The French Retreat (Falling for France Book 1) (8 page)

‘A little,’ said Fatimah.

‘Well, that’s going to make life easier,’ said Will.

‘Where are you from?’ said Marcie.

Fatimah shook her head. Marcie tried again. She tapped both herself and Will. ‘England. UK,’ and then pointing outside, ‘France. You?’

For a brief moment Will saw a flash of resilience in Fatimah’s eyes. He suspected she could understand what Marcie was asking, but was choosing not to.

‘Leave it, Marcie,’ said Will. ‘She probably doesn’t want to say.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘My guess is Fatimah is here illegally. If no-one knows where she’s from, then they can’t send her home. She can’t be deported.’

‘Deported?’ The look of alarm on Marcie’s face was equally matched by Fatimah, who immediately started speaking really fast in her native tongue, panic clear in her voice. She grabbed at Will’s jacket.

‘It’s okay, Fatimah,’ said Marcie trying to calm the other woman down. ‘No-one’s going to deport you. You’re safe here. I promise.’ The reassurances seemed to do the trick and Fatimah’s pleadings abated. Her head lolled to one side and she closed her eyes, the effort in just speaking was clearly draining.

Will stood up. ‘Got a minute?’ he said to Marcie. He walked outside, not waiting for her reply. Marcie followed him.

‘What’s up?’ she said.

‘You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,’ said Will.

‘What do you mean?’ said Marcie, placing her hands on her hips.

‘Exactly what I said. It’s not up to us what happens to them now. It’s up to the police. The authorities.’

‘Who said anything about contacting the authorities?’ said Marcie. ‘These people need our help. They’re half starving and living rough. It’s a wonder they are still alive. Have you seen how thin and bony Fatimah looks? If we hand them in, God knows what will happen to them.’

‘Medical attention for a start,’ said Will. He let out a sigh. He had a battle on his hands with Marcie on this one. ‘Looking after them is a nice thought but totally impractical, not to mention illegal.’

‘Are you really that heartless?’

‘Is not a case of being heartless. It’s being practical.’

‘They might get sent back to wherever it is they’ve come from. Back to some war torn country where their homes have been destroyed. Back to brutality. Imprisonment. Even death,’ said Marcie passionately.

‘If that’s the case then they need to apply for asylum. They can’t stay under the radar,’ said Will keeping his patience in check. ‘I know it’s hard, but it’s life. What you want to do is a nice sentiment, but it’s not reality.’

‘You spent too long in the Army. So much so, you’ve become desensitised,’ snapped Marcie, anger flaring in her hazel eyes. ‘If you ever want to connect back with society and start living again, then you need to do that through people.’

‘You’re treading on dangerous ground,’ warned Will. ‘You hardly know anything about me and the Army.’

‘Maybe not, but I do know about human compassion. And I know you do have some left, despite what you’ve been through. I’ve seen it. The trouble is, you’re so scared of it, you’re fighting it. You’re not the enemy, Will. Don’t fight yourself.’

And there, she had found the chink in his armour. Will knew what she was saying was right. He dragged his hand down his face. ‘It’s just a bit too close to home,’ he said. ‘I came here to leave all that behind but now it looks like it’s found me.’

‘You can’t leave it behind,’ said Marcie. She placed her hand on his chest. ‘It will always be with you because it’s in here. In your heart. And in your head.’

Will covered her hand with his own. ‘I don’t know if I can do it.’

‘You can. Let me help you,’ said Marcie. ‘You can’t live your life through the lens of a camera. It’s all well and good connecting with nature but you have to connect with people too, connect with your heart. You can’t do that with a photograph, there will always be a degree of distance. You need to touch real life, to feel it, to live it.’ Her voice was gentle, all the anger gone. There was concern. She cared about him. It had been a long time since anyone had cared about him as a person, rather than a rank and number or statistic.

He studied her for a moment. She was beautiful both inside and out. He had only known her for a few weeks, but already she was having an impact on him. He was aware he probably cared more for her than he had previously admitted to himself. And for the first time since leaving the Army, someone else’s opinion of him mattered.

‘Okay,’ he said, dropping a kiss on her forehead. ‘What’s your plan?’

‘Is that a yes?’ said Marcie, her face breaking into a smile. ‘You’re going to help them?’

‘It’s a yes,’ said Will, more pleased she was happy than he was to be helping.

‘Oh, Will, I do …’ she stopped and looked down embarrassed.

‘You do what?’

She looked back up at him. ‘You know what.’

‘Yeah, I think I do,’ said Will. ‘We’ll continue this discussion later. Right now we’d better work out what we’re going to do with Fatimah and Asif.’

Chapter Eight

Marcie followed with Asif as Will carried Fatimah up to the farmhouse. He lifted her with ease, despite his bad arm.

Once inside, Will placed Fatimah on the sofa and disappeared off into the kitchen to warm some soup and make hot drinks. Leaving Fatimah and Asif in the living room, Marcie went into the kitchen to help.

‘She can speak more English than we thought,’ she said.

‘I did wonder,’ said Will. ‘She probably knows quite a bit when it suits her.’

‘You sound very cynical,’ said Marcie.

Will ladled the soup out into two bowls. ‘Force of habit,’ he said. ‘I’ll try harder.’

Marcie didn’t say anything. She knew it was difficult for Will but she also knew there was a softer, more gentle side to him. She had seen it. She had experienced it. He just needed to change his default setting. She buttered some bread. ‘I suppose I’d better ring Ben in a minute and tell him he’s got a couple of extra house guests.’

‘The sooner the better, I’d say,’ said Will. ‘If he’s not keen on the idea, then you’ll have to break the news to Fatimah that she’s got to find somewhere else to stay.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t do that,’ said Marcie. ‘I’m sure Ben will be okay.’

‘Listen, I know in principle this seems like the right thing to do,’ said Will, ‘but it’s not going to be as simple as it sounds. There are certain things Fatimah needs to consider.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like whether she’s a refugee, a migrant or an illegal immigrant. It will hugely affect how she’s dealt with by the authorities.’

‘Can you speak to her?’ said Marcie. ‘You know more about it than I do.’

‘I don’t really but I’ll speak to her anyway. Let’s talk to her after she’s eaten. She’s incredible thin and weak. She might need medical treatment.’

Marcie sighed deeply. She knew Will was right to be cautious, but she also knew that there was no way she could have left Fatimah and Asif in the barn to fend for themselves.

The two new house guests soon ate their lunch and after clearing away their plates, Will and Marcie sat down in the living room with them.

Asif was fascinated with Marcie’s flute and she played a quick tune for him. His eyes lit up when she finished and held out the instrument to him. Asif put it to his mouth and blew. His attempts to hit even one note were comical and soon everyone was laughing.

‘I’ll show you later,’ said Marcie. She looked at Fatimah as the mother translated her words to Asif. The broad beam across the little boy’s face confirmed to Marcie the translation had been a success. It also confirmed to her that Will was probably right when he said Fatimah could understand English far more than she was letting on. Now seemed as good a time as any to broach the subject of nationality and status. Marcie caught Will’s eye and gave a small nod.

‘Fatimah,’ said Will. ‘We want to help you and Asif but we need to know where you’ve come from. Where you want to go? Do you have a husband? Any other family?’

Fatimah’s happy expression dropped from her face. She shook her head.

Will continued. ‘I know you can understand me,’ he said. ‘Please, we want to help but we must know more. We can’t help you if you do not tell us the truth.’

‘Are you a refugee? Do you have a passport?’ said Marcie. She looked at Asif. If only he could speak some English then she might be able to find out more from him. Suddenly, Fatimah became very agitated. She glared at Marcie and was saying something that sounded angry.

‘It’s okay,’ said Will. He placed a hand on Fatimah’s arm to calm her. ‘Don’t be afraid. Just tell us.’

What little energy Fatimah had gained from the lunch had left her. She put her head back against the cushions and closed her eyes. Marcie exchanged a worried look with Will. He shrugged.

‘Fatimah,’ said Marcie. ‘Are you okay?’

Fatimah sat up and looked back at Marcie. ‘Yes. I am okay. I am tired.’ Her English was heavily accented but clear. ‘My husband, Asif’s father, he was killed. My mother, my father, my brother, killed also in the fighting. I run away. I want to go to England.’

‘So you’re a refugee,’ said Will. ‘You have a passport?’

She lowered her eyes. ‘Passport, yes. Papers, no.’

‘How have you ended up here, in Brittany?’ said Will. ‘It’s the other side of France. And how were you planning to get into the UK?’

Fatimah looked away without answering.

‘How long have you been living in the barn?’ said Marcie coming to sit beside Fatimah. She took the other woman’s hand in her own.

‘Three weeks. I try to get better.’

Will looked like he was going to start questioning her again. Marcie stopped him. ‘Not now, Will,’ she said. ‘I think she’s had enough for the moment.’

‘Okay,’ said Will. He stood up and stretched. ‘I’ll do a bit of research into the options open to her. I’ll be in my room if you want me.’

Marcie was grateful Will was taking on the practicalities of the situation. In the meantime, she’d run Fatimah a bath. Both mother and son looked like they could do with a bloody good wash. Living rough for several weeks couldn’t be doing them a lot of good. It was no wonder Fatimah was unwell.

Will went up to his room. He stood at the window and looked out over the fields. He hadn’t been totally surprised to find someone in the buildings. Much as he wanted to turn a blind eye to it, he knew he couldn’t. He had considered what Marcie had said about reconnecting with people and she was right. He had shut himself away for far too long.

Sitting on his bed, he pulled his camera out from his bag and began to absently flick through the photographs. The other night when he was out, he had taken quite a few pictures near the outbuildings, where he had been spying on a couple of foxes that frequented the area. Little had he known that Fatimah and Asif had been there.

After a few minutes, a noise in the doorway made Will look up. He saw Asif’s head dart back from round the door.

‘Asif,’ said Will gently. ‘It’s oaky, fella.’

A small dark head appeared round the doorframe, followed by two big brown eyes. Will took a moment to steady himself, anticipating the swarm of memories – bad thoughts. He batted them away and thought of Marcie smiling at him, delighted he was going to help – good thought.

Asif ventured slowly into the room. Will gave him a smile and beckoned him over. ‘Want to look at some pictures?’ he said. He showed the digital screen on the back of the camera to Asif. ‘Foxes,’ said Will pointing at the photograph. Asif peered closer. Will repeated the word. ‘You say it. Asif, say foxes.’

It took a couple of attempts but Asif got there in the end. He smiled at Will, delighted with his newly obtained vocabulary. ‘Foxes,’ he said proudly.

Will pressed the review button on the camera several times until a picture of an owl appeared. ‘Owl,’ he said. He flapped his arms and made a twit-twoo sound. Asif laughed at Will’s impression of the bird and imitated him. ‘Brilliant,’ said Will and held up his hand to high five the boy.

As he showed Asif more pictures, he could hear Marcie running the bath for Fatimah. Will spent several more minutes looking through the photographs with Asif until they came to a batch of flower and plant images, whereupon Asif’s interest waned.

‘Okay, what about some music?’ said Will. Asif looked blankly at him. Will took his MP3 player from his bedside table and pushing some headphones into the socket, passed one ear piece to Asif. ‘Put that in your ear,’ said Will, showing Asif what to do by placing the other earpiece in his own ear. ‘Ready?’ he gave the thumbs up sign to Asif who copied the gesture. ‘Right, here we go. A nice bit of Prodigy for you.’

Will hit the play button and music pumped out through the earpiece. Asif jumped at the sudden noise. Will grinned and nodded his head in time with the bass beat, encouraging Asif to do the same. Soon they were both captured by the rhythm of the music.

They had just reached the end of the second song when Marcie burst through the doorway into the bedroom. Will could tell instantly that something wasn’t right. He pulled the headphone from his ear and stood up, catching Marcie by the shoulders as she bundled into him. Marcie went to speak but glancing down at Asif, stopped herself.

‘What’s up?’ said Will.

‘I need to speak to you, in private,’ she said. The alarm in her eyes betrayed the calmness in her voice.

Will crouched down in front of Asif who had appeared not to pick up on the tension as he studied the MP3 player, still bopping his head from side to side in time with the music. Will smiled at the boy and popped the earpiece into Asif’s ear. He gave Asif a pat on the shoulder and then shepherded Marcie out of the room onto the landing. He pulled the door shut behind him.

‘It’s Fatimah,’ said Marcie, not waiting for Will to speak. She tugged at his arm and headed back down the stairs. Will followed as Marcie explained. ‘I came down to tell her the bath was ready and at first I thought she was sleeping. I tried to wake her but couldn’t. She’s really sweating. I’m worried about her.’

Fatimah wasn’t just sweating thought Will as he knelt down beside the sofa. She was feverish, rolling her head from side to side and murmuring incoherently.

‘Get some water,’ said Will. ‘And a damp cloth. She’s burning up.’

Marcie hurried back with a bottle of water and a flannel she had run under the tap. Will slid his hand under Fatimah’s neck and lifted her head slightly. Marcie leaned over and dabbed at the woman’s forehead.

‘What do you think?’ she said. ‘Will she be okay?’

‘I’d like to say yes,’ said Will. He trickled some more water into Fatimah’s mouth before sitting back and observing her for a moment. He came to a decision. ‘I’m going to have to take her to the hospital. She needs medical attention.’

‘Is she that bad?’

‘I’d say she’s right on the edge of her body limit. It’s bad news for the brain if she gets too dehydrated,’ said Will. He stood up and helped Marcie to her feet. ‘I’ve seen this sort of thing before. Severe dehydration and fever – it’s not good. Of course, it could be an infection that’s taken hold but whatever, she’s past the point of what we can do for her.’

‘Shall I call an ambulance?’

‘No. It will be quicker if I drive her straight there myself. The nearest hospital is Ploermel, it’s twenty minutes if I put my foot down.’

‘I’ll stay here with Asif,’ said Marcie. ‘God knows how I’m going to explain this to him though.’

Will was already getting his jacket on and picking up the keys. ‘I’ll bring the car up to the door and carry her straight in.’

‘What are you going to tell them at the hospital?’ said Marcie. ‘They’ll want to know all her details.’

Will stopped in front of Marcie and dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.’

Arriving at the hospital, Will pulled up in the car park outside the main reception and the emergency treatment department. He checked his watch. It had taken seventeen minutes. Faster than he had expected and apart from having to swerve to avoid Yves who had stepped out in front of him, he hadn’t encountered any hold ups.

Now for the tricky part. Dealing with the medical staff and his lack of French. Will lifted Fatimah from the back of the car. She was semi-conscious, only partly aware of what was going on around her. It could actually work in their favour.

Unlike the walk-in service UK hospitals offered, this one at Ploermel had Will ringing a doorbell from the outside of a locked door.

A porter came out and taking one look at the limp body of Fatimah, ushered Will inside, speaking rapid French at him.

‘
Je ne parle pas français
,’ said Will, an expression he had made a point of learning when he first arrived in the country. Today, he was grateful for the foresight.

The porter gave a small roll of his eyes before beckoning Will to follow him. ‘
Allez
,’ he said and headed off into a side room.

Will placed Fatimah on the bed and the porter pulled the side rails up. ‘
Attendez
,’ he said before leaving the room. Will got the general idea and sat down in the chair to wait.

A few minutes later a doctor came into the room. He shook Will’s hand and introduced himself, before looking at Fatimah. He gave a small tut and pressed the red call button by the side of the bed. Two nurses materialised within a few seconds. He spoke in French to them as he examined Fatimah.

‘How long like this?’ said the doctor looking up at Will.

‘Two days,’ said Will. ‘Today very bad.’

‘Last eat?’ said the doctor.

‘Today,’ said Will. ‘Just a little.’ He was aware this wasn’t really the whole picture. She probably hadn’t eaten properly for several days.

The doctor continued his examination, issuing instructions to the nurses. An i/v line was brought in and a cannula inserted into the back of Fatimah’s hand. The nurse connected the drip up and hooked the bag of fluids onto the stand.

‘Needs fluids,’ said the doctor looking at Will once again. ‘Very dehydrated. We will take some blood. She must stay here for the night.’

Will nodded. He had expected as much. He would have to stay with her. If Fatimah was to wake up alone in a strange place, she would probably freak out, wondering what the hell had happened to her. Hopefully, if he was here, she’d feel reassured. Ideally, he would like to take her back to The Retreat. The longer she stayed here, the more chance there was for the hospital to see through the backstory he had been plotting on the way over. Will sat back in the seat, preparing himself for a long wait while they got Fatimah’s condition under control.