‘This is so much easier!’ I exclaim.
‘I know.’ Con pulls on my heavy woollen skirt with such distaste that I can’t help smiling, despite my fear, despite my dread. Despite the electric stretch in the air, like a thread ready to snap.
I turn to take a last look at the bothy, imprinting it on my mind. Then I tuck the bag under my coat and Con and I walk out of our home into the gathering storm.Constance
No time for tears, although I can feel the familiar ache in my throat, the bubble of grief swelling in my chest as we walk towards the camp. Dot says nothing, but flashes a quick, tight smile at me.
What will I do without you?
The thought echoes what our mother used to say to us, after she became ill and we moved back into the Kirkwall house to nurse her. We would sponge her cheeks and chest; we would hold a glass of water to her lips. We were twenty-three and all our lives she had been the strongest person we knew. She lay in bed, weak as a child, her eyes burning. And she would say to us, What would I do without you?
The words wheezed from her; the house echoed with the rattle of her breath. On the day she and Daddy were supposed to go on the boat to Scotland, to get her some better medicine, I stayed out late walking, because I didn’t want to say goodbye to her. I didn’t want to watch her go, knowing I might never see her again.
But she wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye to me. So they waited for me to return. They waited and waited and, all the while, the wind rose. And by the time I arrived home she was grey with pain but the waters were too rough for rowing across to Scotland. But I felt guilty, so guilty. I couldn’t stand the thought that I’d increased her pain. And so I persuaded them to row out on those rough waters. Daddy had been out in worse, I knew. I told them to go so that I wouldn’t feel so guilty for being selfish and not wanting to say goodbye to her.
I screamed at them.
They never came back.
It won’t be like that today, I tell myself. Dot will be safe; she will return. This isn’t for ever, it’s just for a short time, just until the war is over.
If the war is ever over.
I crush the thought.
Dot is walking next to me, deep in reflection.
I don’t know what to say to her. The wind whips tears from my eyes. The sea heaves, covered with white caps. It is a grim and sickly grey.
‘Are you sure you won’t come with us?’ Dot asks.
My stomach twists but I shake my head. ‘The hospital in Kirkwall needs nurses. There are always people brought in after storms – I’d like that, I think, helping people.’
I think of our parents: of how I wish I could have taken them from the sea and cared for them. How I wish I could have kept them safe. I clear my throat and say, ‘There’s a life for me here.’
I keep my voice level because I can’t allow her to guess at my uncertainty and fear. I can’t allow her to suspect the other part of my plan for today, the part I’ve barely allowed myself to think about. The part that will allow me to be free. If Dot suspects, she will try to stop me. If she suspects, she will not leave.
And if it works, I will be able to live in Kirkwall again. I will refuse to feel shame. I will face people again. I won’t run away.
The camp is deserted, apart from a single guard, who is red-faced and squinting in the wind, and keeps looking up towards the chapel. His body stiffens when he sees us walking down the hill. I feel a flash of fear and have to remind myself that he won’t hurt me.
I don’t think he’ll hurt me.
‘Shouldn’t you be up at that get-together in the chapel like everyone else?’ he asks resentfully.
I force myself to smile. ‘We have to come to the infirmary and check on the patients,’ I say. ‘So we’re working, just like you. But it doesn’t seem fair on you, when the other guards are all having fun. Are you here alone?’
He scowls. ‘We drew lots,’ he says. ‘So it’s fair enough, I suppose.’
I step closer, making my voice light, despite the fear I feel at being so close to this man, this stranger, who is so much stronger than me. ‘Why don’t you go up to the chapel with the others? It seems a shame for you to miss it. There are hardly any prisoners here, only the men in the infirmary and we’ll be watching them.’
‘I can’t leave my post without getting a court-martial.’ He eyes me suspiciously, then looks at Dot, at the bag she’s carrying, full of her things for the journey.
‘What’s that you’ve got?’
I curse myself, wishing we’d hidden it better. But I’ve underestimated Dot.
‘Incontinence pads, for the soldiers whose catheters have come out. I’ve brought some of the cloths I use for my monthlies. Here.’ She holds up the bag; he turns away with an expression of disgust.
‘Get on with you.’
I hurry towards the infirmary, exhaling some of the jittery fear I’ve felt, and Dot follows.
‘If Bess is there,’ I say, ‘I’ll sidetrack her.’
But the infirmary is quiet. There are only three men in the beds and all of them are asleep. Bess must be out at the chapel, or else she’ll have gone into the mess hut to get to the food before all the prisoners arrive back.
‘Quick,’ I
