his Guernsey jumper, rolling it up, then placed it under the man’s head. It was covered in dirt and blood, but at least it would be more comfortable.
He gently caught the arm of a passing nurse, but she fixed him with a scowl. He let go and apologised. ‘This man,’ he said. ‘He needs help.’
Her scowl softened and then turned to a frown of concern. She reached out and checked the man’s pulse, then carefully checked his wounds, before placing the rudimentary dressings back in place. She turned to Jack, concern still in her bright blue eyes. His heart thumped in his chest.
‘He’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘For now. We’ll get to him as soon as we can. As you can imagine we are completely overwhelmed in here, and we currently have far more pressing problems with other patients. I will send a doctor to him as soon as I’m able.’
She turned to leave. ‘I’m a policeman,’ Jack said, stopping her in her tracks. ‘What can I do to help?’
‘Help?’ she replied. ‘You can see if any of the doctors need anything holding. A lot of our jobs are fetching, holding, but if you’re willing to help …’
‘Right.’ Jack nodded.
‘This way,’ she said, turning and marching along the corridor.
He followed, glancing into the other rooms as he passed. The medical staff were treating more patients than he had ever seen in once place. Most of the doors were shut. The hospital was packed now, but what would happen once the Germans actually came? Would they continue attacking until there was no one left? He tried to focus on more immediate concerns. The shock of the initial attack was wearing off and his mind was racing. He wanted to do something, anything, to help, to take his mind off what was happening. The nurse stopped and pointed in the direction of a room.
‘If the doctor needs any help,’ she said, ‘you’ll be best placed in there.’
With that she was gone. Inside the room a middle-aged doctor in a white coat, its arms pushed up to his elbows, worked on a man who was lying on a metal gurney and bleeding heavily from a chest wound. The doctor was forcing gauze against the wound as a nurse handed him fresh materials, but the blood covered everything around it and it smelt strongly of iron. He said something to the nurse who rushed from the room. The doctor’s hands were covered in blood, and a bead of sweat worked its way down his brow. Jack took a tentative step inside, not wanting to disturb the doctor in the middle of his important work.
‘Who are you?’ the doctor asked without looking up. He tied two ends of the fabric together in a quick knot with practised ease, then reached out to check the patient’s pulse.
‘Police Constable Godwin,’ Jack replied, still in the doorway. ‘I’ve come to see if I can help.’
‘Well, don’t just bloody stand there.’ The doctor didn’t raise his voice. He was used to being obeyed. ‘Get over here.’
Jack rushed to the gurney. He’d had basic health training in the police, but it hadn’t prepared him for something like this.
‘Apply pressure here,’ the doctor said as Jack stood over the patient. ‘And here.’
The wound had been bleeding heavily and the bedsheets were brown with stains. The man groaned as he fought to stay conscious. Jack didn’t know how hard to push, unsure if he would do more harm than good, but he kept a steady pressure while the man moved under his hands.
‘Keep still, keep still,’ the doctor murmured as he checked the other wounds. ‘He may yet survive if we can stop the bleeding. But it’ll be a long night for him. We’ll have to be patient.’
He reached out to shake Jack’s hand. ‘Doctor Abbott,’ he said, nodding as they shook hands. The man’s close-cut brown hair was turning silver around the temples, which made him look older than Jack had originally thought. Jack knew most of the people on the island, at least in passing, but he had never seen this doctor before. He spoke with a mainland accent, but many of those in the top professions did these days. He had heard mention of a doctor returning to the island after working on the mainland for a number of years. Abbott must have been that man.
‘Thank you, Constable,’ the doctor said, wiping his bloodied hands on a cloth then putting it in a bin. ‘I suspect our day isn’t over yet.’
A crumble of dust fell from the ceiling as another explosion rocked the hospital, punctuating the doctor’s words. He gave Jack a knowing look. ‘Especially if they keep that up.’
29 June 1940
Jack opened the front door gently, wary of the creaking hinges. It felt like days since he had been home but it was only yesterday. He half expected the furniture to be gone, the house forgotten and abandoned, with a patina of dust everywhere. However, the front room was exactly as he had left it, the only difference being that his mother wasn’t sitting in her chair. A plate of forgotten breakfast food – a slice of bread and some jam – sat on the table, a pile of discarded papers next to it. He was still wearing his stained clothes, but before changing he wanted to check on his mother.
Jack could hear noise in the kitchen, broken by the occasional chatter and cough of his grandparents coming from their room. So he picked up the plate and went to look. His stomach rumbled, reminding him how long it had been since he had eaten. He was tempted to eat what was left on the plate, but he thought he’d check with his mother first. She had her back to him as he opened the door, but she didn’t turn as he entered. She stood stock-still, as if waiting for something. He couldn’t tell if it was his exhaustion, or whether she shook slightly as she stood.
‘Mum?’ he asked softly, so as not to surprise her. She was like a statue, cold and immobile, if not for the faint shiver that racked her body. He moved around the kitchen table, coming alongside her so that he could get a better look, to try to see into her eyes, to see what she was thinking. Still she didn’t move. It was as if she was dead to the world. Her lips opened, silently whispering to herself. The repetition was like a mantra, as if she was reassuring herself of something. He couldn’t work out what she was saying. He placed the plate on the side and reached out a hand towards her, trying to make some form of connection between them. She drifted further away from him every day. As his hand neared her shoulder, she shook it away, this time more violently, as if it offended her.
‘I thought you weren’t coming back,’ she whispered.
It was faint, but clear enough once he could register the words.
‘I heard the planes, the bombs.’ There was more power in her voice this time, but it was still as if she was recalling a painful memory. She hadn’t moved or stopped staring in the same direction. He had seen shock like this before in his work as a policeman, when people had been told – or seen – uncomfortable things. They would switch off, distance themselves from the world to stop themselves from believing it was real. Like shell shock, the results were often crippling. After the events of last night, he was sure that there would be many more people across the island feeling the same effects. The main difference was that he had returned, when so many others hadn’t.
‘I thought you were gone, that you weren’t coming back,’ she said again, more confident this time. Jack wanted to reach out and pull her into a hug, but he knew somehow that she would stand there like a statue, immobile and unable to feel his love through the embrace.
‘I’m here,’ he replied, tilting his head to the side and trying to get her to look at him. ‘I’m here.’
‘Are you?’ she asked. ‘Are you really?’
‘Yes.’
He touched her shoulder, finally, hoping the sensation would back up his claim.
‘Your father came