Gordon Ferris - Truth Dare kill

I recognised the cafй in the centre, but I kept expecting German soldiers to be strolling past flirting with the girls and humbling the men. Instead there were market stalls spilling over with early season greens and people back at their sniffing of vegetables and haggling over prices and quality.

They were waiting for me inside. The sound of Gregor’s truck is recognisable for miles. I counted six of them, before they hit me.

They hit me with hugs and kisses and a fuselage of warm words. I found I could tune in better to their more nasal, earthy French than their Parisian brethren, and once the first passions had died they spoke slowly enough for me to stay with it. The wine seemed to help, or maybe I stopped caring.

We talked long into the evening and drank too much and ate too much. They told me how they’d exploded in rebellion when the Normandy landings had begun, and how at first it had seemed they’d been too soon; the Germans had driven them into the hills. But there had been no reprisals this time, and soon a great Nazi convoy had formed and set off north to join up with their beleaguered battalions defending against the Allies.

That’s when the plans we’d laid came into their own. The Maquis had hit them from every side. They’d blown up bridges and railway lines in front of their advance, eating up precious days. It was a well-known story now, but these men relived it for me over the wine and the cognac as though they’d just walked in from the last raid.

I wish I’d been there to lead them. I waited till the last of them had embraced me and gone off into the now quiet streets before sitting down over a cigarette and a coffee with Gregor. I was drunk but not so drunk that I couldn’t make out the pain and bitterness in his eyes when I asked about Lili.

“She was a fine woman, Daniel.”

“A fine soldier, you mean.”

“That too.”

We toasted her memory and I went to bed.

The morning was still warm but clouds scudded across the blue backcloth heralding rain. Gregor came for me at a decent hour after breakfast. I had him stop once in the market on our way. We drove up to the gates on the edge of town. Long lines of poplars swayed behind the low walls. We pushed the gates open and walked down the gravel path past the great slabs and the stone angels.

It was in a quiet corner of the grounds. The grass was neatly trimmed and a few more stones had been stood next to hers, with newer dates. Gregor left me alone and walked away and lit a cigarette.

I stood, trying to remember her as she was before I found her. Tried to find a way of seeing her smile. Tried to wipe the last image of horror from her young face.

I laid the flowers on her grave. Brave yellow daffodils. I stood and read the inscription.

To “Lili”

A soldier of France

Who died for her country

In memory of

Valerie le Brun

1920 – 1944

Rest in peace, Val. Rest in peace.