Beatrice was pacing the kitchen by then, muttering under her breath. I could tell that she was scared and anxious.
‘Do you have scissors and your father’s shaving kit?’ Mo asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Then fetch them, Joelle. Let us get this done and be on our way.’
I paused for a moment.
‘Are you sure?’ I asked.
Mo smiled and stroked his beard.
‘Please,’ he replied. ‘Before I change my mind.’
Mo sat at the table and unwrapped his pagri, before unwinding his long hair.
‘I would like you to cut it,’ he said to me. ‘It will be our pact. Our seal.’
I nodded yet part of me felt sad. The length of Mo’s hair signified his faith, his absolute trust in all he believed.
‘Please,’ he said again.
I started slowly, cutting off small sections at a time. Meanwhile, Beatrice used another pair of scissors to shorten Mo’s beard. Once it was more manageable, she used Papa’s razor to shave him smooth. When we were done, Mo looked younger and even more handsome.
‘Do you have a mirror?’ he asked.
I handed one to him and he smiled ruefully.
‘You know,’ he said. ‘I quite like it.’
Beatrice’s impatience grew once more.
‘Mon Dieu!’ she cried. ‘Do you wish to get caught?’
We packed a few belongings – food and water, a knife and some other things – and Mo dressed in some of my father’s clothes and put on a peaked hat. He pulled it low over his face, then wrapped a scarf around his neck. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do, and we set off. I didn’t even close the door behind me. Everything I loved was gone. I no longer cared who took the rest.
That was the last time I saw our little house, on the edge of our little town, in the country of my birth. I would never return.
Our second concern was in getting across town, to the planned Resistance meeting. The Germans were on high alert and the streets might be dangerous. Beatrice told us of a few families she could trust, but I was not convinced. If Vincent knew about her contacts too, then they would be prisoners by now, or worse.
‘We can go to Mrs Moreau,’ I suggested. ‘Leave Mo there and then run to warn your friends.’
‘No,’ said Mo. ‘I can’t let you risk yourself, Joelle.’
‘I will go alone,’ said Beatrice. ‘You can both hide with that old witch.’
‘Don’t call her that!’ I snapped.
‘Sorry,’ said Beatrice. ‘I was just trying to cheer you up.’
I nodded, then smiled.
‘It’s fine,’ I told her.
Beatrice led the way, taking every side street and alleyway she knew. We were lucky. The streets were quiet, and the Germans seemed to have gone. At least, it felt that way. I knew that they would be back soon enough. And what if we were too late to help our comrades?
‘The others might have been arrested already,’ I said. ‘What then?’
Beatrice shrugged.
‘Then, we are finished,’ she whispered. ‘My brother and your parents died for nothing.’
I explained our conversation to Mo, and he shook his head.
‘Not for nothing,’ he said with certainty. ‘Their bravery and their sacrifice will not be in vain.’
We reached Mrs Moreau’s bookshop and I knocked with urgency. My old friend appeared a moment later, her eyes widening with delight that did not last. Once again, I was reminded of a sickly blackbird. I burst into tears as the door opened and the blackbird began to tremble.
‘My dear Joelle,’ she said, taking hold of me. ‘Whatever is the matter?’
‘Maman and Papa are gone,’ I whispered.
‘Gone?’ she said, eyeing both Beatrice and Mo. ‘What do you mean, gone?’
‘They were killed,’ Beatrice told her. ‘The Germans…’
Mrs Moreau’s mouth fell open and her trembling increased. Already slight and weak, I feared the shock might kill her too.
‘No!’ she said. ‘I refuse to believe it. This is some cruel trick…’
‘It is true,’ I told her. ‘I am sorry.’
The old lady ushered us inside before locking the door behind us. She swore several times and then turned to Beatrice.
‘Some of my neighbours called by earlier. They said that people are being arrested. Resistance people…’
‘We have been betrayed,’ Beatrice told her. ‘Claude was also killed.’
‘No!’ said the old woman. ‘Will these scoundrels stop at nothing? They have our country already. Must they kill our people too?’
Finally, she looked Mo up and down.
‘And you?’ she said. ‘Are you part of this?’
I took Mrs Moreau’s hand.
‘We should go into the back,’ I told her, wary of someone spotting us through the windows.
I led the way, past the piles of dusty books and the stuffed animals that had once seemed so comforting. With my parents gone, even those had lost their charm. In the kitchen, Mo removed the hat and scarf and Mrs Moreau gasped.
‘You are an Indian!’ she said. ‘I met many like you during the last war.’
‘Mo is a British pilot,’ I explained. ‘He crashed, and we hid him. The Germans are looking for him.’
She nodded.
‘Can we stay here, while Beatrice warns the others?’
Mrs Moreau smiled and nodded.
‘Of course, chérie,’ she replied.
Beatrice left us then, to run her errands. Only, she did not take long. She was back within the hour, her face pale.
‘They’ve been taken,’ she told us. ‘All of them…’
I translated for Mo, but he had already guessed.
‘We need a new plan,’ he replied. ‘Can Beatrice contact Vincent?’
‘Yes,’ Beatrice replied for herself. ‘Why?’
‘I have an idea,’ he replied.
TWELVE
We stayed with Mrs Moreau until darkness fell. She made us coffee and gave us cheese and stale bread, and I wondered how she would cope without my parents’ support. Without me. Once we left, I knew that I would never return. That I would never see her again.
‘You seem sad, my love,’ she said when she saw my expression.
‘I am,’ I replied. ‘I must leave here tonight, and I cannot come back. I worry for you.’
‘Pah!’ she replied. ‘I existed long before you were born. I will live on once
