City of Ghosts (27 page)

Bissen gave her a quizzical look.

‘It's a seaside speciality,' she explained. ‘Fish fried in batter, with chipped potatoes, smothered in salt and vinegar.'

‘Which fish is this made from?' he asked.

‘I don't know. It's probably cod but I didn't ask. It might be a bit lukewarm too. I got it before I started my shift.'

Bissen studied the food and spotted a couple of onions hiding under the potatoes. ‘I like onions,' he said.

‘These have been pickled in vinegar,' Lillian told him. ‘They're delicious.'

Bissen nodded. ‘You bring these food for me?' he said, instantly annoyed with his bad English. ‘I'm sorry – I mean
this
food.'

‘Don't apologize, Bissen,' said Lillian. ‘Your English is marvellous; far better than my Punjabi!'

‘May I try some?'

‘Of course you may.' She opened out the wrapper a little more.

Bissen reached across and took a chip. It felt soft
in his fingers and only slightly warm. He looked at Lillian.

‘Go on,' she said. ‘It won't kill you.'

When he placed the chip in his mouth his taste buds went wild. The potato melted and the tang of the vinegar made him screw up his nose. The salt bit into his tongue. The combination of flavours made him want more.

‘Do you like it?' asked Lillian.

‘It is delicious. I've never taste anything like it.'

‘I knew you would,' said Lillian. ‘Or at least I hoped you would when I bought them for you. Here, try one of the onions.'

She handed Bissen one of the pickles, which he placed whole into his mouth. At the same time he felt a little flutter in his stomach. Something was going on between them.

‘You're supposed to take a bite,' she teased.

Bissen crunched down on the onion and his eyes lit up. It was even more tangy than the chip – incredibly good. Lillian waited for him to swallow it.

‘I've been thinking about you . . .' she said as she broke a piece of battered fish off for him.

‘About me?'

Lillian nodded, wondering whether to continue. During the night she had resolved to tell Bissen exactly how she felt about him. But since breakfast a nagging doubt had troubled her. She was making an assumption – she really had no idea whether he felt the same way about her. There was every chance that she could ruin their friendship. But it was a chance she was prepared to take. No man had ever made her feel the way Bissen did. She thought about him day and
night, smiling to herself when his face or his voice came to mind.

‘About
you
.' She gazed into his eyes.

Bissen looked away. Inside, his stomach performed a somersault. Could it be that this beautiful woman, this
goreeh
nurse, actually liked him? What if he was wrong and she was just being good to him as a friend? Suddenly he saw the face of Jiwan Singh, eyes open, gaping wound in his forehead.
Life is too short
, a voice inside told him.
Seize the moment
.

Bissen cleared his throat. ‘I think about you too,' he told her, praying he hadn't made a big mistake.

Lillian handed him the piece of fish. ‘Here,' she said. ‘Try this too.'

He took the fish and ate it. Although it tasted wonderful he had suddenly lost interest in the food. He was totally focused on Lillian.

‘I like to spend time with you,' she continued.

Bissen's face lit up and a surge of nervous energy coursed through his body. His scalp began to prickle. She was saying the words he'd longed to hear since the moment she first spoke to him.

‘I like to—' he began, only for Lillian to stop him by placing an index finger to her soft cupid's-bow lips.

‘Please,' she said. ‘I've been practising this since last week. If I get it wrong I'll be mortified.'

Bissen nodded. The surge of nervous energy had become a tidal wave of emotion.

‘The time we spend together is special,' continued Lillian. ‘It isn't about your injuries or my being your nurse. I can't stop thinking about you and—'

Bissen took her hand, interrupting her. ‘I not good at these things,' he admitted, ‘but since I meet you no rose is beautiful as much as you.'

He searched her eyes, desperate to find out if his broken English had conveyed what his heart felt. Lillian took his other hand, looked around, then leaned over, kissing him gently on the lips. When she pulled away, Bissen was wearing the biggest smile she had ever seen.

‘I love it when you smile,' she told him. ‘You look so alive, so radiant; you are
so
handsome.'

Bissen blushed.

‘Listen to
me
. . .' added Lillian. ‘You must think I'm so silly.'

‘No,' said Bissen. ‘You are wonderful.'

She picked up the second pickled onion and bit into it before handing what was left to Bissen. As he ate it, she ran her fingers down his face, praying that she had done the right thing.

Lillian made her way towards Bissen's bed at the end of her shift, hoping to have a few more words with him before she left. The hours had passed so quickly since she'd told him of her love. She wanted something to take with her: another smile perhaps, or the sparkle in his eyes, so that she might sleep soundly.

‘Hello, Private Singh,' she said to him as a warm feeling grew inside her.

Bissen glanced around. None of the other patients were looking in their direction so he held out his hand. Lillian gave it a quick squeeze before letting go.

‘We need to be careful,' she told him in a whisper.

Bissen nodded.

‘Being together will be difficult,' she added. ‘Not only because of your injuries . . .'

‘I know,' replied Bissen. ‘I am Indian.'

‘I don't care that you are Indian. But when you are well they'll send you away and I won't be able to bear that.'

‘I could stay in England,' he suggested, knowing that it would be impossible. Once fit enough to leave, he would have only two choices: back to the front or home to the Punjab. That was the law.

‘You'd have to desert to stay,' she replied. ‘And they might catch you.'

Bissen shook his head. ‘Do not worry over this,' he told her. ‘Today is a great day. Let us go to sleep with smiles on our faces.'

Lillian shook off her doubts and smiled at him. ‘You're right. I'm just being silly. I had better go before they suspect something.'

Bissen held out his hand once more, savouring her brief touch. ‘I see tomorrow?' he asked.

She nodded. ‘In the morning I'll take you outside after my shift ends.'

Bissen said that he would look forward to it. As Lillian left, he watched her, his heart pounding. Once he could no longer see her, he closed his eyes and thought of her face, praying for sleep so that the new day might come sooner.

BISSEN WONDERED HOW
far he could get without the guards calling him back. He was in the pavilion gardens, by the bench where Lillian had kissed him for the first time, leaning on a pair of crutches. Walking, although at times uncomfortable, was at least possible now, and Bissen wanted to get stronger. But the wounded were not allowed beyond the gardens and he knew that he would have to ask for permission to reach his intended destination: the seafront. Deep, charcoal-coloured clouds were coming in from the sea and there was a chill in the air, but Bissen didn't feel it. He was too busy thinking about what lay beyond the gardens. Lillian had told him many things about Brighton, but hearing and seeing were very different things. Bissen longed to get closer to the sea, to take a walk along the promenade.

A tall Sikh in a sky-blue turban named Hurnam Singh came to stand beside Bissen.

‘
Sat-sri-akaal
,' he said in greeting.

‘
Sat-sri-akaal, bhai
,' replied Bissen.

‘How are you today?'

Bissen shrugged. ‘I am still alive,' he said.

Hurnam Singh had suffered shell shock: every few seconds his dark brown eyes twitched – outward signs of the damage his mind had suffered. His left ear was missing and scar tissue scaled the left side of his neck, thick and red. His beard was flecked with grey and white.

‘This place is like a convict station,' he said.

‘A
convict
station?' repeated Bissen, unsure that he had heard correctly.

Hurnam sighed. ‘I know they feed us well and make sure we are clothed. They tend to our injuries and hope to make us well but we still cannot come and go as we please.'

Bissen thought about his ambition to visit the seafront and nodded.

‘I long to visit the rest of this town,' added Hurnam. ‘Pay a visit to London even . . .'

Bissen laughed. ‘We'll be lucky to see London Road, and that is just across the gardens.'

‘You see my point then?' Hurnam asked him. ‘This is a prison . . .'

Bissen had to admit that he was right. Why else would there be barbed wire around the perimeter and sentries posted at every door?

‘We have fought and nearly died for these people,' complained Hurnam. ‘What harm could there be in allowing us to walk about as free men?'

‘Perhaps they think we will run away,' suggested Bissen.

‘
Run?
Where would we run to? Give me passage on a
ship bound for my motherland and I might just try to escape, but to stay
here
?'

‘We are not free men,
bhai-ji
,' Bissen told him. ‘When we signed up we gave our freedom away.'

A fire started to burn in Hurnam's eyes. ‘No,
bhai
,' he said. ‘We had no freedom to begin with. We were merely their chattels – the same dogs who ruin our country; these are the devils we fought for . . .'

Bissen, wary of starting a debate about their colonial masters, asked Hurnam if he knew when he would be allowed to leave the hospital.

‘When
they
say so,' he replied, his face twitching.

‘You must have
some
clue . . .'

‘Two months, according to the doctor. I am to be assessed, and if I can fight on, I'll be sent to the Eastern Front or back to France. If I cannot lift my rifle in defence of my emperor, I will be sent home. God willing, it will be the latter.'

Bissen nodded. ‘And what will you do when you get home?'

‘In all honesty?'

‘Yes,
bhai-ji
,' said Bissen.

‘Take up my gun and help to chase these devils from my land,' vowed Hurnam, his expression as hard as granite.

Bissen nodded again but said nothing. His own dream was very different and it involved
staying
in England. But that would be difficult. Becoming an accepted part of Lillian's life would be harder still. She had spoken to her Uncle Bertie and certain wheels had been set in motion, but there was no guarantee of success. The laws against desertion and immigration were harsh, and Bissen would have to
circumvent or ignore both in order to have his dream. Not to mention putting both Lillian and her uncle at risk.

Lillian arrived later that afternoon, her face pink from the cold breeze, her eyes sparkling. Over her uniform she wore a red coat and a matching woollen hat. Bissen was still in the gardens and she came to find him straight away. Looking around to make sure that no one was watching, she gave him a peck on the cheek.

‘I missed you,' she told him. ‘Two days is too long to wait to look at you and hold your hand.'

Bissen smiled. ‘It is the same for me. I dream of you when you aren't here.'

‘Is that very terrible for you?' she asked jokingly.

‘It is lovely,' replied Bissen. ‘But is better when you
are
here.'

They talked about Lillian's day and then the subject turned to her Uncle Bertie.

‘He came to see me yesterday,' she informed Bissen. ‘There is a problem.'

His face fell. He understood what she was telling him. ‘There is no legal way?'

‘No. You could gain employment with some rich family, but even then they will stop you. You are a soldier, and if you don't return to the front you'll be charged with desertion.'

‘I see,' said Bissen.

‘And I won't allow you to pay such a penalty,' added Lillian. ‘Not for me.'

Desertion incurred a simple penalty: death. Lillian's eyes
began to water at the very thought of it. To find her love and lose him would be unbearable.

‘Please not cry,' said Bissen, taking her hand. ‘We will find a way.'

Lillian wiped her eyes. ‘That's the other problem. I'm being transferred from here next week—'

‘No!' replied Bissen, his face falling.

She nodded. ‘Someone has complained about me. I'm to go back to the main hospital.'

‘Who complain?'

‘Someone who objects to our friendship. I was admonished over it yesterday.'

‘Because I am a Sikh,' said Bissen. ‘I know.'

Lillian shook her head. ‘Let them say what they want,' she said defiantly. ‘No one can tell me what to do with my own life.'

‘But you get trouble.' Bissen was concerned.

‘You are worth it.'

He turned his face away as a tear made its way down his cheek.

‘You are so special,' Lillian said, taking his face in her hands and wiping the tear away.

‘I don't know why I cry,' said Bissen, feeling slightly ashamed.

‘No need to say anything,' she replied.

After her shift had ended, she took Bissen out in a wheelchair. They gazed out into the darkness.

‘It feels as if it might snow,' said Lillian.

‘I would like that,' replied Bissen.

She cleared her throat. ‘My uncle has a plan,' she told her lover. ‘He thinks he can get you out of here and hide you at his house.'

‘Is this possible?' asked Bissen, suddenly excited.