The Girl from the Island. Lorna Cook
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‘So it’s safe.’ He angled his head towards the house. ‘In there?’
‘No Germans yet but what if one does come? We had one earlier in the day and he said he’d be back.’
‘We don’t tell them I’ve joined up. I’ve been here the whole time. Never left the island. As long as we all keep to that story for a week, and I stay hidden out here away from prying eyes then it’s too easy.’
‘Too easy …’ Persey repeated thoughtfully. ‘We should wake the house and tell them. Get you dry and into some fresh clothes.’
‘Dido and your mother won’t believe their eyes,’ Jack said.
Persey stopped and dipped her gaze to the floor. When he asked what was wrong, fresh tears threatened as she told him about her mother’s death.
‘Oh dear God. That’s the worst news imaginable. Oh, Persey, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe it. She was fine when I left,’ he said as if that would change facts. ‘Your mother was always very good to me. Very kind to Mother after Father died,’ Jack said quietly. ‘The best sort of woman. I can’t believe she’s gone.’
Persey let the tears fall freely and Jack pulled her towards him, holding her close.
‘You’re wet,’ Persey said through her tears.
‘I am rather, yes, sorry. Those tears don’t help.’
Persey pulled back, sniffed and wiped her eyes. ‘Let’s go inside.’
The shouting between Jack and his mother went on and on in the kitchen at the back of the house. Persey and Dido sat on the stairs, their heads in their hands. And then when it became clear Mrs Grant was gearing up for another yell, the girls moved into the sitting room and closed the door to drown out the Grants’ argument. Persey backed against the door, tipped her chin up and closed her eyes. She wanted to block out the horrific, awful day.
Could one be classed as an orphan at the age of twenty-five? Because surely that’s what she and Dido were. Orphans. She looked over at Dido, whose expression was fixed, as she hunted around for something to do or touch or divert herself with. Persey weighed up the options for her mother’s funeral, in the face of Nazi Occupation – something she could hardly contemplate but which she knew would have to be thought about. Thank goodness for Doctor Durand taking charge with the undertaker. Thank goodness for Mrs Grant helping so readily with everything.
Persey had loved her mother but it was her father who she’d shared a special relationship with as the years moved on. Dido had been happy to drift between the two of them equally, finding true comfort in both parents, easy to love and easy to be loved. Whereas Dido had always accused Persey of being too strait-laced and too tight-lipped. She wasn’t tight-lipped, or especially private. Persey just never had anything to tell.
Dido pulled the stopper off the decanter and poured a brandy. ‘God-awful day. The worst. Want one?’
Persephone shook her head as she moved towards the fireplace, even though it hadn’t been lit that day. It was June, but no matter the time of year, the room was always cold. Wrapping her dressing gown around her she wondered what her sister was thinking. ‘I can’t drink. Not at this hour. I’d like some tea but I daren’t go in the kitchen. I thought Mrs Grant would be pleased to see him.’
‘Did you?’ Dido replied. ‘Really? Jack’s risked his life to spy. Of course she’s angry. The first war killed her husband, after a fashion. And if he’s caught, this second one will take her son. It really is rather stupid of him to have come back.’
‘What would you do, though, if asked?’ Persey suggested. ‘If you were in England and you’d joined up even though, as an Islander, you didn’t have to? If you thought strongly enough about this war to actually do something about it, and then you were offered the chance to return home, do something about knocking the Nazis off your very own patch of soil … what would you do?’
Dido made a show of thinking, which made Persephone half smile. ‘I’d tell Churchill: Not on your nelly, Winnie.’
‘I don’t think you would.’
Dido poured a measure of brandy and held it out to Persey. ‘No arguments. Just drink it.’
Persey breathed in deeply and took the smallest sip of alcohol. Then the inevitable knock at the sitting room door came. Jack opened the door and looked as if the ordeal of landing back in occupied Guernsey was nothing to the verbal hammering his mother had just given him. He sat on the settee, looking pale.
‘You’re still in your wet things,’ Persey said, handing him her glass.
‘Mother thinks I shouldn’t have come.’
‘We could hear,’ Dido said, perching on the arm of the settee opposite.
Jack smiled. ‘It’s only a week. I’ll be picked up by the navy and then …’
‘And then you leave us to it?’ Persey questioned. ‘To the fates?’
Jack looked sheepish and sipped Persey’s brandy.
‘Well you’d better not get caught then,’ Dido said. ‘Because, if you do, you’ll bring us all down with you.’
Jack went to get some rest and they were to convene with him at breakfast. Dido asked to sleep in with Persey and the two pulled Persey’s blankets up underneath their chins, staring at the ceiling in the darkness.
‘This is a bit like when we were children,’ Dido pointed out. ‘When I used to have nightmares and climb in with you.’
Persey nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said absently.
‘I feel numb. Don’t you?’ Dido continued.
‘Yes, I suppose I do.’
‘Mother’s gone.’
‘Yes,’ Persey replied. Perhaps it was the shock of it all but Persey had run out of emotion, anaesthetised by the day’s events, and could say no more on the subject.
‘And now Jack,’ Dido lamented.
‘And now Jack,’ Persey repeated. She thought about what Jack had asked her to do, spying at the airport. Would it really be so very different to cycling past, as she often did, but to pay proper attention? Count the aircraft lined up near the landing strip? Take in how many men appeared to be onsite? Perhaps see if any guns had been set up already and whereabouts? Where was the harm in just looking? As long as she didn’t get caught. And why would they arrest her just for cycling past the perimeter fence? As fragments of early morning sunlight broke through the fine gap at the end of the blackout blind she’d replaced in the night, she eventually drifted off to sleep.
If she had expected to dream of anything she thought it would have been about her mother or of Jack being arrested by the Germans. But instead it was half a dream, half a memory that filtered in and out of Persey’s foggy mind. There had been four of them on the cliffs, much younger than they were now, perhaps she had been fifteen or sixteen years old. Jack had challenged them all to a race on the precarious path as they walked the cliffs towards Fermain Bay, drawing a start line in the gravel with the heel of his shoe.
‘We’ll go in teams,’ Jack had announced, looking at his watch as the four stood on the cliff path.
Persey peered over the edge while Jack spoke. Below them the waves crashed loudly against the cliffs, white horses galloping towards the rocks. Not a soul to be seen.
‘I’ll time us. Dido and I shall go first,’ Jack continued. ‘Too narrow for us all to go at once. Two minutes later, Stefan and Persey will follow on. We’ll see which team gets to the bay in the fastest time. Every second counts. Stefan, let’s check our wristwatches.’
Persey glanced at Stefan, blond, tall … taller than he had been last summer certainly. He moved toward Jack to ensure their watches were in synch. The atmosphere between the boys was jovial but there