1st September 1940: France
Anya crouched down, screened from the busy main road be the car.
A nosy washerwoman glanced down suspiciously at her, but looked away when she saw that Anya was only tying her shoelace.
When the washerwoman was out of earshot, Anya gave a snort, partly of relief, and partly of exasperation. If people were going to be a snoop, they may as well snoop properly. Hadn't that woman noticed that she didn't have any shoelaces?
Mentally shaking herself, she went back to her task. Surreptitiously, she pulled a small, discolored penknife from her sock. She paused for a moment, making sure no-one was watching. Nobody was.
In a sudden burst of speed, Anya took the knife and slashed it into the car's rubber tyre, which made a satisfying hissing sound.
Suddenly, she heard an angry shout coming from the nearby building. Anya spun around, and took in very few details about the man. But enough.
Field-grey overalls, black shiny boots, coal-scuttle tin helmet, the red armband with a swastika on his arm – a Nazi.
For no reason, she felt angry. It made no sense, but she was in a wild fury. Lunging forward, she punctured another wheel, and heard heavy boots thundering down the cobblestones as the car sagged miserably.
Hurling herself forwards, Anya bolted away from the car, the Nazi and the main road, towards the place where she knew she would be safe.
YOU ARE READING
The Life That I Have
Historical Fiction1st September, 1940: France. Anya Devlin dosen't fly a Spitfire, and isn't a trained spy, but she is doing her all to make life difficult for the Nazis who have invaded France. Alone, scared and British, Anya has to learn some difficult and painful...
