on,’ she said. ‘Best leave it to prove whilst we do the cows, and then you can finish it off when I drop you back.’
Deliberately, I got into the van without my coat. As the engine roared into life, I shouted, ‘Wait! I forgot my coat!’
‘You’d forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on.’
I leapt out and into the house. ‘Rachel,’ I hissed, ‘it’s only me.’
Her head poked out from the top of the stairway.
‘I’ll only be a few hours. Don’t answer the door. Get your bath and take some of Tilly’s clothes, whatever she’s left. We’ll decide what to do later.’
‘I’m not staying—’
‘I haven’t got time to argue. You can’t leave in the light – too risky. Just do as I say, okay?’
‘All right, Miss Bossy Boots.’
I was a long time coming back from the farm, because Mrs Flanders was teaching me to drive the van, and I kept stalling the damn thing. After I waved her off, I unlocked the shop door to smell the aroma of baking. My mouth watered, but these days the loaves often smelt better than they tasted. I followed my nose and there was Rachel in the bakehouse, already kneading the next batch of bread.
‘I had to do something,’ she said. ‘Sitting about waiting is just too nerve-wracking.’
‘I like your outfit,’ I said. She looked better already, dressed in one of Tilly’s plaid kilts and a jersey. They were still too big, and she looked like an orphan, but at least they were more practical than the thin cotton frock she’d been wearing yesterday.
‘I couldn’t take anything from my apartment,’ she said, ‘or it would have looked suspicious. My dress had to go on under the clothes I left at the beach, in case the neighbours saw me go out. I carried the shoes wrapped in brown paper. Good job I had a spare pair, even if they’re more hole than shoe. I tell you, I was scared I’d be blown to bits by a mine. The beach is littered with them.’
‘They went to your apartment. I went to look for you and they were kicking the door in.’ I explained what I’d seen.
‘I got out just in time, then.’ Her smile was the same, but there was a tension around her jaw. ‘Would it be all right if I took Tilly’s coat?’
‘Well, she’s not coming back from England for it, is she?’ I caught her eye, and we held each other’s gaze. ‘Look, Rachel, you can’t just leave. You can stay here. If you go out there … well, anything could happen.’
‘No. I told you. It would be too much of an imposition. If they catch us—’
‘I know, I know. Don’t keep saying it.’
She pulled the oven door open and dragged out the tray of loaves and set them on the table. ‘Ugh. Those look horrible. But beggars can’t be choosers I suppose.’
‘Rachel, you’re changing the subject.’
She sighed. ‘Do you think I don’t want to stay here? But I know what it will mean. It will change your life. You will never be able to be easy again. And I … I will always have to be grateful. I’m not very good at being grateful, Céline. And I can be bad-tempered and awkward, and bloody-minded. And what about Horst? I couldn’t live with myself if something happened and they caught us. You’d get the blame.’
‘Then we’ll just have to make sure they don’t.’
She shook her head, but I could see she was tempted.
‘God, you’re stubborn. And I don’t care how bloody-minded you are, if you’re still alive.’
‘You might just regret saying that.’
I rushed over to hug her. For a moment we stood just gripping each other.
‘We’ll make it, you’ll see. And you can help in the bakery. They’ll wonder why my bread suddenly tastes decent. And you can have Tilly’s room, but you’ll have to be still and quiet when customers are in the shop – her floorboards creak and they’re right above it.’