something else to focus on.
‘Where did you last see her?’ Rosie asked gently. ‘Maybe she ran to the other side of the square.’
‘I don’t know,’ the boy said, after which their faces took up the conversation. The boy’s eyes asked if it was OK to sit down beside them on the kerb and Rosie’s nod indicated that it was.
‘I’m Hugo,’ the boy said.
‘Are you from Tours?’
‘Hugo Charmain. Seventh arrondissement3, Paris,’ the boy said grandly. As he spoke he pulled a piece of string out from inside his shirt. A label with his name and address was attached to the end.
‘Were you just with your mummy?’ Paul asked.
Hugo nodded sadly, before looking at Mr Clarke. ‘My daddy is fighting for France. Is that yours?’
‘Yes,’ Rosie said.
‘Why did he die?’ Hugo asked, but neither Paul nor Rosie gave an answer.
The entrance to the bombed square was less than thirty metres away. A number of small fires had turned into one inferno now and refugees were wading into the smoke to gather handcarts and suitcases abandoned in the rubble.
Paul looked gravely at his sister. ‘What can we do now?’
‘I …’ Rosie said, before pausing to think. ‘We have to stay calm. We’ll have to leave Dad here, but take his money and all of his valuables so that they’re not stolen. Then we’ll go back to the car and get the documents.’
‘Have you ever driven the car?’ Paul asked. ‘Do you think we could?’
Rosie shook her head. ‘I’ve watched Dad, but I’ve never worked it out.’
‘So how do we get south?’ Paul asked anxiously.
‘We’ll have to improvise. Maybe we can walk. It might take days, though, and those documents weigh a tonne. Or maybe we could find another refugee who can drive but doesn’t have a car. Then they can drive us.’
‘That might work,’ Paul agreed. ‘But we should try calling Henderson first.’
Rosie nodded. ‘Although Dad couldn’t track him down yesterday, and I’m not even sure if his number is written down anywhere.’
‘Maybe if we stay here, Henderson will come and find us.’
Rosie tutted. ‘Don’t be thick, Paul. There’s about a million people on the road. How’s he going to do that?’
‘I don’t know. I could draw a big sign or something.’
Rosie shook her head with contempt. ‘He doesn’t even know that Dad’s dead. We’re on our own.’
‘All right,’ Paul said irritably. ‘I’m just thinking out loud.’
‘Besides, whatever we do we’ve got to be discreet,’ Rosie continued. ‘The German agents could be out looking for us too.’
The string of events was so overpowering that Paul had forgotten that it began with a German agent in his bedroom less than twenty-four hours earlier. ‘What if the police are looking for us too?’ he asked.
‘They’ll have found the dead bodies in our apartment,’ Rosie said, nodding. ‘There’s bound to be an investigation, but hopefully they’ve got other things on their minds right now.’
‘I’m going to look for my mummy,’ Hugo said, as he stood up and raced off towards the square.
There was an innocence about Hugo’s words that choked Rosie up. He made it sound like he was going into the garden to kick a ball around. How would the little boy react if he found his mummy badly burned or injured? Rosie wanted to help, but she was engulfed in her own problems and within a few seconds Hugo had vanished into the smoke.
Rosie began undoing her father’s jacket. She took out his pocket book and wallet. ‘Get his watch and his rings, Paul.’
Paul had never touched a dead person before. He wanted to argue with Rosie, because taking a wallet from a jacket seemed far less ghoulish than prising off rings.
‘Maybe we should leave him be,’ Paul said. ‘Out of respect.’
This annoyed Rosie and her natural bossiness surfaced. ‘I don’t know about you, Paul, but I haven’t got a cheque book or a bank account. A ring or a watch might buy us food or petrol on the road.’
‘OK,’ Paul said. ‘Don’t bite my head off.’
But he didn’t mind being angry with his sister. It gave him something to focus on while twisting the rings off his dead father’s hand. It took less than a minute for the pair to strip away everything of value.
Rosie stood up and handed Paul the gun. But she was older and bossier, and it seemed all wrong.
‘What do you want me to do with that?’ he asked, shaking his head fretfully.
‘Tuck it in your trousers,’ Rosie explained. ‘I’m wearing a summer dress. What am I gonna do,