I did not scream when I saw them. I did not moan or cry or fall about in grief. Perhaps Mo’s presence helped me, I cannot be sure. But I was very glad to have his support.
‘Come away, Joelle,’ he whispered. ‘There is nothing to be done.’
I ignored him a moment, taking in the scene and wiping away a few tears. Then I turned, and we walked back into the garden. The lane was quiet now, and no one approached from town. I saw no German soldiers and heard no attack dogs. The morning on which everything changed, and my old existence ended, seemed just a normal winter’s morning.
‘We must bury them,’ I said to Mo. ‘They cannot stay there. Not like that.’
‘If we bury them,’ Mo replied, ‘the Germans will know we’ve been back. It might endanger us further.’
‘What danger is left to us?’ I asked him. ‘Death? I no longer care about that. My parents are gone, and I am all alone.’
Mo shook his head.
‘Not alone,’ he told me. ‘I swore that I would protect you, Joelle. Now that oath is stained in blood, and I will never forget it. Your parents saved me. In return, they lost their lives. Now you are my responsibility. If you are willing, I will take care of you.’
I nodded, wiping away more tears. Mo put his arms around me and pulled me closer.
‘Cry, Joelle,’ he told me. ‘Do not hold these feelings inside. You must let your emotions breathe.’
Only then did I sob, and as Mo embraced me, I heard a bicycle approaching. I gave a start and looked up, but Mo told me not to panic.
‘It is Beatrice,’ he said.
She dismounted by the garden wall and walked through the gates. Her face fell when she saw us. She wore black garments, in mourning for her brother. They were very apt.
‘Please, no!’ she said in French.
‘Maman and Papa are dead,’ I told her, my tone blank and almost emotion-free. ‘The Germans knew about them. They knew about Mo.’
‘But this is impossible!’ Beatrice insisted.
‘And yet they found out,’ I said. ‘How could they have known, Beatrice?’
She thought a moment, before replying.
‘The only living people who knew,’ she told me, ‘are standing in this garden. Other than Vincent.’
‘Vincent?’
Beatrice nodded.
‘So, first the Germans found out about Claude, and then my parents?’ I said.
‘Yes, but…’
The horror of it dawned on Beatrice’s face.
‘It cannot be,’ she said, as I explained our conversation to Mo. The pilot nodded.
‘I understand,’ he said.
I turned back to Beatrice.
‘It was either you or Vincent,’ I said. ‘And I know you did not betray us, Beatrice.’
‘Dear God!’ said Beatrice. ‘But I arranged for him to meet some of more of our people this evening. He said he was from the south, from Maquis command. He knew about me and Claude, and everything we’d done.’
Mo seemed to understand.
‘Vincent is your traitor, then?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘There is no one else it could be.’
Suddenly, Beatrice let out a cry.
‘We must warn the others!’ she told us.
‘First, we bury my parents,’ I said, feeling a surge of determined rage. I wondered how many other children my age had felt the same way. How many more had become older than their years.
‘But we have no time,’ said Beatrice.
Mo looked to me and I explained what she’d said.
‘But I won’t leave them like this,’ I told him. ‘I would rather die too.’
Mo did not reply. Instead, he went to fetch a spade.
‘Where should I bury them?’ he asked.
I pointed to an apple tree, in the corner of the garden.
‘They planted that when I was born,’ I told him. ‘I will help you.’
After I’d translated, Beatrice looked towards the kitchen door.
‘I will get them ready,’ she said in French.
I found a smaller shovel to help Mo. We dug two holes beneath my apple tree, just deep enough to afford my parents some dignity. The cold ground was hard, and I tired very quickly, but I would not stop. Even when my arms began to cramp, I took a deep breath and carried on. When their graves were dug, Mo carried them from the house and laid them to rest. I stood and watched, shivering and wretched, my heart broken in two.
‘I can finish burying them,’ Mo said when he was done. ‘You go inside and get warm, Joelle.’
‘No,’ I told him. ‘I must play my part to the end.’
I often think that I should have buried something with them. A memento of some sort. Something that signified our family, our love, and our lives together. But we had no time, and I felt hollow. Besides, what good would it have done? They were gone, and nothing would bring them back.
‘Hurry!’ said Beatrice when we’d finished. ‘Now, we must stop Vincent!’
ELEVEN
Our next concern was Mo. His appearance would make us conspicuous and easy to capture. I feared that some collaborator might see us and tell the Germans. However, I respected Mo’s beliefs and knew that he would not cut his hair, nor shave. There had to be some other way.
‘There is none,’ Mo said eventually.
‘We are wasting time,’ Beatrice told us. ‘We need to leave now!’
Mo glanced towards my parents’ graves from the kitchen door.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘hair will grow back. You have lost something far more precious.’
Realising what he meant, I shook my head.
‘But you said that Sikhs must not cut their hair,’ I reminded him.
He shook his head.
‘It is an outward show of Sikhism,’ he replied. ‘The truth of my faith lies within my heart. Besides, we Sikhs believe in fate – we call it kismet.’
‘Kismet,’ I repeated.
‘If
