The electric door at the carriage end peels back and Evie looks up sharply, ready to hide or to run. But it is only a train attendant pushing a trolley. She stops alongside the only other passengers, two women and two men, dressed in plus-sized sportswear.
‘Good morning,’ she commences. ‘Today, I have coffee, tea, wine…’
‘So, que thinkez-vous u guys taking all de human jobs?’ one of the men interrupts in Eurospeak – a blend of French and English slang.
‘I’m sorry Sir, I do not have an opinion,’ the attendant replies. A coffee is ordered and she starts to fill a plastic cup but he jerks her elbow, not even pretending it was an accident. She observes the liquid stream over her wrist without curiosity, before sharply drawing breath and withdrawing her scorched hand.
The group giggles. ‘Oh honey, you’re hurt,’ one of the women says.
‘I’m sorry Ma’am, but I must…’ She struggles to find the right words, then turns briskly to face the man behind. ‘Sir, it is prohibited to touch. All infringements I am obliged to report to my supervisor.’
‘Sugar, he was only messing,’ the woman says. ‘Don’t get uptight. What’s it to your supervisor anyway? Is he your boyfriend? Do you let him, you know… here on the train?’
‘I’m sorry Ma’am, I don’t understand. I can call my—’
‘She doesn’t want to ask your supervisor, she’s just curious as to whether you’re getting regularly serviced. Has your welfare at heart,’ says the other man, a skinny youth in a baggy athletics vest.
‘I’m sorry, I do not…’ Baffled as she is, she at least has the acumen to appreciate that she will make no more sales here and moves the trolley along. A crushed drinks can skims the ceiling and, striking the side of her head, knocks off her cap. This prompts cheers, more laughter and a softly cooed, ‘Ahh Mademoiselle, come back, we were just having fun.’
She draws up alongside Evie and the sleeping David and repeats her spiel. ‘Good morning Ma’am, Sir. Today, I have coffee, tea, wine…’ Her face is oddly joyous, despite the mockery she has just endured. As she leans over, the light catches on the SNCF logo embossed into her temple. A bubble of oil seeps from her ear and glistens on the lobe before dripping onto her uniform lapel, giving her jacket a roasted, mechanical smell.
Evie mouths ‘No, thank you’. However unconscious this creature is of insult, she deserves at least common courtesy.
The attendant’s head nods stiffly and rotates to front. Her chin lifts and her shoulders straighten and, releasing the trolley brake, she moves on.
An hour later, the train stops at Lille and two gendarmes in military uniform enter the carriage and stand by the doors. They share a handheld device, watching what appears to be a sporting event, heads nodding in time as tinny cheers rise and fall.
Suddenly their mood changes. Their bodies come to attention and they lean in close to listen to a faint voice spilling from the tiny speaker. Over the noise of the train, even she can’t hear what they are being told.
David dozes beside her, still in standby, conserving energy, and she nudges him back to consciousness.
‘We should move carriage.’
He raises himself on his elbow, blinks up at her and then peers over the seat-back.
‘Police,’ she whispers.
The external door closes and the train jolts into motion. The station platform glides past.
While the policemen remain turned away, Evie pulls down her bag and walks slowly down the aisle, pushing David ahead of her. The end door slides back and she turns and glances at the officers in their blue-grey blouses, still listening to the device between them. She is being overly cautious, she knows it, but she is not in a position to take chances.
As she passes through, she takes a last look behind. And immediately she wishes she hadn’t.
One of the officers is looking her way and awkward eye contact results.
The door to the next carriage closes behind them. What she wants to do is hide, but hide where? David blocks the aisle ahead and she prods him to move faster.
They reach the far end of the carriage, just as the doors they had entered it through slide back. Evie doesn’t look around but judges their pursuers’ distance by the tread of their boots.
In the next carriage they run between the seats, passengers watching as they pass.
They enter a buffet car. Behind the service hatch stands the SNCF attendant from earlier.
‘Good morning,’ she says, showing no sign of recognition. ‘Today, I have…’
Opening the access door to her working area, Evie pushes David through and they squeeze into the space behind her.
The attendant opens her mouth but can only manage ‘I, I…’ before freezing, staring forward, locked in a search for a programmed response for such an impossible-to-predict situation.
The only hiding place is a small pantry.
Evie presses David ahead of her and squashes in behind, forcing him against the shelves. She pulls the door to, but her feet get in the way and she grips the handle to prevent it swinging back.
His chin presses the side of her head, his quick breath ruffling her hair.
The policemen burst through the carriage door. ‘Mademoiselle, did you see a woman and man come through?’ one asks, out of breath.
The attendant stares forward, struggling to deal with yet another event her makers have not prepared her for. ‘I’m sorry, Sirs,’ she finally replies. ‘I am afraid I do not know. Would you like me to ask my supervisor?’
28
David and Evie arrive in Paris mid-morning. They leave the train cautiously, peering along the empty platform before disembarking. On finding it clear, they make their way rapidly through the barriers and out across the concourse to emerge through an arch onto a wide boulevard.
From here they are soon lost in a maze of twisting streets, but rather than this being a disadvantage, it makes Evie feel almost safe, easing the fear left over from the close brush on the train. Even if they continue to be hunted, there is an opportunity in Europe to disappear.
They cross a park, passing around the skeleton of an iron bandstand with no roof. In its shadow stands a tall man in striped pantaloons and a young girl, maybe as old as ten, who despite the chill wears a dress without sleeves and a straw hat with dried flowers poked around the crown.
Skipping down the steps, the girl performs a cartwheel on the icy path, the skirts of her dress stretched between her legs like a fan. A small dog runs yapping in her wake.
David grins innocently and a second or two later the child is at his side, quicker than is possible, her hollow stomach grazing his hip. She slithers past and around, looping the pair of them and coming back to the front, curtsies low to the ground.
‘We ave a play tonight,’ she says. ‘Ere is the details,’ and she thrusts a printed flyer into Evie’s hand.
‘Where is it?’ Evie asks as the girl backs away.
‘Les Dolls’ House – it ees all there, you see. Read.’
Something feels different with her neck, and Evie feels the back of her head and realises her ribbon is missing, just as the girl holds it up, stretching it between her thumbs.