The Girl You Left Behind

Shipman
    ‘This is a brilliant book written with
     humour and great sadness. Probably one of the best books I have read this
     year’
    Roses UK
    ‘If you aren’t moved by this book
     then you need help’
    Mrs Y. S. Buckell
    ‘I’ve just finished this book and
     am finding it hard to type through the tears. What a fabulous, fabulous story’
    KC ‘square eyes’
    ‘This book is completely eye-opening, and
     will change the way you see things’
    Mrs C. A. Anderson
    ‘This book was absolutely amazing. It
     made me laugh, think about life and in the end – cry’
    Millie R
    ‘This book is absolutely incredible.
     Honestly amazing. Loved every second. Couldn’t stop thinking about it for hours,
     and every time I tried to explain what happened I couldn’t stop crying all over
     again!’
    TinyLittleKaren
    ‘It is a long time since a book has moved
     me so much. Bravo’
    FLB England

PART ONE

1
    St Péronne October 1916
    I was dreaming of food. Crisp baguettes,
     the flesh of the bread a virginal white, still steaming from the oven, and ripe cheese,
     its borders creeping towards the edge of the plate. Grapes and plums, stacked high in
     bowls, dusky and fragrant, their scent filling the air. I was about to reach out and
     take one, when my sister stopped me. ‘Get off,’ I murmured. ‘I’m
     hungry.’
    ‘Sophie. Wake up.’
    I could taste that cheese. I was going to
     have a mouthful of Reblochon, smear it on a hunk of that warm bread, then pop a grape
     into my mouth. I could already taste the intense sweetness, smell the rich aroma.
    But there it was, my sister’s hand on
     my wrist, stopping me. The plates were disappearing, the scents fading. I reached out to
     them but they began to pop, like soap bubbles.
    ‘Sophie.’
    ‘
What?
’
    ‘They have Aurélien!’
    I turned on to my side and blinked. My
     sister was wearing a cotton bonnet, as I was, to keep warm. Her face, even in the feeble
     light of her candle, was leachedof colour, her eyes wide with shock.
     ‘They have Aurélien. Downstairs.’
    My mind began to clear. From below us came
     the sound of men shouting, their voices bouncing off the stone courtyard, the hens
     squawking in their coop. In the thick dark, the air vibrated with some terrible purpose.
     I sat upright in bed, dragging my gown around me, struggling to light the candle on my
     bedside table.
    I stumbled past her to the window and stared
     down into the courtyard at the soldiers, illuminated by the headlights of their vehicle,
     and my younger brother, his arms around his head, trying to avoid the rifle butts that
     landed blows on him.
    ‘What’s happening?’
    ‘They know about the pig.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Monsieur Suel must have informed on
     us. I heard them shouting from my room. They say they’ll take Aurélien if he
     doesn’t tell them where it is.’
    ‘He will say nothing,’ I
     said.
    We flinched as we heard our brother cry out.
     I hardly recognized my sister then: she looked twenty years older than her twenty-four
     years. I knew her fear was mirrored in my own face. This was what we had dreaded.
    ‘They have a
Kommandant
with
     them. If they find it,’ Hélène whispered, her voice cracking with panic,
     ‘they’ll arrest us all. You know what took place in Arras. They’ll
     make an example of us. What will happen to the children?’
    My mind raced, fear that my brother might
     speak out making me stupid. I wrapped a shawl around myshoulders and
     tiptoed to the window, peering out at the courtyard. The presence of a
Kommandant
suggested these were not just drunken soldiers looking to take
     out their frustrations with a few threats and knocks: we were in trouble. His presence
     meant we had committed a crime that should be taken seriously.
    ‘They will find it, Sophie. It will
     take them minutes. And then …’ Hélène’s voice rose, lifted by
     panic.
    My thoughts turned black. I closed my eyes.
     And then I opened them. ‘Go downstairs,’ I said. ‘Plead ignorance. Ask
     him what Aurélien has done wrong. Talk to him, distract him. Just give me some time
     before they come into the house.’
    ‘What are you going to do?’
    I gripped my sister’s arm. ‘Go.
     But tell them nothing, you understand? Deny
everything
.’
    My sister hesitated, then ran towards the
     corridor, her nightgown billowing behind her. I’m not sure I had ever felt as
     alone as I did in those few seconds, fear gripping my throat and the weight of