‘I don’t want to spend the rest of the week wondering if I’ll ever see you again.’

‘I will,’ she said, her attention caught by the flash of the lighthouse. Did Gran Gertie walk along the same path, and in whose company: Corporal Perkins, or Manno the mailman?

Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

GERTIE

Greece, 1916.

‘WHERE’S MY LEG? WHERE’S MY bloody leg?’ Perkins screamed. ‘They’ve cut my damn leg off! Where is it? I want to see it, now!’ The startled nurse let go. He fell back onto the bed, then hauled himself onto his elbows. ‘Where’s the surgeon who butchered me?’

‘He’s away on the ship, Corporal, heading for Piraeus.’ Nurse Josephine backed away. ‘He saved your life.’

‘Johnny,’ I said, remembering his name. ‘You need your medication. You’re having a panic attack. Try and breathe steadily. Come on, give me your hand and we’ll do it together. Breathe in, hold it, let it go slowly.’ From the corner of my eye, I could see Josephine filling a syringe. She swabbed his other wrist and stabbed him with the hypodermic.

‘Come on now, Johnny,’ I said. ‘Breathe in, hold it, let it go slowly.’

He stared at me, his eyes glazed, wide with the horror of his discovery. ‘There’s a part of me out there, somewhere, and I don’t even know where it is. Now, I’m not whole, not complete . . .’ His voice became heavy, dull, and more slurred as the seconds ticked by. ‘I’ll never sleep again . . . God knows what they will do to me next time.’

I kept talking to him, distracting him from the facts. ‘Come on, Johnny, give me your hand. Let’s breathe together,’ I encouraged him again. ‘I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you, don’t forget, you have my blood flowing around in your veins. We can get through this together, Johnny . . . together.’

*

This is the start of it, I thought in the middle of the night. Perspiration trickled off my forehead. Another punishment for causing so much misery. My throat burned, limbs deadweight, head throbbing. I stared at Perkins. He appeared to be in the same state, flushed, sweating, eyes wide and unblinking, staring at the ceiling.

Perhaps he’s died.

‘Nurse Josephine,’ I croaked, the words hurting my throat. ‘Some water, please.’ She came over with a glass. ‘No, Perkins first. He’s overheating, look.’