Free The Child Left Behind by Anne Bennett

the kiss to go on and on.
    ‘Tell me about yourself,’ she said to Finn later as she lay in his arms. ‘You know about my life and I need to know about yours.’
    ‘Not that much to tell, to be honest,’ Finn said. ‘My life up until now has been anything but exciting.’
    ‘You said before that you were from Ireland.’ Gabrielle said, ‘What’s Ireland like? Did you have a farm?’
    ‘Oh, aye,’ said Finn, and he told Gabrielle about the little cottage on the farm in Buncrana, County Donegal, where he had been born and raised. ‘As for Ireland, I can’t describe it all to you, but just the place where I was born,’ he went on. ‘Donegal is totally different countryside from this. It’s far more hilly—mountainous even, in places. The hills of Donegal are famous. People write poems and songs about them and until the day I marched away with the army I had never left it.’
    ‘That’s how it is, though, isn’t it?’ Gabrielle said. ‘You never leave the place of your birth in the normal way of things. I have never left St-Omer because I have never had any reason to.’
    ‘Have you never wondered what is beyond the town? Wanted to find out, explore?’
    Gabrielle shook her head. ‘No, not really.’ Then she added, ‘I have an aunt in Paris whom I wouldn’t mind visiting. She is lovely, and promised me that when I was older I could stay with her for a holiday. She has suggested it a few times but my father has always refused.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘He said my help was needed in the shop.’
    ‘Is it?’
    ‘Sometimes, when Maman is ill,’ Gabrielle admitted. ‘She can do little then, but my life will probably get easier when Yvette leaves school in the spring, when she will be fourteen. Apart from that I have never had any desire to go anywhere.’
    ‘Oh, I always wanted to find out about other places,’ Finn said. ‘I used to become irritated with my brothers sometimes, especially Tom. Though I suppose as the farm will be all his one day he has reason enough to be contented.’
    ‘Have many brothers have you?’
    ‘Two,’ Finn said. ‘Tom is the eldest and Joe is two years younger. When I was small they used to play Irish music. Tom played a violin, though we used to call it a fiddle, and Joe would play a tin whistle.’
    ‘What sort of music was it?’
    ‘Most of it was jolly enough stuff,’ Finn said, ‘tunes that have been performed for years, and my sister Aggie would dance.’
    ‘You have a sister too?’
    ‘I had two sisters,’ Finn said, ‘but the elder, Aggie was a fine dancer. Everyone said it and she was at it every spare minute.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘Tom said he wouldn’t be surprised if she danced in her sleep.’
    ‘It all sounds so nice,’ Gabrielle smiled.
    ‘It was,’ Finn admitted. ‘I was sorry when it all stopped. I would hear the music through the walls when I was in bed, and the slap of Aggie’s feet on the floor.’
    ‘Why did it stop?’
    ‘Oh, that’s a long story,’ Finn said. ‘I mustn’t keep you long from your bed either because you have to get up early and my bugle call is earlier still.’
    ‘You mean we must go home already?’
    ‘Not quite,’ Finn said. ‘I haven’t been kissed enough to satisfy. And remember, my darling love, this isn’t just one stolen moment. We can come here as often as we like, though I work with a company of soldiers who would think it mighty odd if I was to disappear every night and not tell anyone where I was going, and suspicion is something that we must not raise in anyone’s mind.’
    ‘Oh, but—’
    ‘Gabrielle, listen to me,’ Finn pleaded. ‘You are so protected that you may not be aware of this, but the town is far more crowded on Friday and Saturday evenings.’
    Gabrielle nodded. ‘My father goes out on Saturday evening.’
    ‘There you are then,’ Finn said. ‘And Fridaynight is just as busy. All my fellow soldiers go into town on those nights, unless they are on duty, and many locals