‘Now we are to stay away from that bastardo MacLeod,’ he says, ‘and we will make him believe that we are Dorotea and Cesare.’
I nod. I search the crowd anxiously for Angus and catch a glimpse of his face. He is watching the fight, looking on with satisfaction as the guards drag the two fighting men away, and off towards the Punishment Hut.
‘Do not worry,’ Gino says. ‘They will have extra food and cigarettes after.’
But I’m not worried about them – not truly. I’m thinking of Dot, waiting for Cesare. I’m imagining him running down the hill towards the bay. I’m picturing them stepping into the small rowing boat. I’m trying not to think of the danger that lurks under the grey-green surface of the water. Sea the colour of illness. The colour of drowned bodies.
I close my eyes and hold my breath, as if my hope and longing could carry her safely past the barriers.
And then the crowd begins to move forward towards the mess hut, and I walk alongside Gino, hoping we can fool Angus for long enough.
Food is laid out on all the tables. Bread and beans and tureens of steaming stew. There are plates of eggs and even a little bacon. The prisoners exclaim with joy and, in spite of my anxiety, my mouth waters: it is more food than I have ever seen and I’ve been too nervous to eat for days.
‘This is all the food for two weeks,’ Gino says. ‘Because we are finishing the barrier quickly. Just one gap and then it’s finish. We are leaving soon, I think. They say we are going in Wales? I do not know but I am eating all this food today, until I have a fat stomach!’
He laughs, but I can see tension around his eyes and I know that he must be thinking of Cesare, wondering if his friend is safe. He must be pretending, just as I am, must be gripped with terror, just like me.
He piles his plate high and offers to do the same for me, but I shake my head. He leans in and says, ‘You must try to eat, bella. Remember, you are Dorotea and I am Cesare. People must believe this. We are in love.’
‘I know,’ I say faintly.
His gaze is soft with pity. ‘We do a good thing for them. Now, you tell me if you see the bastardo and I turn my face from him. We must give them much time to escape.’
I nod and pick at the bread roll he gives me. It is like chalk in my mouth.
Around us, the prisoners shout and sing and eat. I can’t see Angus, and then I spot him, over in the corner of the mess hut. He isn’t eating either; his eyes skim repeatedly over the prisoners. I incline my head, so that Gino knows where he is standing. Gino moves his body so that Angus will see only his back, and I position myself so that Gino hides my face from view.
There are other people from Kirkwall in the hut now, other people who are not in uniform and will make me harder for Angus to find.
I keep my eyes fixed on Gino, watching him eat, and on Angus, but I can feel the assessing glances of the Orcadians. Blood creeps into my cheeks as I’m flooded with shame once more.
Dot had asked me once, just before we left Kirkwall nearly a year ago, if I thought I was punishing myself by hiding away, by refusing to look at my face in the mirror. And, in a way, I suppose I was torturing myself for what I’d allowed to happen – I felt I deserved to be unhappy.
But now, seeing the smug expression on the Orcadians’ faces when they note me blushing, I understand that I punished myself because that was what people expected. There was something reassuring to them in my shame, in my guilt, in my self-loathing. When I condemned myself, when I hid myself away, I made them feel safer – as long as I felt disgraced, then all was well in their world. Every time I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see myself through my own eyes, but through theirs. I saw my humiliation.
I’m tired of feeling ashamed.
And that is when I step away from the protection of Gino’s body. He is talking and laughing with another prisoner, so he doesn’t notice me moving to one side, into Angus’s line of vision.
I wait, feeling a jolt as Angus’s eyes lock on mine. I don’t know if he realizes it is me, or if he thinks I’m Dot. Either way, I know he will want to follow me.
Quietly, I squeeze through the crowd of prisoners until I am near the door.
Dot and Cesare must be in the boat. They will be moving out of sight, rowing towards freedom. There will be no one to see me, or Angus, now. There will be no one to stop me.
I turn back, to make sure he is following me, and then I push out into the cold and the growing darkness.
There are still some people from Kirkwall and some prisoners waiting outside the mess hut, but they are so keen to get inside and reach the food that they barely notice me.
I don’t look back again, but walk briskly across the yard. My boots tap on the stony
