Read Online The Collaborator by Margaret Leroy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Margaret Leroy
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I stand for a moment, irresolute. Something in me is reluctant. I hear Evelyn’s assertion in my mind:
I’m not going to hide away, Vivienne. I’m hurt that you thought that I would. I’m not going to let the Hun move me about.
And in that moment I make my decision. I will leave my herbs and geraniums here—leaveeverything just as it was. This is the only protest I can make, the only way I can fight this: to live as I have always lived, not let them change me at all.
Millie stares at the cat’s bowl of food, which hasn’t been touched.
‘Where’s Alphonse?’
‘I don’t know, sweetheart.’
‘But it’s nearly night-time.’
‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m sure he’ll turn up. Cats always find their way home.’
But Millie is unhappy, a frown pencilled in on her forehead. I think, guiltily, that she’s worried because the cat was so nearly put down: she has a new sense of Alphonse’s vulnerability.
I read her a story, but she can’t sit still. She keeps jumping up and going to the kitchen, looking for him.
‘It’s the Germans, isn’t it?’ she says. ‘The Germans have taken Alphonse.’
‘I don’t expect so,’ I say.
‘I want him back, Mummy,’ she says. ‘And I want my ball back. Everything’s horrible.’ Her face crumples up like paper, and tears spill from her eyes.
I’d forgotten about the ball that she lost in the garden of Les Vinaires.
‘Millie, the ball’s not a problem. I can easily buy you another one …’
She ignores this. She rubs her tears away angrily. ‘Blanche says it’s the Germans. Blanche says the Germans eat people’s cats,’ she tells me. Her voice is shrill with outrage.
‘She was teasing you, Millie,’ I tell her. ‘I really don’t think they do.’
But I wonder if Alphonse’s absence is in fact the Germans’ fault—remembering the young blond man and how he petted the cat. Perhaps he has put out food for him. Cats have no loyalty.
I listen to Millie’s prayers, and tuck her up in bed.
‘You’ve got to find him,’ she tells me, sternly.
The sky through the living-room window darkens, to a rich cobalt blue, then to night. There’s a silver scatter of stars, a slice-of-melon moon. Still the cat doesn’t come home. It’s well after nine o’clock now. I think about the curfew, but the blackout curtains are already drawn at Les Vinaires, and everywhere is quiet.
I decide I will go out and look for the cat. I know I can be silent, and I’m sure I won’t be seen.
My back door isn’t overlooked from the windows of Les Vinaires. I go out that way, into the yawn of a black night. I cling to the hedgebank, creep along in the shadows, edge up the lane as far as the track that leads to Les Ruettes. I don’t dare call, but I’m hoping Alphonse will hear me—or maybe sense my presence, with that strange sixth sense that cats have.
There’s a sudden engine noise behind me. It must be German soldiers, now that islanders can’t use cars. I’m suddenly very afraid, my pulse racing, a cold sweat of fear on my skin. I slip through a gap in the hedge, crouch down in the field. The headlights sweep over the hedgebank and pass. I pray they didn’t see me. Then I hear the car slow and come to a stop. It must belong to the Germans who have moved into Les Vinaires.
I creep back to my house, and close the door on the night.Relief surges through me that at least I got home safely. Alphonse is on a chair in the kitchen, licking himself assiduously. I curse him under my breath.
I take him up to Millie. Her face shines.
But I can’t believe I did this. I think of something that the aunts who raised me were always saying to me, ‘Vivienne, you’re too trusting. You shouldn’t let people walk all over you. You shouldn’t be such a doormat … Your soft-heartedness will get you into trouble, one of these days …’ I think that perhaps they were right. I’ve been so stupid, so irresponsible, taking this risk for a cat, just because Millie was
I’m not going to hide away, Vivienne. I’m hurt that you thought that I would. I’m not going to let the Hun move me about.
And in that moment I make my decision. I will leave my herbs and geraniums here—leaveeverything just as it was. This is the only protest I can make, the only way I can fight this: to live as I have always lived, not let them change me at all.
Millie stares at the cat’s bowl of food, which hasn’t been touched.
‘Where’s Alphonse?’
‘I don’t know, sweetheart.’
‘But it’s nearly night-time.’
‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m sure he’ll turn up. Cats always find their way home.’
But Millie is unhappy, a frown pencilled in on her forehead. I think, guiltily, that she’s worried because the cat was so nearly put down: she has a new sense of Alphonse’s vulnerability.
I read her a story, but she can’t sit still. She keeps jumping up and going to the kitchen, looking for him.
‘It’s the Germans, isn’t it?’ she says. ‘The Germans have taken Alphonse.’
‘I don’t expect so,’ I say.
‘I want him back, Mummy,’ she says. ‘And I want my ball back. Everything’s horrible.’ Her face crumples up like paper, and tears spill from her eyes.
I’d forgotten about the ball that she lost in the garden of Les Vinaires.
‘Millie, the ball’s not a problem. I can easily buy you another one …’
She ignores this. She rubs her tears away angrily. ‘Blanche says it’s the Germans. Blanche says the Germans eat people’s cats,’ she tells me. Her voice is shrill with outrage.
‘She was teasing you, Millie,’ I tell her. ‘I really don’t think they do.’
But I wonder if Alphonse’s absence is in fact the Germans’ fault—remembering the young blond man and how he petted the cat. Perhaps he has put out food for him. Cats have no loyalty.
I listen to Millie’s prayers, and tuck her up in bed.
‘You’ve got to find him,’ she tells me, sternly.
The sky through the living-room window darkens, to a rich cobalt blue, then to night. There’s a silver scatter of stars, a slice-of-melon moon. Still the cat doesn’t come home. It’s well after nine o’clock now. I think about the curfew, but the blackout curtains are already drawn at Les Vinaires, and everywhere is quiet.
I decide I will go out and look for the cat. I know I can be silent, and I’m sure I won’t be seen.
My back door isn’t overlooked from the windows of Les Vinaires. I go out that way, into the yawn of a black night. I cling to the hedgebank, creep along in the shadows, edge up the lane as far as the track that leads to Les Ruettes. I don’t dare call, but I’m hoping Alphonse will hear me—or maybe sense my presence, with that strange sixth sense that cats have.
There’s a sudden engine noise behind me. It must be German soldiers, now that islanders can’t use cars. I’m suddenly very afraid, my pulse racing, a cold sweat of fear on my skin. I slip through a gap in the hedge, crouch down in the field. The headlights sweep over the hedgebank and pass. I pray they didn’t see me. Then I hear the car slow and come to a stop. It must belong to the Germans who have moved into Les Vinaires.
I creep back to my house, and close the door on the night.Relief surges through me that at least I got home safely. Alphonse is on a chair in the kitchen, licking himself assiduously. I curse him under my breath.
I take him up to Millie. Her face shines.
But I can’t believe I did this. I think of something that the aunts who raised me were always saying to me, ‘Vivienne, you’re too trusting. You shouldn’t let people walk all over you. You shouldn’t be such a doormat … Your soft-heartedness will get you into trouble, one of these days …’ I think that perhaps they were right. I’ve been so stupid, so irresponsible, taking this risk for a cat, just because Millie was
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