‘Who? My mother must have known, but she wasn’t strong enough to stand up to him. And when she died who else was I to tell? Georges?’
‘Does Gretchen have any idea?’
‘No!’ Her sudden vehemence takes me aback. ‘She mustn’t, not ever. I won’t let him destroy her life as well. I told him if he ever touched her I’d kill him. The only time he tried, I pushed him so hard downstairs he was bedridden for a month.’
She says it with cold satisfaction. It makes her sound like a different woman from the one I know. Or thought I did.
‘What about Michel? Is he …?’
‘He’s Louis’s. But my father regards him as his own. He always wanted a son, an heir to leave the farm to. Daughters aren’t the same, not even Gretchen. I think that’s why …’
‘Why what?’ I ask, when she falls silent.
I hear her sigh, as though she’s drawing breath from a long way away. ‘After my mother died, there was another baby. A little girl. My father never let me see her. He told me she was stillborn, but I … I thought I heard her cry.’
The farm is like a macabre set of Russian dolls, I think. Each time I’m convinced I’ve reached the last secret there’s another, even uglier, inside. ‘For God’s sake, how can you stay here? Why don’t you leave?’
‘It isn’t that easy.’
‘Yes, it is! You pack your things and go! He can’t stop you!’
‘I couldn’t leave without Gretchen.’
‘Then take her with you!’
‘Haven’t you been listening?’ she flashes, again giving a glimpse of the emotion dammed up behind the façade. ‘What do you think I was doing with Louis? She won’t leave her father. At least, not with me.’
So now we’re back where we started. I turn away and look outside again, as much to give myself time as anything. Torn clouds pass over the moon. The small section of clearing that’s visible looks harmless and tranquil, but all around it the trees form a wall of impenetrable shadow.
‘Now you see why I have to get Gretchen away from here,’ Mathilde says from the darkness. ‘I don’t care how or where. Anything’s better than this. She’ll go with you.’
I’m grateful it’s dark in the small hut so I don’t have to face her. It’s a sign of her desperation that she’s still trying to persuade me to take her daughter after all this. Or maybe she hopes I’ll feel obliged now she’s confided in me. Either way it makes no difference.
‘I can’t. I’m sorry.’
I hear something behind me. Turning, I see the thin light around the door blocked out as Mathilde passes in front of it, and then there’s another sound. Only faint, barely more than a whisper: the soft scrape of steel on stone. And I suddenly remember the butchering knife that Georges picked up from the slab.
‘Will you reconsider?’ Mathilde asks from the darkness.
The moment seems to hang. I remember the hammer that also sits on the slab. There’s a muscle twitch that might be the start of my hand moving, then a noise comes from outside. It’s quickly stifled, but there’s no mistaking it.
A child’s whimper.
There’s a flurry of movement and moonlight floods into the hut as Mathilde wrenches open the door. As she rushes out I see her hands are empty. I hurry after her, half-expecting to find Arnaud waiting with his rifle.
But it isn’t her father who’s standing outside. It’s Gretchen.
She’s clutching Michel to her like a shield. Her hand is clamped across his mouth, pinning him as he struggles. There’s no need to ask how much she’s heard.
Mathilde falters. ‘Gretchen …’
‘It isn’t true. You’re not my mother.’
‘No, of course not.’ Mathilde tries to smile.
‘Papa didn’t do those things. I don’t believe you, you’re lying!’
‘That’s right. I was making it up.’ Mathilde holds out her hands. ‘You’re hurting Michel. Here, let me—’
‘Stay away!’ Gretchen backs off. Michel twists his face away from her hand and begins to wail. Mathilde takes a step towards her.
‘I only want to—’
‘Stay away from me!’
Still holding Michel, she turns and runs. Ignoring the pain in my foot, I overtake Mathilde as she chases after her, but Gretchen has already reached the sanglochon pen. She hoists Michel into the air above the boar’s enclosure.
‘Get away! I mean it!’
Mathilde stumbles to a halt next to me as Gretchen holds Michel poised over the fence. The boar is nowhere in sight, but the baby’s howling has disturbed the sows in the next pen. Their agitated grunts add to the commotion.
‘Come on, Gretchen, you don’t want to hurt him,’ I say.
‘Shut up!’ she yells, her face blotched and wet with tears. ‘You don’t care about me, you’re as bad as her!’
There’s movement in the pen behind her. The boar’s snout appears in the cave-like entrance of its shed. Small, mean eyes regard us from under the heavy flaps of its ears.
‘Gretchen, please listen to me!’ Even in the moonlight Mathilde’s face is ashen. ‘I’m sorry—’
‘No, you’re not! You’re lying! Papa didn’t do that! My mother’s dead, you’re not her!’
Behind her, the boar has emerged. It begins to pace, watching us.
‘You’re frightening Michel,’ Mathilde says. ‘Give him to me, and then—’
‘No!’ Gretchen shouts, and with a squeal the boar charges. It thuds into the fencing, and as Gretchen recoils I lunge forward. But she sees me and thrusts Michel towards the enclosure again. ‘Get away!’
I back off. The boar butts against the planks, enraged. The baby is wailing, legs kicking in the air.
‘No!’ Mathilde’s hands have gone to her mouth. ‘Don’t, please! You don’t want to hurt Michel, he’s—’
‘He’s what? My brother?’ Gretchen’s face slowly crumples as Mathilde says nothing. ‘It’s not true! I don’t believe you!’
Beginning to sob, she hugs Michel to her. Thank God. Beside me, I can feel the tension ebb from Mathilde.
‘Come up to the house,’ she says as she steps forward. ‘Let me take Michel, and—’
Gretchen’s head snaps up. ‘Whore!’
Her face is contorted as she lifts Michel again. The wooden planks buck and creak under the boar’s attack. Oh God, I think, getting ready to launch myself forward, knowing neither Mathilde nor I can reach her in time.
Mathilde stands with her arms out. The moon clears a cloud, illuminating the scene like a floodlight. ‘Please, just let me explain—’
‘Whore! Lying whore!’
‘Gretchen, please—’
‘Shut up! I hate you, I HATE YOU!’
Gretchen pivots towards the pen, and there’s a sound like a whip cracking. She staggers, losing her grip on Michel as her legs buckle. I run towards them as she collapses but Mathilde is there first. She snatches up Michel, quickly checking that he’s unhurt before thrusting him at me and turning to her daughter.
There’s a dark stain spreading on the front of Gretchen’s T-shirt. Even now I don’t understand what’s happened, not until I hear a moan and turn to see Arnaud at the edge of the woods. The rifle stock is still set to his shoulder but as I watch the barrel drops to point harmlessly at the ground.
He stumbles into a run towards us as Mathilde kneels beside Gretchen. She’s lying on her back, limbs moving spastically as she blinks up at the sky.
‘Mathilde …?’ It’s a small girl’s voice, lost and confused. ‘Mathilde, I don’t …’
‘Shh, it’s all right, don’t try to speak.’
Mathilde takes hold of one of her hands as Arnaud reaches us. He pauses to rest a hand on Michel, then drops down beside Gretchen.