Page 17 of Summer in Greece

‘She’ll be on a hospital ship. Nobody’s allowed to fire at hospital ships, ours or theirs. She’ll be safer than you are in this house, Mother,’ he said.

I was shocked by his sudden change of attitude. The hopes and dreams I’d held in my heart while gazing from the Dover cliff top were about to come to fruition. I would work on the greatest transatlantic passenger liner ever built, HMHS Britannic. To be honest, the ship had never actually traversed the Atlantic because our government acquired it before it had a chance. In consideration of my mother, I decided not to mention the vessel was sister ship to Titanic that sank only four years earlier.

‘The largest British ship afloat, Father!’ I said at breakfast. ‘She’s already made several rescues in the Mediterranean, saving the wounded of Gallipoli.’ My thoughts went to Arthur and Sissy, how I missed them. Maybe I could save the lives of those who would otherwise perish?

Mother touched Father’s hand. ‘Can we go to the port and see her off, dear?’ I had to report to Southampton at eight o’clock on the twelfth of November.

‘Most certainly.’ He stared at me for a moment before he swallowed hard and said, ‘I’m proud of you, Gertie. I admit, I had my doubts, but I am convinced you will be a great asset to this country and our wounded soldiers.’ He glanced at the two unused place settings at the table. ‘Make sure you take good care of yourself, Gertie. We could not bear to look at another empty plate.’

CHAPTER 7

SHELLY

Dover, present day.

THE LETTER FROM DJ TREMBLED in Shelly’s hand. She had resisted opening it all day, but now, sitting in the car outside White Cottage, she could put it off no longer.

He had found her after nineteen years. She stared through the windscreen, remembering every detail of him, but especially his wide, pale blue eyes. Then an echo of her heartbreak returned with such a fierce stab, she whimpered.

She said goodbye to DJ exactly one year and one month after her mother’s death. That tragedy had turned the father she adored into a bitter and cynical old man. He blamed everyone for his loss, once he knew about DJ, he made Shelly’s life miserable. Gordon Summer had had no idea how to deal with an errant teenager, he had no one to support him in his grief, and was too proud to ask for help, or admit he needed it.

Shelly’s final words to DJ came back. ‘My father’s right. It’s the best thing for both our sakes.’ The words nearly choked her. ‘I’m just seventeen, my whole life’s ahead of me, and I have to admit that you’re better off with her. She’s more mature, and it’s clear to see that she loves you as much as I do.’ She curved her arms, remembering how she held him, never wanting to let go. Then she had walked away so that DJ wouldn’t see any more of her tears. She had felt the same sense of loss when her mother died.

Shelly hadn’t seen him since, apart from in her dreams. Often, she had thought about him, wondered how he was doing, where he was, who he was with, if he was happy. With the development of the internet, she had toyed with the idea of looking for him on a social network, just to see how he was doing, but it would only lead to more pain. Her young heart took an eternity to accept that she had to live without him. He belonged to another and later, she heard, they had emigrated to Australia.

However, according to the postmark on his letter, DJ had returned home.

But should she let DJ back into her life? She had been replaced nineteen years ago. Yet she could still feel his cheek against hers, tears dripping down her face. ‘I swear, I’ll never forget you,’ she had whispered, then turned and walked away.

Swallowing hard, she opened it and began to read.

Dear Shelly,

I hope you don’t mind me writing to you, and I hope it isn’t too much of a shock to hear from me after all this time. The fact is, I’ve been in Australia. I have just returned to Cambridge.

I would really like to meet up, if that is possible, just to talk. I have some questions, of course. I’m sure you understand. I was thinking of a café, perhaps in Dover if that would be more convenient for you. Or, perhaps you would prefer somewhere more private?

Here is my phone number, please call me if you agree, and let me know a time and place that would accommodate you,

Best wishes,

DJ

She placed a hand over her heart. If she didn’t deal with it today, the letter had the power to destroy her concentration, and with a tricky operation scheduled for the next morning, she needed a clear head. She took a calming breath and punched numbers into the phone.

She mis-dialled twice. What should she say . . . her first words after nineteen years? What would he hope for her to say? Her mind was paralysed. She stared at his writing. Blue ballpoint in loopy, open script that suggested a big-hearted person, generous, honest . . . but who really knew after all this time? The ringtone thrummed. She might be sick. She ended the call and sniffed back tears, disgusted with herself. Now, she wanted to speak to him so badly it hurt. But after what had happened all those years ago, perhaps she should not.

She wiped her eyes, flicked her dark hair back, and breezed into White Cottage.

‘Everything all right, Dad? How are you getting on with Alexa?’ She picked up a leaflet and started reading.

‘He’s givin’ me a real hard time.’

‘It’s a she.’

‘Silly bloody name then, ain’t it?’

Shelly frowned, looked up, and said, ‘You’re pulling my leg?’