I shook my head.
‘The brandy will soothe her nerves,’ I told him. ‘In small measures, it is even medicine, perhaps. But how will stinking of an ashtray make you feel less stressed?’
Mo smiled. Actually, it was not quite a smile. It was the beginning of one, that suddenly disappeared when he remembered the situation.
‘Are you feeling sad?’ he asked.
I nodded. I had spent the night thinking first of Claude, and then Grace too. I’d also imagined losing my parents to such evil, and it had punctured a hole in my heart more agonising than any bullet might.
‘I don’t want my parents to die,’ I admitted. ‘The pain would be unbearable. I cannot explain how much I love them.’
‘Then do not try to explain,’ Mo told me. ‘The inexplicability of your love is what makes it so true. It isn’t something to be measured, Joelle. It is too instinctive to measure.’
I considered his words and found myself agreeing with him.
‘You are very wise,’ I told him. ‘For someone so young…’
‘I am twenty-six years of age,’ he revealed. ‘Old enough.’
‘Is this how love is described in your faith?’ I added. ‘Is this what Sikhs are taught?’
Mo grinned.
‘No,’ he said. ‘This is what all fortunate humans learn. Where they live, to whom they pray – none of that matters.’
‘My parents are the kindest, finest and most decent human beings,’ I said. ‘I am fortunate to have them.’
‘That is why you must let me leave,’ he replied. ‘You can see out the war here. Remain hopeful of a better future. If you resist, you put yourselves at risk.’
‘And if we do not resist?’ I asked. ‘What then is the point of us? To live like sheep to be branded? To cower before bullies? Never!’
I hadn’t realised the strength of my emotions, nor the volume at which I expressed them. Mo seemed taken aback, and I apologised at one, placing my pale hand upon his dark one.
‘You are also one of the best humans I have met,’ I told him.
‘But I have only been here for a week,’ he pointed out.
‘A week, a day?’ I said. ‘Who cares, when it is so obvious?’
‘Tell your parents you love them,’ he advised. ‘Trust me, they will never tire of hearing it.’
Maman came out, to ask after the raised voices.
‘Nothing, Maman,’ I replied. ‘I was merely being passionate about my feelings.’
‘Are you sure?’ she asked.
I smiled at Mo, and then at her.
‘I love you, Maman!’ I said, and at once her face lit up. ‘I love you as I love the sunshine and the snow, and Mrs Moreau’s books and rabbit stew. And more, Maman – much more!’
I hugged her close and took in her scent and felt instantly better.
‘I love you too,’ she told me.
That evening, after darkness had fallen and we’d eaten our supper, Maman allowed Mo and me to take a walk.
‘It’s dark, Maman,’ I said. ‘We’ll be perfectly safe.’
‘Just be careful,’ she told us. ‘You hide at the first sign of trouble, understand?’
Mo swore that he would protect me.
‘You have my oath,’ he told Maman. ‘I will not let Joelle come to any harm.’
Maman smiled and gave me a little hug. If only I had known. If only, somehow, I had seen my future. If only I had stayed at home…
We were walking back from the woods, lighting the way with a rusty oil lamp. The air was cold and crisp, and my nose ran. It felt like a perfect winter’s night, and Mo was busy telling me about his childhood, and his younger siblings. He had retied his turban and looked like a prince in the lamp’s golden glow. His dark eyes shone.
We approached the garden from the fields, my house in front of us.
‘Wait!’ Mo suddenly growled, pulling me down so that we were hidden by the wall.
‘What is it?’
‘Something is wrong,’ he whispered.
My stomach somersaulted with fear.
‘Why do you say that?’
His expression was serious, his brow furrowed.
‘The door has been kicked in,’ he revealed.
‘What?’ I exclaimed as I shot up.
‘Joelle, no!’ he insisted, pulling me down again. ‘Wait!’
‘But what about Maman and Papa?’ I begged. ‘We must check on them!’
Mo nodded but did not move for a moment. It was the correct decision. Suddenly, we heard loud voices. Maman and Papa, and then some Germans. They seemed to be arguing and then Maman screamed. I held in my own cry, fearful of being discovered. Doing what my parents had always taught me.
Run, hide, but whatever you do, don’t get caught.
‘Liars!’ I heard a German soldier shout. ‘We know who you are!’
I heard Papa protesting innocence and then a thud as Maman screamed again. More shouting followed, and Mo began to pull me away.
‘Run!’ he whispered. ‘Back to the trees, Joelle. Run and hide, and I will try to save them…’
Never mind think, I could barely breathe. My chest grew tight and my legs felt hollow and full of nothing but air. I stumbled to my feet and did as Mo said. And as I ran, I sobbed and sobbed, so great was my terror. Not my parents, I begged. Not my parents…
And then the shooting began…
NINE
I stopped running and turned, and the air around me seemed to buzz and grow heavy on my shoulders. My heart beat so fast, I thought it might explode. I remember screaming, but there was no sound. Like some dumb animal, I stood and wailed, and could not move. Mo appeared before me. He scooped me into his arms and carried me back towards the trees. Once past the treeline, he kept on going, bullying his way through thick undergrowth as though it were nothing. I did not stop screaming until we reached my clearing, and there I grew limp and the light in my eyes began to fade.
I know that I passed out. I know because Mo shook me to my senses and covered my mouth with his hands.
‘Dogs!’ he said, pulling me further into the woods.
