Swim Until You Can't See Land by Catriona Child Read Free Book Online

going,keepgoingkeepgoingkeepgoingkeep fasterfasterfasterfasterfasterfasterfasterfaster
    I come, out of breath, let the sleep take me.

6
    ‘MISS DOWNIE?’ A man in a suit and tie answered the door.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Come in, come in.’ He held the door open and she stepped inside the room.
    ‘Sit down.’ He gestured to a chair. The room was almost bare of furniture. Two chairs faced each other with a small table in between. A pile of scattered paperwork lay on the table alongside a jug of water and two glasses.
    She sat down facing the man. He didn’t say anything, but filled the two glasses with water and handed her one.
    ‘Thank you,’ she said, taking a sip. Her lips were dry and she swirled the water around in her mouth before swallowing.
    ‘ Je suis Monsieur Thompson. Parlez-vous Français ?’
    ‘ Oui. Ma mère m’a appris .’
    Do You Speak French?
    Have you ever been on holiday to France?
    Do you have photographs of France?
    You can help!
    Blackout 10.59 pm to 4:59 am
    Moon Set 5:36 pm Rises 4:23 am
    du Maurier Cigarettes –
The filter tip will keep you fit! It is now more important than ever that you empty your packet at time of purchase and leave it with your tobacconist.
    ‘ Look at this in the newspaper, Mama, we have photographs we can send,’ Marièle said.
    ‘Ne sois pas bête. Why would they want our old holiday snaps?’
    ‘They wouldn’t ask unless they needed them.’
    Marièle looked out the shoe box of photographs that Mama kept under the bed. She pulled out a handful of them.
    Her and George as children.
    Mama and Father.
    Mama with Mémé and Grand-père. They called him Grand-purr because of his two cats.
    George had his arm around Marièle in one of the photos, was dressed in shorts and t-shirt, socks and sandals on his feet. One of his socks had fallen down, hung around his ankle. He wasn’t looking at the camera, had been distracted by something off to the side. What was it?
    She ached looking at these photos of him. That wee boy who lived to be barely a man. It wasn’t fair. The missing him sucked all the air out of her.
    Miss Marièle Downie
24 Blackness Road
Aberdeen
    TO WHOMEVER IT MAY CONCERN
    As per your recent newspaper advertisement, please find enclosed a selection of photographs taken while on holiday in France.
    My mother is French and therefore we have spent a great deal of time in France over the years.
    I hope they will be of some use to you. Please return them to us when you are finished with them, as they hold a great deal of sentimental value.
    Yours faithfully,
    Miss Marièle Downie
    War Office
    London SW1
    Dear Miss Downie,
    Thank you for your recent letter and photographs which were gratefully received. We request that you attend for interview on Friday 23 at 3pm to the enclosed address.
    Yours Sincerely,
    Mr Thompson
    ‘An interview for what?’ Mama asked.
    ‘I don’t know,’ Marièle replied.
    ‘ Je n’aime pas ça . You can’t go off to London alone. She can’t go off to London on her own.’
    ‘ She’s a big girl, Claudine,’ said Father. ‘She’ll be fine.’
    ‘But we don’t even know what it’s for.’
    ‘It’s from the War Office, Claudine, they don’t have to explain. You know how dangerous gossip can be.’
    Marièle re-read the letter. Was it real? What if she got there and discovered it was a hoax?
    It didn’t matter really. Whatever happened, she planned to join up as soon as she returned home. She wasn’t going to spend the rest of the war counting ration coupons, totting up accounts, writing up receipts. Hang Mr Jackson and his excuses.
    But I need you.
    You are helping the war effort.
    People need food, don’t they?
    I’ve pulled a lot of strings to keep you here.
    It may not be glamorous but it’s still an important job.
    Someday they would ask her what she’d done during the war and she didn’t want to be ashamed to answer.
    She’d only ever had one job, one interview. And Mr Jackson’s questioning had hardly been