he’d never tasted: sardines and tinned orange segments, goose pâté, olives, a plate of chicken wings and a jar of honey. Marc didn’t want to risk getting caught inside the house so he grabbed a clean cloth from the lower shelf and laid it flat on the draining board before piling it with bread, chicken, a lump of cheese and a dollop of pâté scooped out with his finger. He was desperate to try the oranges, but he’d never opened a tin can and had no idea how to do it.
As Marc picked up the tins to see what might be underneath he came to a slightly rusted tin that had originally contained salt. As he raised it up he heard the unmistakeable jangle of coins. Curious, he unscrewed the lid and saw that amidst the coins was a thick bundle of notes, mostly the fifty- and one-hundred-franc variety.
The sight of money was intoxicating, but if Marc took it – or even some of it – he’d be found out the moment he walked into the village’s only shop waving a fifty-franc note. He replaced the tin, gathered up the food in the cloth and hurried outside.
He walked around to the back of the director’s home and brushed a couple of wood-pigs aside before sitting on the stump of a felled tree. It was a good vantage point from which he could easily take cover if anyone approached the cottage.
After spreading the cloth in his lap, Marc jumped with fright as a distant explosion lit up the scene. Another Stuka rose vertically out of its dive, its tiny silhouette leaving a trail in the purple sky.
Following the fright he bit greedily into the bread and the chicken wings. Then he delved into the pâté, swallowed the sardines – which he found too salty but ate anyway – and lastly gorged on the miniature cheese, which came from a local farm. The tang of its runny centre burst into his mouth when he bit through the rubbery crust.
The food was richer than Marc was used to and its illicit nature, combined with hunger and the moody setting, made it spectacular. It was almost enough to make him forget the pain in his thigh and the stinging welts down his back.
When he finished, Marc licked his fingertips and realised he was thirsty. The golden sunset of ten minutes earlier was now just a purple fringe above the tree line. As he crept back towards Tomas’ cottage he noticed the brand new bike resting against the side of the house and did some instant maths:
BIKE + MONEY = FREEDOM
Marc had lived his entire twelve years in the orphanage and had never ventured further than the nearest village and neighbouring farms, except for one five-night stay in the Beauvais infirmary, which he barely remembered because he’d been delirious with a severe case of measles.
The bike and the money were his best ever chance to escape, but running away would be the biggest decision of Marc’s life and just considering it made him breathless.
Impossibly excited, Marc looked around to make sure that he was still alone before stepping back into the cottage. He filled a glass with tap water and drained it in four huge gulps while questions bubbled in his head.
Marc was no fantasist. Running away would be hard. At twelve years old he was sure to be caught eventually and returned to Director Tomas for multiple beatings, a week on bread and water and months sleeping in the unheated barn – assuming it was rebuilt in time.
On the other hand he could barely stand the thought of another night crammed in the hot attic room, with the constant pressure to act tough while lads fought the same tedious battles. All his life he’d wanted to go on a train, spend a night under the stars, steal eggs from a chicken coop and ride the lift to the top of the Eiffel Tower …
The war, however, was a severe complication. He’d heard that many roads were badly damaged, although that was much less of a problem for a bicycle than a truck.
And what would happen if the Germans got him, rather than the French police? Then again, would it be any better if he waited around until the Germans reached the orphanage? And maybe if he got far enough south they’d never get him at all. But then where would he go? Would there be anyone to give him food and put a roof