by Caroline Lea
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 say to Dot, and turn to keep an eye on the door, while she goes to the supply cupboard. I hear the clink of bottles dropping into the bag, and the rattle of pills.
‘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 the
se 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 gives a short blast. Then I hear shouting off to our right, a scuffle and a yell: some of the prisoners have begun fighting. Everyone stops and turns as one prisoner shouts and swings his fist at another. More guards blow their whistles; the men all around me roar and, in the midst of the confusion, Cesare gives my fingers a quick squeeze, takes off his hat, and pushes away to the left, out of the crowd, away from the chaos. In less than three heartbeats, Gino is next to me, his hat pulled down low over his ears.
‘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 ground. The sound is certain, definite. I listen to the rhythm of my footsteps, imagining that they belong to a more confident woman, a fearless woman. Imagining that they belong to someone like Dot.
I picture them together, passing through the barriers, out of sight of the island. The night will be closing around them, like a fist, hiding them – hiding everything.
The sea will be wild. The rocks are sharp. And if I am ready for Angus, if he doesn’t suspect anything, I will be able to surprise him.
I imagine the single hard push against h
is chest. I imagine him falling. I imagine the splash.
I am out of the yard now, out past the guard, out of sight of the camp. My fear is an animal thing, a writhing sickness that threatens to overwhelm me, but it mustn’t. I mustn’t stop now. I look back once more, to see that Angus is following.
And I begin to run.
Dorothy
Twice, while waiting for Cesare, I nearly go back to Con. But then I remember the thud of Angus’s fists against Cesare’s skull. I remember the pressure of his fingers around my neck. And I stay by the boat, waiting. In my pocket is Con’s gold chain. I will find a place to fling it into the sea, once Cesare arrives.
I imagine him changing his mind. I picture him going into the mess hut with the other prisoners, staying with Gino and the rest. He is giving up everything for me. And I am giving up everything for him. But what if it’s not enough? What if everything we have to give and all the things we sacrifice are not enough?
I run my hand over the metal heart again and again, thinking of his hands making it, picturing the smooth, scarred skin on his palm.
The hill is blank and bleak. From here, I can’t see the chapel. I can’t see the camp or the bothy. The island looks deserted, as though it has been plucked out of time. As though no one is alive here any more, apart from me, standing on the beach, waiting, my heart in my hand.
And then I see him. He is running down the hill towards the beach. For a moment, I worry that someone is chasing him, but there is no one. He is here. He has come for me and all will be well.
He wraps his arms around me, lifting me briefly off my feet. His cheeks are cold.
‘I thought you were going to leave me here,’ I say.
‘I will not leave you ever.’ But he doesn’t meet my eyes, and though he sounds sure, and though he is here with me, I see how much it’s hurt him to abandon his countrymen. And I feel the same dull thud in my chest at leaving Con, at leaving part of myself on this island.
‘You are ready?’ he says, eyeing the greenish sea, the dark waves, the white-caps.
‘Yes.’
Together, we push the boat into the water, battling against the surging waves, and scramble in, soaked and shivering. The clutch of the cold sea gives me a moment of doubt, but I push it away. There can be no return now.