She nodded. The excitement of the last couple of hours still buzzed through her. She wanted to voice her experience, share the thrill, tell of the turtle, yet she knew the importance of discretion.

A ferry rounded the lighthouse. She watched it reverse skilfully up to the quayside by the harbour wall, the tailgate down long before it reached land. The minute the mooring lines were hefted over the stanchions, passengers and vehicles poured onto the island. Cars raced up from nowhere, parking randomly, dragging boxes from the ferry and cramming them into their cars and pick-ups. People kissed, hugged, hurried, and everyone shouted. Cafés filled, and suddenly Kea had come to life.

Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

GERTIE

Greece, 1916.

OUR LIFEBOAT ROCKED VIOLENTLY. The desperate call to Mother had hardly reached utterance when a deafening noise tore through the air. I slammed my hands over my ears. The propellers ground to a halt. Rebounding waves sent our rocking lifeboat scudding violently against the side of the long ship – away from that bloody finale.

Gasping and sobbing with disbelief, everyone stared at the bronze fins looming over us only yards ahead. Although they receded, I half expected them to resume turning with their murderous intent.

Delirious with relief, I started to laugh, and laugh, before tears raged down my face. How fine is the line between life and death? At any second, everything could change. Who held our fate in their hands? Our Captain, God, Satan, throwing dice on who would get our souls? We had to get away from there immediately.

‘She’s alive!’ someone at the front yelled, breaking my erratic train of thought. Several men heaved a woman in nurse’s uniform out of the water. Oh God, it was Josephine, my cabinmate, Josephine, alive! The boy scout slid down the rope and swam on his back, away from the ship, legs frogging it, arms like windmills, the adult’s lifesaver keeping him buoyant. Far above us, we could see other lifeboats being lowered. Our boat drifted away from the propellers, towards the front of the vessel. Then I realised the current of water pouring into the front portholes, the ones I had opened, was pulling us along.

Someone shouted, ‘The ship’s gonna roll, pull hard, lads!’

Our skipper ordered, ‘Take us clear of the funnels or we’re damned for sure!’

I stood, placed my palms against the metal hull and pressed for all I was worth. The skipper pushed his oar against the ship’s side too. Suddenly, the lifeboat seemed to break the suction. We lurched away with such abruptness I lost my balance. In an instant, I tumbled over the side, hit the water, and was going down. The cork lifesaver was no match for the weight of my long uniform.