I did as he asked and prayed that Mo would survive. I wanted to get up and help him, but the drug coursing through my veins prevented it. Instead, I passed out once again.
I did not see Mo again for nearly a week. His condition was critical and he had been moved to a military hospital. I remained behind and stayed with a local family. The Warrens were generous and warm-hearted, but I spent my time worrying about Mo. Praying that he would survive his injuries. I had nothing save for the clothes I wore, and was given no updates as to Mo’s chances of survival. I could not sleep and had little appetite for sustenance or cheer.
Our time together, however brief, had brought us as close as father and daughter. Our bond of love and trust, and mutual support, was solid. My parents were gone forever. I had left Beatrice behind, and felt as though I’d abandoned poor Mrs Moreau. My best friend had been taken, my home and my country were lost to me. All that remained were memories of a life no longer lived, and Mo. I could not bear to lose him too.
So, on that morning I was taken to see him, my gloom lifted. Miraculously, he had survived. The nurse explained that he would soon be well enough to leave.
‘He might walk with a limp,’ she added. ‘But he’s been very lucky. And brave too.’
She glanced at my broken arm.
‘You as well, by the look of it.’ Her smile was full of kindness and cheer.
As I sat watching Mo sleep, I wondered what fate would bring. Would we be allowed to remain together? Would Mo stay in England and stay with me? It was a strange feeling – both hopeful and frightening at once. Yet despite my fears and recurrent melancholy, I began to dream of making a new home somewhere. For the first time since my parents had died, a brighter future seemed possible. A tiny sliver of light entered my heart, a little piece of hope renewed.
Smiling, I took hold of Mo’s hand and thought of Maman and Papa in brighter, happier times.
EPILOGUE
When she was finished, Joelle wiped away a single tear. She took hold of my hand and gave it a squeeze.
‘I must leave,’ she told me. ‘It’s a long way back to Scotland.’
‘No!’ I replied. ‘You have to stay. Please, you need to meet my mum. And what about your story? People should hear it.’
Joelle shook her head.
‘It was our story,’ she said sadly. ‘It belonged to Mo and me. Now he is gone, and I have no wish to tell it again.’
‘But someone should write it down,’ I insisted. ‘Like at school, we learn about World War Two, but no one ever tells us about people like my great-grandfather.’
‘Then you write it down,’ she replied. ‘You tell our story.’
‘But I’ve got so many questions,’ I told her. ‘What happened after my great-grandfather left hospital and where did you go?’
Joelle stood and took an iPhone from her pocket.
‘My granddaughter taught me to use this,’ she said. ‘There’s an app for taxis. Mine has arrived…’
‘But…?’
Joelle took my hand.
‘Walk with me,’ she said.
We strolled down to the main road, where her cab stood waiting.
‘The only thing you need to know is that Mo saved me and looked after me,’ Joelle said. ‘He was the kindest and most noble human being I have ever known. What he did for me was so selfless, so brave, that I feel humbled still. That is all that matters, Simpreet. The rest isn’t important. Just make it up.’
I asked her for her contact information, but she shook her head.
‘I live just north of Loch Ness,’ she told me. ‘If you’re ever up that way, find me. There aren’t many Joelle Bretons where I live. Besides, when you go through Mo’s things, you’ll find my address on the letters. Write to me. I’d like that.’
‘So, you’re leaving?’ I asked. ‘Just like that?’
Joelle nodded.
‘I’ve been leaving my entire life,’ she replied. ‘It’s what I do best.’
BLOOMSBURY EDUCATION
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First published in Great Britain in 2020 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
This electronic edition published 2020
Text copyright © Bali Rai, 2020
Bali Rai has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this work
This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN: PB: 978-1-4729-5837-2; ePDF; 978-1-4729-5838-9; ePub: 978-1-4729-5839-6
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