‘Take as much as you can,’ I say. ‘You might need to trade.’
She stuffs two extra bandages and another bottle of sulfa tablets into the bag, her face tense.
‘I don’t like doing it this way.’
‘You’ve no choice.’
When we go back outside, it’s raining. The guard by the gate stands with his back to us, hunch-shouldered.
‘I’ll distract him,’ I say. Because I can do this for her. I can.
She nods and pulls me into a hard embrace. I wrap my arms around her, concentrating on the rhythm of my breath, on keeping it steady, in time with hers.
I mustn’t fall apart now.
‘Be careful,’ I choke.
‘You too.’
What else can I say to her? How can I say goodbye to half of myself?
I let her go. She turns and steps into the shadows behind the infirmary as I crush my nerves and call out to the guard. I tell him I heard a noise. I ask him if someone might have come across to the camp from Kirkwall, instead of going to the chapel.
The guard grumbles in irritation, but he dutifully searches the other side of the infirmary, and down between two of the first empty huts. And while I help him to check, Dot slips out from behind the infirmary and towards the gate. She doesn’t turn to wave, or for one last look, but puts her head down against the rain, walking quickly in the direction of the bay.
Something inside me cracks and collapses.
And as I thank the guard – who cannot find anyone skulking near the infirmary – and walk back up the hill towards the chapel, I feel a ripping sensation in my chest, as if my lungs are being squeezed and I cannot draw enough air. Or as if a hand is reaching into my ribcage and placing a cold finger next to my heart.
The wind snaps my hair across my face and drowns the sound of my sobbing.
By the time I reach the chapel, my breathing has steadied.
The Italians are massed around the outside of the building – and perhaps some are inside, too, with the people from Kirkwall. Maybe those prisoners who helped with the farming work on the mainland have also been allowed into the dry and the warmth, or perhaps not. I’m sure that allowing the foreigners to work on their land feels very different to the island people from being alongside them in a church.
At first, I worry that I won’t be able to find Cesare, but after the first few prisoners turn and see me, the word travels through the crowd, and soon they are all turning to look at me.
Like a pack of hungry dogs, I think, and the old fear washes over me again. I nearly turn away, nearly walk back over the hill to the bothy. But I cannot. Because of Dot. Because I am being brave.
My cheeks flame as the prisoners step to one side. As I walk through the crowd to try to find Cesare, I am aware of the closeness of these men, watching me. The size of them, the musky smell of them, like something feral and waiting. I imagine all of them with Angus’s face, with his greedy eyes and his crushing hands.
And I stop, staring at my feet, at the size of them, surrounded by these men’s boots, the smell of their sweat, the heat of their bodies, the boom of their laughter. I want to be with Dot, walking down towards the boat. I want to be back in the bothy. I want to be back in the house in Kirkwall, before our parents left.
‘Dorotea!’ a prisoner’s voice shouts. And I turn, hope rising in my chest, expecting to see her coming over the hill. But the prisoner calls again, and someone grasps my hand. And I jump and recoil and look up into Gino’s face. He has a cap pulled down low over his head.
‘Dorotea?’ he asks.
I remember. I swallow my fear. ‘Yes,’ I say.
‘Cesare is here.’
I nod, unable to force any more words past my dread.
Cesare is standing just behind Gino. He, too, is wearing a hat, where most of the other prisoners are bare-headed.
Cesare smiles when he sees me, and says, ‘Bella,’ but there is another question in his eyes. Something like, Is everything all right? Or, Is she safe?
I give a tiny nod and watch the relief tug his smile wider. And there is no name for what I feel then, for the mixture of jealousy and loss and release. She has someone who loves her absolutely, and without question. I have only her in this world, and I have to let her go.
Cesare stands next to me until the people from Kirkwall begin filing out of the chapel. They flinch as they walk into the blasting wind and rain, but still, I see Angus emerge from the building, searching, ignoring the weather. His gaze travels over the crowd of prisoners, finds me, standing next to Cesare, and stops.
His mouth sets in a thin line and he begins moving towards us, just as the guards blow the whistle for the prisoners to walk down towards the mess hut.
The Italians give a whoop and I’m carried along with them, down the hill. Cesare is next to me, within arm’s reach, and Gino is walking three steps ahead of us, although I notice he has taken off his hat. Somewhere behind us, Angus is watching. He will be trying to fight his way through the prisoners, trying to get to me.
My neck and back feel exposed but I daren’t look back.
Cesare turns to look at me. ‘You are ready?’ he calls.
I nod, although I don’t know the details of this part of the plan, don’t know what to expect.
Gino lifts a guard’s whistle to his lips and
