Swim Until You Can't See Land Read Online Free PDF

floor, facing each other across the hallway.
    Mama reached towards Marièle and she took her mother’s hands, the telegram lay on the floor between them.
    ‘I believe this is you, mademoiselle ,’ George said as he stopped pulling the sledge, let the rope fall towards the snow covered pavement.
    ‘Why thank you sir, that was quick,’ Cath replied.
    ‘Are you teasing me?’
    ‘No, of course not, I didn’t mean it like that.’
    Marièle felt the heat from Cath’s cheeks, warm enough to melt the snow.
    ‘Don’t worry, Cath, I’m just having you on,’ George replied, holding out a hand to help her up from the sledge.
    ‘See you later, dear,’ Cath bent over and kissed Marièle on the cheek. Her lips were wet from the snow, which had started to fall again, and Marièle felt it burn against her cold skin.
    ‘I’ll see you to the door,’ George said. Cath took his arm and they shuffled up the garden path until they were out of view behind the hedge.
    Marièle stretched out her legs, lay back on the sledge. She could hear the murmur of voices as they said goodnight on the doorstep.
    Snowflakes fell fast towards her. Every so often a flake would catch her off guard and she’d recoil, close her eyes. It was like the stars were tumbling down to earth. They melted against her cheeks, her eyelashes, her nose, her tongue.
    Marièle jumped as someone knocked on the front door. She still held Mama’s hand, felt it flinch in her own.
    ‘Maybe it’s the telegram boy come back, he made a mistake.’
    Mama stood to open the door.
    PRIORITY
CORPORAL GEORGE DOWNIE
MISSING IN ACTION PRESUMED KILLED
    It wasn’t a mistake.
    ‘Claudine, I couldn’t help noticing the telegram boy. Is everything okay?’
    Mrs Walker from across the street. God, she didn’t waste any time, did she?
    ‘He’s just missing,’ Mama replied, ‘they’ve lost him.’ She started to laugh.
    Marièle stood in behind the door so Mrs Walker wouldn’t see her. Nosy old bisum.
    ‘Well, there’s hope then. I’ll pray he comes back, he’s a brave boy. Is there anything I can do?’
    ‘No, thank you, he’s only missing. Mon fils, mon fils .’
    ‘Pardon?’
    Marièle knew what the old bat was thinking.
    Poor delusional French woman, she doesn’t understand.
    Marièle was used to the way people treated Mama, as if she was slow, stupid, just because she spoke with an accent, lapsed into French.
    Mrs Walker had accused Mama of being a spy and a coward just because of her accent, and now she had the cheek to pretend to be concerned.
    Don’t listen to those girls, Marie, they’re jealous of you. They’ve never been further than Stonehaven.
    ‘Thank you for your concern,’ Marièle stepped in front of Mama, shut the door on Mrs Walker.
    George handed her his coat, and Marièle wrapped it around her shoulders. She dug her hands into its deep pockets, felt the scrunch of brown paper.
    ‘What’s this?’
    ‘Oh, it’s a birthday present from Cath. She gave me it just now.’
    Cath hadn’t told her she’d got George a present, kept that a secret.
    Marièle squeezed the parcel, soft and spongy. She could see Cath now, sitting in her front room, ball of wool on her lap. She wasn’t a great knitter, must have been at it for the last few months. Marièle let the surge of affection sweep aside the jealousy.
    George lifted the rope, stepped inside it again and began to pull the sledge forward.
    Marièle wrapped his big coat around her, pulled the collar up over her chin and breathed in the scent of lavender and lippy.
    ‘Marièle?’
    Marièle had just left work, turned at the sound of her name being called. A man in uniform hurried towards her. The sun shone behind him, in her eyes, obscured the man’s features.
    Was it?
    Was it him?
    George?
    He came closer, stepped out of the sun’s glare. She tried not to let the disappointment show on her face as she recognised him.
    Arthur, Arthur Evans. One of the boys who worked in the shop with her and