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Chapter 2
Late evening 19 February1942. On the track south.
Soft snores and an occasional groan as a wounded man rolled over in his sleep filled the soft night air as Meg finished her stocktake of their meagre medical supplies. Just another night on the wards.
She closed the lid of the battered footlocker co-opted to serve as their medical store. In the wavering light of an army issue torch held under her arm, she made a note on the clipboard Pat had conjured from heaven knew where, and then got to her feet. Her head swam and she was just able to half turn and sit on the lid of the box before she fell. Head bowed, she breathed through the wave of dizziness.
It’s exhaustion. Maybe a touch of shock too. All those bombs . . . She pulled her mind away from memories of bombs dropping—so many bombs – stop thinking! She set the clipboard beside her and switched off the torch. Her hands dropped to the cool metal beneath her.
Hard. Cool. Solid.
Real. She clung to the edges, the only solid thing in a topsy-turvy world.
‘Are you okay, Sister?’ Corporal Flanagan’s voice came out of the darkness. A hint of Irish, she thought. ‘Sister?’
A hand landed awkwardly on her shoulder, light, but offering comfort. Soft shuffling. The roll of a pebble dislodged in the dirt. The brush of material against her knees. He must be standing right in front of her. With a huge effort, she lifted her head. A gleam of teeth in the faint light of a waxing crescent moon confirmed the corporal was on his knees in front of her.
‘You remind me of the Cheshire Cat before he disappears.’
‘You’re blathering, macushla. Have you eaten?’
‘I’m fine, Corporal, just tired, and yes, I had a most delicious piece of chocolate, thanks to you.’
‘A piece? As in one piece I watched you eat this morning? Christ—pardon my French. Is that all you’ve eaten? No wonder you look as though a stiff breeze would knock you over. Where’s your bar of chocolate?’
‘Here and there.’ Her eyes closed.
‘Don’t tell me you gave it to these blokes. Instead of looking after yourself, you fed it to them. You did, didn’t you?’ Was that a tinge of anger in his voice?
‘Guilty as charged, Corporal. They needed it more than I did.’ Her head touched a solid shoulder and rough fabric and Meg let out a soft sigh. Her eyes closed. She was too tired to argue with him. Her nose touched warm skin redolent with male sweat and she nestled closer. ‘This is nice, comfy . . .’
A hand stroked her head and she slipped into slumber.
Meg woke slowly, unwilling to give up her pillow and face the day. Would she have another twenty-hour shift or—
Lifting her head, her nose scraped across stubbled skin. Stubbled male skin. Oh, heavens, what happened, where am I?
‘Morning, macushla. Did you know you snore?’
Meg sat up abruptly. She dragged her eyes open and found herself looking into the amused blue eyes of Corporal Flanagan. Her hand went to her hair before she looked around.
The truck was parked beneath a tree where the driver had pulled in last night, and small groups of men lay stretched out on the ground. Some clutched blankets but more had nothing but the hard ground beneath their heads. Pat was kneeling beside the burns patient Meg had brought to the truck yesterday.
Her gaze returned to the corporal. ‘Did I fall asleep on you?’
‘You did, and a more pleasant night I can’t recall.’ He grinned, a boyish grin that squashed any idea of improper behaviour.
‘Pleasant? You said I snored. I’m sure I don’t, but if I did—’
‘Wee little snores, softer than a Galway breeze that tickled my neck.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She’d never slept with a man, in either sense of the phrase, but surely no one would see anything wrong in last night. There was nothing wrong, aside from her not remembering a thing, but she moved a respectable distance from him.
‘Don’t be, Sister. You were dead on your feet last night. I was happy to be your pillow, but don’t take that the wrong way.’
The corporal wasn’t embarrassed, and Meg would follow his lead. ‘Thank you, then. You were an excellent pillow.’
Pat rose from the side of Private Jackson, the movement drawing Meg’s attention. The head sister’s expression was sad.
