The Girl You Left Behind Read Online Free PDF Page B

take much to remind you of
     Jean-Michel. One of these days he will walk through the doors, and you will throw your
     arms around him, and the smell of him, the feel of him holding you around your waist,
     will be as familiar to you as your own body.’
    I could almost hear her thoughts travelling
     back upwards then. I had pulled her back. Little victories.
    ‘Sophie,’ she said, after a
     while. ‘Do you miss sex?’
    ‘Every single day,’ I said.
     ‘Twice as often as I think about that pig.’ There was a brief silence, and
     we broke into giggles. Then, I don’t know why, we were laughing so hard we had to
     clamp our hands over our faces to stop ourselves waking the children.
    I knew the
Kommandant
would
     return. In the event it was four days before he did so. It was raining hard, a deluge,
     so that our few customers sat over empty cups gazing unseeing through the steamed
     windows. In the snug, old René and Monsieur Pellier played dominoes; Monsieur
     Pellier’s dog – he had to pay the Germans a tariff for the privilege of owning it
     – between their feet. Many people sat here daily so that they did not have to be alone
     with their fear.
    I was just admiring Madame Arnault’s
     hair, newly pinned by my sister, when the glass doors opened and he stepped into the
     bar, flanked by two officers. The room, which had been a warm fug of chatty
     companionability, fell abruptly silent. I stepped out from behind the counter and wiped
     my hands on my apron.
    Germans did not visit our bar, except for
     requisitioning. They used the Bar Blanc, at the top of the town, which was larger and
     possibly friendlier. We had always made it very clear that we were not a convivial space
     for the occupying force. I wondered what they were going to take from us now. If we had
     any fewer cups and plates we would have to ask customers to share.
    ‘Madame Lefèvre.’
    I nodded at him. I could feel my
     customers’ eyes on me.
    ‘It has been decided you will provide
     meals for some ofour officers. There is not enough room in the Bar
     Blanc for our incoming men to eat comfortably.’
    I could see him clearly for the first time
     now. He was older than I had thought, in his late forties perhaps, although with
     fighting men it was hard to tell. They all looked older than they were.
    ‘I’m afraid that will be
     impossible, Herr Kommandant,’ I said. ‘We have not served meals at this
     hotel for more than eighteen months. We have barely enough provisions to feed our small
     family. We cannot possibly provide meals to the standard that your men will
     require.’
    ‘I am well aware of that. There will
     be sufficient supplies delivered from early next week. I will expect you to turn out
     meals suitable for officers. I understand this hotel was once a fine establishment.
     I’m sure it lies within your capabilities.’
    I heard my sister’s intake of breath
     behind me, and I knew she felt as I did. The visceral dread of having Germans in our
     little hotel was tempered by the thought that for months had overridden all others:
food
. There would be leftovers, bones with which to make stock. There would
     be cooking smells, stolen mouthfuls, extra rations, slices of meat and cheese to be
     secretly pared off.
    But still. ‘I am not sure our bar will
     be suitable for you, Herr Kommandant. We are stripped of comforts here.’
    ‘I will be the judge of where my men
     will be comfortable. I would like to see your rooms also. I may billet some of my men up
     here.’
    I heard old René mutter,
     ‘
Sacre bleu!
’
    ‘You are welcome to see the rooms,
     Herr Kommandant. But you will find that your predecessors have left uswith little. The beds, the blankets, the curtains, even the copper piping that fed the
     basins, they are already in German possession.’
    I knew I risked angering him: I had made
     clear in a packed bar that the
Kommandant
was ignorant of the actions of his
     own men, that his intelligence, as far