The French Retreat (Falling for France Book 1) (10 page)

Police are looking for Asif and Fatimah. They have just been here but I hid Asif and they have gone now. We need a plan. Get thinking. x

Almost immediately she received a reply from Will.

I’m working on the plan. Stay calm. x

Marcie felt reassured they’d come up with something between them. They had to. Handing Fatimah and Asif over to the authorities wasn’t an option.

Chapter Ten

Shit. Will tapped his fingers against his phone. The police turning up was all they needed. How the hell had he let himself get dragged into all this? He was at The Retreat for some peace and quiet, not to get mixed up with a one-woman rescue mission. He immediately chided himself. It wasn’t the way to think, not if he was going to sort himself out. Marcie had been right when she said he had to reconnect with people. Disconnection certainly hadn’t worked. He also acknowledged that he was doing this as much to please Marcie as he was for himself.

He stood up and stretched. The plastic chair outside Fatimah’s room was hard and uncomfortable. As the evening was drawing in, he was beginning to get the hemmed in feeling. He desperately wanted to get outside in the open but, at the same time, he didn’t want to leave Fatimah alone. He didn’t want anyone questioning her without him there.

The nurse at the end of the corridor was sitting behind her desk. She looked up at Will and they exchanged a nod of acknowledgement. There was no-one else about and the low lighting of the corridor gave an eerie feel to the place.

Will looked in through the glass of the door to Fatimah’s room. She was sleeping well, hopefully the extra fluids and the antibiotics they had given her would soon start to take effect. Will wanted to get them both out of the hospital as quickly as possible.

He settled himself back in the plastic chair, folding his arms and tucking his chin on his chest. He closed his eyes and although he knew he wouldn’t sleep, he would at least relax and, if lucky, doze whilst still being aware of his surroundings and what was happening.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been resting there but the sound of Fatimah’s voice, albeit faint, woke him. Immediately, his mind was alert. He glanced down the corridor at the nurses’ station which was now empty.

Will slipped quietly into the room. Fatimah’s eyes opened wide as she saw him. She tried to sit up.

‘It’s okay,’ said Will. ‘Stay there.’ He went over to the bed and rested his hand on her shoulder. ‘You were very ill. I had to bring you here.’ He indicated to the drip.

Fatimah relaxed as she took in what Will was saying. ‘Asif?’ she asked.

‘He’s with Marcie at the house,’ said Will. Checking the door was firmly closed and no-one was about to disturb them, he sat down at the side of Fatimah’s bed. ‘Now, listen carefully,’ he said. ‘I told the hospital you were my wife.’

‘Wife?’ said Fatimah, she raised her eyebrows.

‘To keep you safe,’ said Will. ‘Your name is Fatimah Adams.’

Fatimah gave a laugh. ‘Fatimah Adams,’ she said as if considering the sound of it. ‘Fatimah Adams.’ She grinned at Will.

Will shrugged. ‘It’s the best I could do. Say as little as possible. We are here on holiday and you have been unwell for two days. Don’t mention Asif, Marcie or anything like that. Just pretend you can’t understand them or something. Okay?’

‘Yes,’ said Fatimah. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me yet, we’ve got to get out of this place first. Get some rest now. If you feel better tomorrow, hopefully they’ll let you leave.’

‘If not better?’ Her was face now serious.

‘We still might have to leave.’

Will left Fatimah to go back to sleep. He was relieved she seemed coherent and the fever had broken. She would still be very weak, but she seemed to be coming out the other side already.

He didn’t bother trying to doze again after that. His mind was working overtime as he went through the possibly scenarios that lay ahead. He strolled up to the far end of the corridor, checking out his surroundings and the quickest exit point. There were three other rooms, which he assumed were no different to the one Fatimah was in. As he reached the end of the corridor he noted a fire escape with an emergency push bar release system.

Will casually strolled back down the corridor to the nurses’ station which was now occupied by the nurse he had seen earlier that night.

‘
Ça va?
’ she said as he approached.

‘Toilet?’ said Will.

She pointed through the double doors. ‘Push button to open door. Press bell outside when you come back,’ she said in broken English, her voice heavy with her French accent.

‘Thank you,’ said Will. ‘
Merci.
’

Will pressed the green exit button and the click of the lock told him the door was released. Going out into the main corridor he got his bearings as to where the lifts and staircase were which led to the ground floor and the main entrance. Looking out of the window on the landing, the early morning light was just bright enough to allow him to make out where he was in relation to the car park and where he’d left the MPV the previous day.

Happy that he had the layout of this part of the hospital, Will rang the bell to be let back into the ward area. There was a security camera panel in the wall to aid identification and it was only a few seconds before a voice came over the intercom, telling him to come in.

Will nodded and smiled at the nurse as he walked down the corridor and resumed his position outside Fatimah’s room.

Marcie woke early the next morning. She hadn’t slept well at all. Every sound had startled her, bringing her back from the brink of a deep sleep. Several times she had got up and crept over to the spare room to check on Asif. He had woken up once crying. It had taken a good hour to settle him back to sleep.

Marcie got up and showered quickly before dressing and going downstairs. The kitchen flagstones were cold on her feet and she slipped on her boots which were by the back door. Opening the fridge to retrieve the milk she checked what was there. Not a lot, as it happened. She had planned to do some food shopping today but without a car this wasn’t an option. There was a drop of milk left, enough for a cup of tea but certainly not for any cereal. One egg and some ham were a pitiful sight. There was a bit of French stick left over from yesterday, it wouldn’t be particularly fresh but it would have to do for Asif’s breakfast.

She contemplated going into town on one of the pushbikes in the garage but decided against it. She really didn’t want to leave Asif alone, it was too risky. By the same token, she didn’t want to take him with her either, in case someone spotted them or she bumped into the policeman.

As she waited for the kettle to boil, her phone bleeped with a text message. That was something, at least her phone was still working. It was from Will. A quick one liner to check she was okay and to say Fatimah had improved and they should be home today.

‘Thank goodness,’ said Marcie opening the back door so Poppy could go out. She screamed at the sight which greeted her.

Standing in front of her was Yves.

He grabbed her by the top of her arms, bringing his face right up close to hers. Marcie could smell his stale breath. She struggled, trying to free herself from his grip. Poppy, sensing the excitement, began barking and jumping around Yves’s feet.

‘Get off me!’ shouted Marcie. Yves shook her. He spoke in French, his voice low and menacing. It frightened her more than his shouting ever had. ‘I don’t know what you’re saying,’ she said. ‘
Je ne comprends pas
.’

Marcie may not have been able to understand what Yves was saying word for word, but she certainly got the message. He wasn’t going to let the matter of Asif drop.

Without any warning Yves pushed Marcie away from him, she stumbled back but managed to stay on her feet. She saw Yves’s eyes look towards the open back door. She had to stop him from getting in the property.

Fortunately, Poppy was doing a great job of getting under Yves’s feet as she bounced around, yapping constantly. Marcie scrambled towards the door, her legs felt heavy and slow but she got there first. She blocked Yves’s path. Her hands on either side of the door frame.

‘
Allez!
’ she snarled the word out. ‘
Allez!
Go. Away.’

Yves swiped at her arm, knocking it away from the doorframe. He went to backhand her shoulder to force her out of the way but Marcie was too quick. Not knowing what else to do, she kicked him as hard as she could in the shins, never more grateful that she had her walking boots on.

Yves howled in pain and grasping his shin with both hands, hopped backwards. Marcie leant down and hooked Poppy by the collar, pulling the little dog into the kitchen. Slamming the door behind her, Marcie bolted it.  She leant against the solid oak door. A thump from outside made her jump but she knew there was no way Yves could get in.

He bellowed at her and then all went quiet. Marcie listened intently. She could hear his footsteps scuffing across the patio and the click of the side gate as it opened and closed. She rushed to the front of the house and standing flat against the wall, she hooked the curtain with her finger and stole a look outside. She was relieved to see Yves stomping away up the road.

Marcie’s head fell back against the wall and she closed her eyes. She began to shake as the shock of the last few minutes took hold. Her knees buckled, leaving her to slide down the wall onto the stone floor. She rested her arms over her knees. A tear leaked from each eye.

God, she wished she had a car. She’d be out of here like a shot, taking Asif with her. She’d find somewhere safe for him and Fatimah.

A tickling on the back of her hand made her open her eyes.

Kneeling in front of her, holding out a piece of kitchen roll was Asif. His own eyes were full of concern. Marcie could feel more tears building up. She tried to blink them back but only succeeded in making them fall down her face. Asif shuffled closer. He placed one hand on hers and with his other dabbed the kitchen roll at her face, soaking up the tears.

‘Oh, Asif,’ said Marcie. ‘It should be me looking after you.’ She took the tissue and dried her face. Asif moved round to her side and Marcie put her arm around him. He was such a kind boy. Despite all he had been through, he still had compassion and empathy for others. It humbled her.

The morning passed slowly as Will watched the hands of his wrist watch crawl around the dial. The nurses had been in and checked on Fatimah. Will had waited outside, straining to hear the conversation, ready to jump in if necessary. However, the questions were routine and once they realised Fatimah didn’t speak French and her English was limited they didn’t pursue their attempts at conversation.

Will went in to sit next to Fatimah. ‘How are you?’ he said.

‘I feel little better,’ said Fatimah. ‘I think doctor see me today.’

Will drummed his fingers on his knee. He hated being confined in one place. It was putting him on edge. ‘Fatimah,’ he said. ‘When you are better, what do you want to do? You need to decide what happens next.’

Fatimah looked away. Will thought she probably understood what he was asking. He waited for her to answer. She turned her head back towards him.

‘I cannot go home,’ said Fatimah. ‘Please do not make me go home.’

‘It’s okay,’ said Will, thinking of Marcie and how passionate she was about helping this woman and her child. ‘No-one is going to make you go home. Not if we can help it.’

‘I have sister,’ said Fatimah.

‘A sister?’ said Will. Why hadn’t she mentioned this before? Fear probably. ‘Where is she? Here in France?’

‘England. Southampton.’

‘Why haven’t you contacted her?’ said Will.

‘I have no telephone. Men bring me here.’

‘People traffickers?’ said Will.

‘Yes. They take my money and my phone. I do not know my sister’s number. I do not know what to do.’ A tear trickled down her face, quickly followed by another. ‘I was to meet my sister at St Malo but the men, they leave.’ She paused to catch her breath. ‘My sister has passport. She has passport for her son. She was going to give them to me. We look similar and the boys are same age.’

‘And then once you were safely in the UK, your sister was going to report her passports lost and come back home a few days later on new passports.’

‘It was the only way,’ said Fatimah. ‘
I give all money to men who bring me to France. They lie. They say they get me to St Malo. They want other payment.’ She lowered her eyes and crumpled the bedsheet in her hand.

Will understood. She didn’t need to explain further. The people traffickers were ruthless bastards. He had seen way too much during his time in the Army, heard too many stories of maltreatment and abuse. A small flame of anger ignited within him. He was aware that some moral ground had shifted under him. No longer was he unable to do anything about it, his hands weren’t tied by orders from his superiors and bureaucratic red tape anymore. Now he could make a difference, albeit it a difference to only one person. In order to survive his tours, he had become immune to the suffering of individuals, blocking it out and becoming emotionally detached. However, now he had the chance to help Fatimah and her son, he could in some small way begin to balance the scales.

The door to the room opened and in walked the doctor who had dealt with them yesterday.

‘Good morning,’ he said to both Will and Fatimah. ‘How are you today?’ He inspected the charts at the end of the bed. He looked up at Fatimah, waiting for a response.