The Dark of the Moon, page 16
I woke in a sort of twilight and looked up, expecting to see the trees overhead again. But instead of the darkening sky, there was a white plaster ceiling above a shuttered window. And instead of the leaves beneath me, there were smooth cotton sheets. A cool hand pressed against my brow. It felt hard to turn my head to look, it was too hot and heavy, my neck too stiff, too sore. Then the hand moved away, and Janina’s face appeared above me, a worried smile crinkling the skin at the edges of her eyes.
‘Eveline,’ she said. ‘Dzięki Bogu! Thank God! We thought we’d lost you.’
She lifted my head and held a glass of water to my lips. I drank thirstily. My tongue felt too big for my mouth, and my voice cracked as I tried to find the words, fragments of memory returning . . .
‘The plane crashed.’
She nodded.
‘Need to hide it from the enemy . . .’
‘Hush,’ she said. ‘It’s been taken care of.’
‘The pilot . . . ?’
She shook her head. ‘He didn’t make it. I’m sorry.’
‘There was an envelope . . .’ I said. Panic filled me as I remembered the money and papers for the Poles’ escape. I struggled to try to sit up, but she pressed gently on my shoulder, making me lie still.
She smiled. ‘Don’t worry, we have it safe. Thank you for bringing it for us. Here, try to drink a little more.’
Something felt wrong. I frowned, concentrating. Everything ached. But there was a deeper, more intense pain somewhere, too.
‘My leg . . .’ I said.
‘Hush,’ she said again, gently wiping my face with a cool cloth. ‘You were badly hurt in the crash. But we are taking care of you now. Try to sleep again. I am here. You are safe.’
The next time I swam upwards through the layers of sleep and troubled dreams, it must have been night-time. The room was dark and silent, the air thick with the smell of some sort of disinfectant. With an effort, I turned my head. Janina’s husband, Jakub, appeared to be asleep in a chair beside the bed but he must have sensed my movement because he opened his eyes and smiled. ‘Here,’ he said, leaning forward to pour water from a jug into a glass and hold it to my lips. ‘Drink a little.’
‘Janina . . . ?’ I asked once I’d swallowed a few sips and my tongue could work again.
‘I’m doing the night shift so she can get some sleep.’
‘The baby . . . ?’
‘Is growing well. Kicking now. Going to be a strong one, like its matka.’
I licked my lips and swallowed, with an effort, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. ‘How long have I been here?’
‘Four days. You were badly injured in the crash, scarcely alive when the maquisards brought you here. We need to get you out as soon as you’re strong enough, so you can get proper treatment. We’ve sent a message back to Britain. But you’re too sick to travel at the moment. In any case, the moon is dying now, so it will be at least two weeks. They will come and get you as soon as they can.’
I felt there was something important I needed to tell him, something urgent. But my brain felt muddled, and I struggled to remember what it was. Then it came back to me. A wave of dizziness engulfed me as I tried to sit up, forcing me to fall back against the pillow. ‘Jakub, you all need to get out of France now. Go immediately. That was what they sent me to tell you. To give you the papers you’ll need and to tell you to go to Spain. The Germans will take control of the whole of France any day. It will be too dangerous for you all to stay here.’
He smiled again, a little sadly. ‘This we already know,’ he said. ‘We hear the messages, can tell they are growing uneasy. But our French hosts continue to look after us and our work here is important. We cannot leave just yet.’
‘We will take care of you in Britain. If you can get across the border into Spain, we’ll get you out. It will be so much safer for all of you there. Think of your baby, Jakub!’
He nodded. ‘We will go soon, don’t worry. But for now we need to stay and keep on telling the Allies what is happening in the east. And we won’t desert you.’
I began to protest again but he hushed me. ‘Calm yourself, Eveline. I promise we will go soon. We’ll talk to Bolek, because we’ll need his help to get through France to the mountains. We have a little more time, I think. Once the British can come for you, then we will leave.’
When Jakub went off to refill the water jug, I gingerly raised my throbbing head from the pillow and lifted the sheet that covered my battered body. My right leg was swathed in bandages from ankle to thigh and around the shin a dark bloodstain oozed through the thick layers of wrapping. Another wave of weakness forced me to lie back again. I couldn’t go anywhere even if I tried. I had to accept I was stuck there for at least the next couple of weeks.
The days passed slowly. I drifted in and out of sleep and Janina was there when I woke, trying to encourage me to drink the nourishing broth she’d made, or helping me clean myself with a bowl of water and a washcloth. I think the priest was there once or twice, holding my hand, praying at my bedside, although my mind was so muddled I wasn’t sure if perhaps I dreamed that. A French doctor came to change the dressings on my leg. His visits were usually followed by muttered conversations with Janina, which I couldn’t hear. They cared for me attentively, but I found it frustrating that I wasn’t getting better any faster. I’d already been enough of a burden to my hosts. I wanted to be ready to walk to the lavender field and climb the ladder into the Lysander that would come for me as soon as the moon grew to fullness. But the pain and the weakness were ever present and so I swallowed down the pills the doctor gave me with gratitude, sinking back into the release of sleep.
I must have been there for about a week, existing in that limbo, drifting in and out of consciousness. But then something changed.
Amy appeared to me in a dream again, standing in that same clearing in a forest. But this time, instead of turning away, she smiled at me in the moonlight and beckoned me to follow her. I took a faltering step towards the trees, then another, unsure whether my injured leg could carry me. It hurt. But, somehow, I understood that if I followed Amy the pain would end . . .
All at once, Janina was shaking me awake, saying, ‘Eveline! Eveline, wake up!’ and the doctor was in the room. My body was burning with fever, but my fingers and toes felt icy cold. Janina held my hand while the doctor removed the bandages from my leg. A sickly stench filled the room, and I realised it came from my wounds. I watched Janina’s face, saw her blanch. The doctor frowned. He said something to her and at first I thought he must be referring to the seven days that remained before I could be evacuated. But then he said the word again: ‘Septicémie . . .’ My fever-muddled brain struggled to decode it. And then I understood. Sepsis had set in.
I understood the next thing he said as well. ‘Nous devons amputer.’ We have to amputate. ‘Sinon, elle mourra.’ Otherwise, she will die.
Finn
After the walk with Mum on the beach when we’d talked about being brave, she went upstairs to pack her case because she and Philly would be leaving that evening. We had to say our goodbyes, because they’d be gone by the time Dad and I got back. I didn’t eat much breakfast. I was still feeling sick, because it was Acclimatisation Day, and I really didn’t want to throw up again. Dad was very quiet on the drive to the harbour.
Everyone was there when we arrived, standing on the bit of beach beside the dinghies which were pulled up on the shore. The bigger boat was on a mooring on a pontoon at the end of the jetty. Dad took my ear defenders from me and left them in the car because he said it was Really Important for us to Set an Example and everyone needed to listen. Then we walked down to the beach.
‘Good morning, everyone,’ he said. ‘It’s great to see everyone here on time! Let’s start with the Safety Briefing, shall we? Get that out of the way before we have a look at the boats.’ He handed out the Safety sheets that he’d typed up. He’d said what a good idea it had been of mine to laminate them because then the seawater couldn’t get in, so it was both helpful and practical.
The instructor started to talk about the life jackets we’d be wearing and he showed us how to put them on the right way, then let each of us do our own. I didn’t like the way mine smelled a little bit like mould. It made my stomach feel queasy again.
Next, we had to put on our helmets. When I sail the dinghy, I just wear my cap. But this week we all have to wear helmets. When Dad told me about that, he said it was essential for Health and Safety. I said I wasn’t going to. But he said it was a condition of the insurance, Kiddo, and so everyone had to, and I should take it up with my union representative if I wanted the rules to be changed. He was making a joke, but I didn’t laugh because I was worried about the helmet being too tight and making my head hurt. Then Dad had said we could practise putting our helmets on before the course began so we could get used to them, and I wouldn’t lose it on the Acclimatisation Day. He meant lose my temper, not the helmet. I still wished I could lose the helmet.
Once we all had our helmets on, Iain showed us a board with a plan of the boat on it. He explained how the areas that it was safe for us to be in had been marked out with coloured tape on the boat and these were shown on the plan. ‘We’ll get out on the water for the first time tomorrow, but for today we’ll just be getting familiar with the safe areas on board and I’ll show you the controls for steering and raising the sails.’
Then we all walked down the jetty and got on the boat.
We sat down on the benches on each side of the cockpit while Iain started to explain how the sails work. It was just like on the dinghy only instead of pulling on the sheets, which are the ropes, you use a winch with a detachable handle. The large boy was sitting opposite me. He started rocking again and that made the boat start rocking too. I felt sicker than ever. I wanted him to stop, but he didn’t. Then the sick started coming up my throat and into my mouth, and I wanted to spit it out into the sea, but I was on the wrong side of the boat, alongside the pontoon, so I couldn’t. The boy was watching me, and he started rocking even harder. I think he was doing it on purpose. I stood up and went over and stepped up on to the bench to be able to lean over and spit the sick into the water and he got up there too and pushed me, so I pushed him back and he went overboard.
Then there was too much noise, with screaming and shouting, and I had a meltdown and Dad grabbed me, so I bit his hand.
Afterwards, once we were all back on dry land, Iain said, ‘What can we learn from what happened this morning?’
The mother of the large boy said we could learn that it was a bloody good thing we had our life jackets on, otherwise her son could have drowned. Then she said some other things about me, which were Not Nice. I didn’t have my ear defenders so I couldn’t shut them out. She also said they would be getting on the next plane home if her son was made to be on the boat with me again. Dad was apologising and saying, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll make a new plan.’ And then the Acclimatisation Day was over, and everyone could go back to their accommodation.
Dad didn’t say a word on the drive home. We drove with the windows open and I didn’t like how windy it was, making my hair flap in my eyes, but we had to do it because my T-shirt smelled of sick. At least I’d got my ear defenders on again though.
When we got back to the house, Mum was very surprised to see us because she’d thought she’d be gone before we got back. I went upstairs to have a shower and change my clothes and when I came back down the three adults were sitting at the kitchen table. Dad had his head in his hands, and he was clutching at his hair so it stood up in all directions. And Mum was saying, ‘No Philly, we couldn’t possibly ask you to do that.’
‘I don’t see why not,’ she was saying, as I came into the room. ‘It isn’t as if I have anything in particular to get home for. Hello, Finn, we were just talking about making a new plan for this week. How would it be if I were to stay on while your mum goes on her writing course? Your dad needs to help with the sailing every day, so I could be here to look after you and we can do some more exploring together. If you feel like it, perhaps you can join in the dinghy sailing parts of the course later in the week. What do you think?’
I thought about it a bit and decided I would like that. I would have liked it even better if Mum could have stayed too, but I remembered what she’d said during our walk on the beach about how she really needed to go on her course. So I said, ‘Yes. That would be an OK plan.’
Then the taxi arrived to take Mum to the airport and they had run out of time to discuss it further or to argue about it and so the decision was made.
As she got into the taxi, Mum showed me the double clamshell which she had in her pocket to remind her to be brave and we did the starfish sign. ‘You’ll be all right, won’t you, Finn?’ she said. ‘Maybe it’ll do us all good to have a bit of time apart. I’ll phone every day. Be nice and helpful for Philly, won’t you? And if she tells you more about her life during the war you can record it for me and let me know, OK?’
‘I will,’ I said.
So I carried Philly’s suitcase back upstairs and sat on her bed while she unpacked everything again.
‘Thank you for staying,’ I said. ‘If you like, I can make some labels for the chest of drawers and laminate them, so you know where everything is.’
Her red lips smiled. ‘I’d love that,’ she said. ‘Sometimes I forget where I’ve put things, so it’ll be a big help. I think we’re both happy with the new plan, aren’t we? Now, why don’t you go and do a Sudoku on the porch and then we’ll have some Marmite sandwiches for lunch?’
And that sounded pretty perfect to me.
Later on, when Dad had gone back to Smooth Things Over at the sailing camp, and I was sticking the laminated labels on the drawers in Philly’s room while she had a little lie-down on her bed, I asked her what had happened to the plane that crashed when she went back on her second secret mission to France, to tell the Polish cryptographers they needed to get out.
‘The maquisards hitched it up to a team of oxen and dragged it into the empty sunflower field,’ she said. ‘It was the perfect cover. They burn the stalks at that time of the year, you see. So they drained out most of the fuel from the tanks, because it was a useful resource for them, and they set fire to what was left. They even waited to do it in broad daylight so the flames wouldn’t show and draw too much attention to it. The police never suspected a thing. They buried the remnants in the woods.’
‘So that is when you lost your leg in France?’ I said.
And then she told me what had happened next. I recorded it for Mum, so she could put it in her book when she got back.
Philly
It was probably just as well I was so ill. I remember very little of what happened on those final days at the château. It would have been too dangerous to move me to a hospital, even if I’d been strong enough to make the journey – the sudden appearance of an injured British woman requiring urgent medical attention would have put the whole team at Cadix at risk of arrest, deportation or execution.
When I regained consciousness, it was Janina who told me they had operated. They’d set up a makeshift theatre in one of the bathrooms, and a surgeon who could be trusted to keep shtum had been summoned. With the assistance of Bolek, some chloroform had been procured to put me under for the amputation, as well as a precious supply of morphine, which kept me afloat as I swam in an ocean of pain in the days that followed. I drifted in and out of consciousness but there were no dreams, as far as I can remember, just a realisation every now and then, whenever I surfaced, that Janina was there. She’d talk to me, urging me to keep going, not to give up. But it was Ben’s voice in my head that stopped me from making that walk into the trees.
‘Hold on,’ Janina said. ‘They’ll be coming for you soon, Eveline. The moon is growing again. Just a few more days and they’ll be able to get through. And when we’ve got you out safely, we are going to leave too. We’re going to head to Spain. Thanks to you, we’ll be able to get to Britain now. And when we do, when all this is over, you and I will go and have that tea at The Ritz. You promised me, remember? Stay with me now. Stay with me.’
A tear trickled down my cheek. I was going to die in a place where no one knew my real name. My body would be buried in an anonymous grave – as, I assumed, Jim Elliot’s must have been – with nothing to say who I really was.
I thought of Amy and Teddy. I tried to reassure myself that I’d be with them, the ones who had gone on before me. I remembered standing at Teddy’s grave on the hill above the cold waters of the Firth of Tay, planting the white heather there, from the garden at my family home, how that had helped me still feel a connection with him. But Amy was lost forever, without a place where anyone could go to feel nearer to her. It would be the same for me. Once the Poles had left the château, who would there be to remember where I lay? The name Eveline would mean nothing to Ben or my family in Scotland, or anyone else who came afterwards to look for me.
I realised then how important it is for those who are left behind to have a place to go to remember those who’ve been lost; a place where we can feel that connection and honour our dead.
It was late, the room in darkness, when the pair of maquisards came with the stretcher. They lifted me on to it with such careful gentleness it brought more tears to my eyes. I was as weak as a wet paper bag. I was carried downstairs to where the Poles waited in the hallway. Each of them shook my hand and wished me luck, thanking me, saying, ‘Powodzenia, Eveline. Dziękuję.’
Janina waited by the door. She leaned over to hug me, the fullness of her belly making it awkward. Her face was as wet with tears as mine was. ‘Remember,’ she said. ‘Tea at The Ritz. I’ll see you there.’
