I stripped down to my underwear and, shivering, held open the wardrobe door.
‘You’re actually going to change to go out for dinner with that Nazi?’ Rachel said, as if these were normal circumstances.
‘What do you think?’ I shouted at her. ‘Do I have a choice?’
‘Can’t you make up an excuse?’
‘What excuse? He’s going to be bloody living here in a few days.’ I dragged a skirt and blouse from their hangers and fought my way into them.
My fingers wouldn’t work, and I couldn’t see properly.
‘Here, let me help,’ Rachel said. ‘You’ve got it buttoned all the wrong way.’
‘He broke my glasses.’
‘Where are they? Let me look. I’ll see if I can fix them.’
‘You can’t fix them!’ I said with venom. ‘They’re smashed to pieces … everything’s smashed to pieces.’ I was consumed with anger and shame. ‘Just leave me alone.’
The soft purr of the car engine outside. As I peered out through the net, I saw Mrs Galen’s face appear at the window opposite. We stared at each other, before her curtain twitched shut.
I heard the soft click of Rachel’s door as she disappeared, like a cat, into hiding.
When I came out of the house, Horst frowned at my red eyes and my homely skirt. ‘Why you not wear my stockings?’ he asked.
‘I have no … no suspender belt.’ My cheeks grew hot as I mimed the belt.
‘This is easy fix. I bring you, soon, with new dress.’
He took me to one of the restaurants frequented by Germans and propelled me to a table. At every opportunity, he crept his hand onto the bare flesh of my knee. I had to hold the menu up to my nose to read it, and of course, I saw with a sinking heart, that even that was in German.
‘I will order for you,’ Horst said with a self-satisfied smile.
I ate a meal that almost choked me, keeping a polite distance but fearful of offending him. Offending the Germans was something that landed you in jail, along with chalking ‘V’ for Victory on the pavements or owning a wireless. Horst regaled me with stories of his childhood. In nearly all of them, Horst was the clever one and Fred the stupid one, or Horst the leader and Fred limping behind. I gritted my teeth and tried not to show my annoyance.
When he drove me home, the house was dark and silent.
‘Soon this will be my house,’ he said, looking up at it. ‘It is humble, but I will endure it. It is better than one room at the hotel.’ But then he saw something that made him leap from the car.
‘What is this?’
The front window of the shop was daubed with an enormous dripping white ‘V’ and ‘ENGLISH VICTORY IS CERTAIN’ in roughly drawn capitals.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, instantly feeling guilty. ‘I don’t know who did this. But I don’t think it will be easy to clean – the paint smells like enamel.’
‘It is not to be borne, this resistance. We will find out. Your neighbours will be punished. I will find out who is responsible for doing this to our house.’ He paced up and down the street, a kind of animal tension in the way he walked. ‘Stay indoors tomorrow, Céline. It is none of your business.’
‘But, Horst, it is probably just children, fooling around.’
‘I don’t think so. Stay indoors. I order it.’ Without even a ‘goodnight’, he forced his bulk back into the car. ‘I must go and organise some men,’ he shouted through the window. ‘If you hear anything else, call me.’ He drove off.
My shop had been a deliberate target. One of my neighbours had chosen to do this, to make me feel bad. It was the last thing I needed, to be made the centre of German attention. I wouldn’t put it past Mrs Galen, or her husband Anton, to single me out.
Rachel came down from upstairs. She was dressed and looked much better. ‘How did you get rid of him? I thought he’d want to come in. I was all set to hide behind the door.’
‘Don’t jest,’ I said.
‘I’m not jesting. I was bloody terrified. There’s nowhere else to go.’
‘Did you hear anything or see anything when I was out?’
‘No. Nothing. I heard noises outside, but I kept the curtains drawn and the lights out, like always. Why?’
I explained about the window. ‘He told me to stay indoors tomorrow.’
‘Guess that means me too. Shame, I was thinking of a nice stroll down to the harbour for an ice cream.’
‘Will you stop it with your stupid jokes. It’s serious.’
‘What should I do instead? Cry? Once I’m on the run, I’ve probably only a few days before I get caught. I might as well enjoy them. I would’ve left already, but I wanted to thank you first.’
‘I told you before, I don’t need thanks.’
‘I’d be dead by now if you hadn’t fetched Wolfgang. I could hardly breathe, but all I could think of was that I mustn’t die, because otherwise it would cause you even more trouble.’
‘Don’t be a goose. Look, we’ve five days before Horst moves in. We’ll just have to find you somewhere else. Is there anyone else you trust?’
‘No. Nobody who would risk their life for me. That’s what you mean, isn’t it? And it isn’t fair. I can’t ask that of anyone. I’ll move on tomorrow. Meanwhile, let’s get on with the baking. It’ll give us time to think. Maybe we can stop Horst moving in, and you never know, we might come up with an idea.’
‘Have you ever tried to stop the Germans doing anything?’ I said.
‘What if you ring the Kommandant and get him to send someone to take over the bakery? Then at least you wouldn’t have to deal with Horst.’
‘It might be someone worse. Or they’d move me out and neither of us would have anywhere to go.’
Both of us fell to silent kneading.
At dawn we were up again to bake the meagre consignment of bread. Rachel had just got it in the oven when there was the noise of boots on the street outside. I tweaked back the curtain. Even without my glasses I could see enough to know there was a whole platoon of soldiers in the street.
‘Get upstairs out of sight,’ I whispered urgently, flapping my hands at Rachel.
From behind the bedroom window, I watched as they knocked at every door and dragged the occupants onto the street, even shy six-year-old Lily and Mr and Mrs Soulier, her schoolteacher parents. If the door didn’t open, soldiers shot off the lock and kicked it in. Mr and Mrs Galen were white with terror; the others just looked stunned. They stood in a ragged line, trying to make themselves seem smaller.
A car arrived, one I recognised, and Horst got out. The troop saluted him with rigidly raised arms and a Heil Hitler.
Horst strolled up the line and then pointed to the window. I saw Mrs Galen look up to the crack in the curtain where I was watching, and her mouth pursed in disgust. Still, I couldn’t move away.
‘Who has done this?’ Horst said. ‘You are all neighbours. Who saw?’
Nobody answered.
‘You?’ He grabbed a rifle from one of the men and smashed it hard upwards into Mr Soulier’s jaw. I heard myself gasp as he fell to the ground, groaning and spitting out teeth. Another of the men aimed a vicious kick at his stomach. Mr Soulier curled into a bloody foetus, hands over his head, as Mrs Soulier, eyes pools of horror, grabbed Lily and pressed her face into her skirts, her hand on her head. Nobody else dared move.
Horst walked along the line. Sickened, I couldn’t look away. I was the cause of this; if I hadn’t known Horst, had never had him in my house, then nobody would have painted on my window. I would be one of them, instead of one of the enemy.
The next man in line was the old man, Mr Benoit, who hardly ever came out of his house because he was lame and walked with a stick. Horst dragged him forward, the man cringing, his hands clamped together before his face, pleading for mercy.
‘Who will tell me what they saw?’ Horst called out. ‘Or shall I shoot him?’ He threw down the blood-stained rifle and cocked his handgun.
‘No, please. I saw nothing.’ Mr Benoit was on his knees, a wet stain on his trousers.
‘I count to three.’ Horst pressed the gun to his temple.
The rest in the line froze, like dummies. Some closed their eyes.
‘Three. Two.’
I leapt down the stairs and flung open the door of the shop. The jangle of the bell made everyone’s eyes swivel to me. ‘Please! It doesn’t matter! It’s only a window!’
The shot rang out and Mr Benoit slumped. His head hit the pavement with a second crack. So quick? Alive one moment and gone the next? It didn’t seem possible.
‘Céline’ – Horst’s voice was calm – ‘I told you to stay indoors.’
‘Please, Horst.’ I met his gaze with mine. ‘It’s not worth someone’s life.’
The neighbours shifted their eyes sideways to look at me, but they didn’t move. I felt as if the whole world was staring.
Horst walked the few steps over to me, a cold look in his blue eyes, the gun pointing straight at my chest. He leaned close to me as I stood quaking. His words were whispered, conspiratorial. ‘It is necessary. To keep order. Do not try my patience.’ He called to his men. ‘Schultz, Vogel, begleitet Sie.’
Two men grabbed my arms and half pushed, half carried me towards the shop.
‘Let go,’ I protested. ‘I’m going.’ I ran inside the shop.
From behind the glass in the door I watched Horst cock his gun and move back to Mrs Soulier, who was shuddering with weeping and fear, with Lily still pressed to her knees.
Please God, no.
Horst prodded Mrs Soulier in the neck with his gun. ‘You want her to be an orphan?’
‘Don’t shoot!’ She fell to her knees, shielding Lily by pushing her behind her. ‘It was Mr Galen!’ She pointed. ‘I saw him with a brush, painting the window! Last night, when it was dark.’
Horst swivelled to look at him.
‘You bitch!’ Mrs Galen shouted. ‘Don’t believe her! She’s lying. We know nothing about it!’
But anyone could see Mr Galen’s guilt. It was written all over his face.
Horst gave an order in German and the men moved forward in a crush of rifles and helmets. The Galens were punched and beaten, and frog-marched away down the road.
When the disturbance was over, the street emptied. Mrs Soulier carried Lily indoors and then came back to help her husband to stagger back into the house. But Mr Benoit was still lying there, like a discarded bundle. The shock of it made my teeth chatter and my stomach roil.
I couldn’t think. Couldn’t make sense of it.
I ran my hands under the cold tap until they were blue.
Like a sleepwalker, I dragged the dough from the mixing bowl to divide it into loaves. The smell and texture of it, on top of what I’d just seen, were enough to make me run back to the sink to vomit and then hurry on shaking legs to the privy in the backyard.
I scrubbed at my hands again, over and over, letting the clear cold water run. My hands seemed to be someone else’s as I loaded the bread into the ovens and busied myself with batches of loaves. When I looked into the street an hour later, the old man was still there, but now there were flies buzzing near his face, and the blood had dried to a dark stain.
There was no noise at all from upstairs. Rachel might as well not have existed. But I knew she’d have heard the shouting and the shots, and the body in the street was plain to see.
I’d have to drive the bread to the German Supplies Unit if I didn’t want to be evicted. The thought of driving was bad enough, but the thought of seeing any more German soldiers made my palms sweat.