Chapters (61)
- Cover
- Praise for Patricia Wilson
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Prologue
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- Chapter 49
- Chapter 50
- Chapter 51
- Chapter 52
- More from Patricia Wilson
- About the Author
- Acknowledgements
- Author’s Note
Sensing my distress, Manno said, ‘Just promise me you’ll wait until the end of the war, agapi mou. Give me a chance to prove I can give you and our son a better life.’
Unable to speak, I nodded. We were just under the big oak tree when a van came speeding down Lighthouse Lane.
Neither of us heard the collision, and I’m sure the driver was unaware of it, but there on the verge, as still as death, was one of my father’s pigeons. I recognised it immediately. Icarus, a blaze of pure white feathers. I put the brake on the pram as Manno stooped to pick up the bird.
‘It is a sign,’ he said. ‘Such a beautiful bird. It is like an angel sent by the gods. Look, it comes back to life in my hands!’ The bird fluttered.
‘It has a broken wing, Manno. Best to put it out of its misery. I don’t want to see it suffer.’
‘No, agapi mou, I told you, it is a sign, don’t you see? There is so much I want to say, but the passion gets in the way and I can’t find the right words in English. I will fix his wing and send him back to you with a letter. Katarina will help me with the English. Do you have a box?’
Aware of time ticking by, I hurried to the pigeon loft and brought Manno a pigeon backpack – a bamboo cage with two leather straps to hold it onto the shoulders of a soldier.
‘Take care of my son, Gertie!’ he cried, marching towards Dover port just as a huge orange sun met the horizon, silhouetting him as he turned with a final wave.
I waved back, hoping he could not see the tears racing down my face, or feel the pain of my broken heart. And for all I know, I could not see the tears on his face, or feel his broken heart either. I wanted to think that it was over now, but I knew the love between us was eternal.
*
I never heard from Manno again, but my love for him has never died. Even to this day, I think about him often. My storm-tossed soul still clings to the wreckage of life.
Let me give you this advice. If you find love, darling Shelly, grab hold of it. True love is the only thing you should never let go, regardless of the difficulties, it is a rare and precious thing.