‘Be calm, I will take care of you. You are safe with me, koukla, no worries,’ he said, patting my hand. ‘What do you mean? What dolphin?’

I stuttered the events of the past hour. Confused and exhausted, not sure what I actually said and what was simply a vision in my head. I pressed my belly, the tight ache confirming my rescue, confirming the dolphin and the reality of the moment.

‘Ah, you met Delphi.’ He peered into my face again, then turned and stared over the sea. ‘Stay here, I will come back to you.’ Then he said, ‘You are so beautiful the flowers on my island will wilt in your presence.’ Thrown off balance by this nonsense, I felt a spark of anger at his frivolity in the circumstances, then I found myself defeated and gawping after him. He left to help the other survivors, occasionally glancing my way. He threw a smile, setting my face aflame. I blushed again, caught watching him, my heart fluttering every time our eyes met. What was this damned foolishness? I cursed him, cursed myself, cursed my belly that became more swollen and painful by the minute. My day was already too eventful.

*

The quayside thronged with Rubenesque women wearing long, dark skirts; embroidered aprons, and white petticoats. They bustled everyone into the harbour kafenio where honey-sweetened herb tea and homemade biscuits were handed out. Names were taken, papers looked at, and lists drawn up. The locals made a general fuss of their visitors, shouting, patting cheeks reassuringly, and nudging people into chairs that lined the room.

‘They seem very organised and not shaken at all by this,’ I said to my cabin mate, Josephine, who seemed fully recovered as she passed me a cup of the strange tasting tea.

‘Haven’t you heard?’ She lifted her chin towards the window. ‘The very same thing happened here last week. The SS Burdigala sank in almost the same spot.’

I made no sense of it and stood alone in the midst of my friends, fellow VADs, and orderlies. My uniform soon dried on the outside, yet garments that lay next to my body were damp and heavy, mouldering against my skin. How I longed to remove them, and how delicious it would be to swim in the pale, iridescent water of the bay – but my marvellous swimming costume had gone down with the Britannic.

Who could I speak to about what had happened? I wished for my father. The sudden urge to tell all rose inside me again. I should confess that my actions had caused who knew how many deaths. I searched for the priest but when I found him, the awful words wouldn’t come. I trembled and kept my mouth shut.

In the end, who would be receptive to my story, and would I be able to stand their disparaging air when they all knew the truth?