Gaston’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this other reason?’
‘Because you won’t,’ said Rachelle, folding her arms and leaning back against the wall, as if ready to watch the show that was about to take place.
‘Nathalie?’ Gaston turned to face me fully.
‘I need you to help me,’ I told Gaston, ignoring Rachelle.
‘You know I will always help you if I can,’ said Gaston, taking a cigarette packet from his pocket.
‘You don’t know what she’s going to ask you,’ said Rachelle.
‘True.’ Gaston lit his cigarette.
‘I want you to teach me how to shoot a gun,’ I said.
Gaston choked on the smoke he’d just drawn. He spluttered and looked at me incredulously. ‘You want to learn to fire a gun?’ he repeated. He exchanged a look with his sister. ‘Is she serious?’
‘Deadly,’ said Rachelle.
‘Why on earth do you want to know how to do that?’ asked Gaston, composing himself.
‘Because I want to join the Resistance and find the person who killed Edgar and then kill them myself,’ I announced with a confidence I didn’t feel. In my head, it had sounded like a reasonable proposition, but out loud, it sounded naïve.
Gaston’s burst of laughter only confirmed my thoughts. When he realised that neither I nor Rachelle had joined in, he controlled himself.
At that point, Marcel entered the room.
‘It sounds like fun in here,’ he said, looking around the room.
A silence descended, and the air felt heavy, as if someone had sucked all the atmosphere out into the forest.
‘It would be funny if my cousin wasn’t actually quite serious,’ said Gaston, the amusement not quite gone from his voice.
‘Care to share the joke?’ asked Marcel.
‘Nathalie wants to learn how to fire a gun so she can kill a German officer, probably one in the Gestapo,’ said Gaston.
‘Stop!’ I almost shouted. ‘Don’t make fun of me.’
‘I’m not making fun of you,’ said Gaston, the humour truly gone from his voice now. ‘It’s a ridiculous idea and I am certainly not going to help you get yourself killed. One dead cousin is enough for me.’
‘What am I missing?’ Marcel asked, looking around the room.
‘The Gestapo have killed my brother,’ I said. ‘I want to avenge his murder. I want to know how to fire a gun so I can go back to Paris and—’
Before I could finish, Gaston cut in. ‘And get yourself killed, too. How do you think your parents will feel when both their children are dead?’
‘They will be proud of what I’ve done,’ I retorted, although not entirely sure that would be their overriding emotion. I pushed the thought of my mother crying as my father tried to comfort her from my mind. This was not a time to be sentimental.
‘I don’t know why you brought her here,’ said Gaston to Rachelle. ‘Did you really think I would agree to this?’
Rachelle pushed herself away from the wall. ‘No, but if I didn’t bring her, she was going to come on her own and I was worried she’d get lost and meet a German patrol.’
‘You can’t criticise your sister for that,’ said Marcel. He looked at me. ‘Your brother has been killed, you say?’
‘Yesterday,’ I replied.
Marcel inclined his head a fraction. ‘I am sorry for your loss.’ He looked at Gaston and Rachelle. ‘And to you both as well.’
