Page 42 of The Dark of the Moon
There was quite a long pause then while the gendarme looked up some of the words Philly had used in the dictionary. Then he made some more notes, and he raised his eyebrows and scratched his head a lot while he was writing them.
All of this had taken quite a lot of time. Then the policeman asked for Dad’s mobile number so they could call him to verify ourstory and take us home. But the phone was probably out of reach of any reception, and we explained he was on a boat, sailing to Fort Boyard, and that made the policeman raise his eyebrows and scratch his head again even more for a bit.
‘OK,’ he said at last. ‘You’ll have to wait here until he gets back then, so he can vouch for you.’
I wondered if they were going to lock us up in the cells, but Philly said they couldn’t do that to me because I was a Minor. Instead, they let us sit in the office and one of the gendarmes went off and came back with ice creams for us, so they actually turned out to be kind in the end.
Dad was pretty upset when he came into the police station. Philly and thegendarmehad to explain everything all over again, to reassure him that we weren’t going to be prosecuted for a breach of the peace and GBH (which is what it’s called when you bite a policeman). And then, at last, we were allowed to go home, as long as I promised not to take any more rubbings right beside the gates and never to climb down into the moat again.
I was happy to do that. Because I didn’t need to look there again. I already had what I needed.
When we were safely home and we were sitting on the porch, I took the other piece of paper out of my pocket and showed Philly the name and date I’d found, carved into the stones beside the place where the donkeys were grazing. I hadn’t even had a chance to laminate it yet.
Her eyes went really big, and she wrapped her arms around herself. Then her mouth went all wobbly and she let out a single big sob, and tears rolled down her cheeks as she read the words:
B.C. Delaney
22.8.1944
Philly
I cry when I read Ben’s name on that piece of paper. And I have to fold my arms to stop myself from hugging Finn. Then I unfold them and reach over to touch the letters, carved by his own hand all those years ago. B.C. Delaney. My Ben. Found, at last. Or, at least, another piece of the jigsaw in the search for what happened to him. A big, important piece.
When, at last, I can speak again, I say, ‘Finn, you are absolutely brilliant! Where did you find this?’
‘In the moat, the grassy bit where the donkeys are. I went to look at the stones around the gates first. That’s where I foundBernard Leblanc. But then I noticed there were some more stones with names carved on them down in the deeper bit and it seemed like the sort of place they might have let prisoners walk around for exercise in the past. It was probably fenced in then. I had to climb down, and it was pretty steep. I found Ben’s name almost straight away and I’d just had time to do the rubbing when the police appeared. They made me climb back up, which was quite hard to do. I scraped my knees a bit. And then they said a whole load of things in French very loudly, which I didn’t understand. So I pointed at you on the bench because I thought you could come and translate.’
‘He was here,’ I say. I’m still lost for words, really, taking it in. Tracing the letters of his name. He made his mark, left us a clue. Just like all those hundreds of other prisoners who’d carved their names into the stones over the centuries. ‘How did you know where to look?’
‘It was a hunch. I worked it out. I can show you, if you like. I made some assumptions and a hypothesis, and they turned out to be correct. I decided not to give up the search, even if you had.’
‘Thank you, Finn. You’re an absolute marvel.’ I can’t stop smiling through my tears.
‘So now we have to make some more deductions and work out what happened next.’
That sobers me up pretty quickly. Knowing Ben had been held in that prison isn’t good news. But then I suppose, knowing he’d been captured, there never was going to be any good news.
‘Oh Finn, I think we can guess. He wasn’t released, and the only other result of being imprisoned here would have been execution. Or death from starvation or disease.’
‘Well, maybe there are prison records. We can ask the policemen we met.’
I consider that for a moment. ‘I suppose you’re right. There may be something ...’ All of a sudden, I’m not sure I want to know. Perhaps it is enough, having his name. Knowing I’m close to him here.
‘You haven’t got Closure yet,’ Finn says. ‘So we need to keep searching. At least now we have some definite new evidence to go on.’
I sigh. ‘OK, we’ll go back to the police station on Monday and ask if there’s any way they can check the prison records from 1944. But my time is running out, you know, Finn.’
He nods. ‘Mum is coming home tomorrow. But that doesn’t mean you have to go home to England straight away. You can stay here with us for a bit while we search some more.’
I’m not sure that’s exactly what I meant, but I smile and nod. Then I haul myself to my feet and head through to the kitchen to make some Marmite sandwiches, which are about all I can manage to cobble together for our supper.
That evening, once I’ve given Finn his medication and seen him into his bed, I’m washing the plates and wiping down the surfaces in the kitchen when Dan returns. He’d gone back to Saint-Martin for the final supper with everyone from the sailing camp. It’s been a great success, by all accounts.
‘Thanks for doing that, Philly,’ he says. ‘In fact, thanks for everything. You’ve been an absolute wonder looking after Finn this week.’
‘Hmm, yes,’ I reply. ‘Apart from getting us both arrested, of course.’
He laughs. ‘Don’t worry, it was a minor incident in the big scheme of things. And what a result, him finding Ben’s name carved into the wall like that. It was worth risking being given a criminal record. I think even Kendra will agree.’
