When the Lights Come on Again (53 page)

Cordelia came back from the young sailor’s bed with a big smile on her face. ‘He comes from Hamburg, although his wife is staying with relatives out in the country somewhere. They were bombed out by our lot. I told him we’d try to get a letter to her via the International Red Cross. He’s really pleased about that and he wants to know who the angel was who gave him a drink of water in the middle of the night. He says you tried to talk to him, even though he doesn’t speak any English and you don’t speak any German. And he says thank you, from the bottom of his heart. He was feeling really lost and lonely, and you helped.’

Liz went pink with pleasure. It was nice to be appreciated, even if it was by a filthy Hun - but she wasn’t thinking of him that way any more. She’d go and have a quick word with him before she dragged her weary body off to bed - well, a quick point and smile anyway.

She did that, then made her way out of the ward, waving to Naomi as she headed for the door.

‘That’s me away off to have my beauty sleep!’

‘Some of us need it more than others, MacMillan,’ responded Naomi.

‘Huh,’ said Liz, turning and taking a few steps backwards as she went out through the double doors. ‘I’ll have you know I’ve already been called an angel this morning. Oh, sorry.’

Turning around to see who she had bumped into, the apology on her lips faded when she saw Sister MacLean. She’d been talking to Cordelia, who now beat a hasty retreat, heading smartly towards her own ward.

Liz was for it. Walking backwards? That was nearly as bad as running. No rebuke was forthcoming, however.

‘No problems during the night?’

‘None, Sister.’

‘Sleep well then, Nurse MacMillan.’

Liz was halfway along the corridor before it registered. She turned and saw Sister MacLean smiling at her. That was a big enough miracle, but the first one was even more significant.

She had called her
Nurse
. For the first time ever. Liz went off to bed with a spring in her step.

She’d been dreaming again. That wasn’t unusual. She still occasionally had nightmares about the Blitz, but there were pleasanter dreams too. She often saw Helen and Eddie with Hope. She liked those dreams. It made her think that the two of them were still around somewhere - somehow - and watching over their daughter.

Lately, however, she’d been having dreams about Helen and Adam together, the two of them walking towards her. Helen would lift his hand and extend it towards Liz, as though she were introducing the two of them to each other.

You know his worth, then?
That was the question Helen had put on the night she died. Of course she did. If this was some sort of a message, she didn’t need it. She knew very well how much he had done for her. They had been through a lot together, Adam and her, and she missed him dreadfully.

The first time she had the dream, she woke in a panic, fearful that something had happened to him, but the uneasiness had soon worn off. However, the frequency of the dream began to concern her.

Coinciding at teatime the following day in the nurses’ dining room, Liz asked Cordelia if she ever dreamt about Adam.

‘Occasionally. Not very often. Why?’

‘I seem to be dreaming about him a lot lately.’

Cordelia had a very peculiar smile on her face. ‘I dream a lot about Hans-Peter, Liz.’

‘MacMillan!’

Liz looked up. Someone was calling her name from the other side of the room. It was Naomi Richardson, beaming all over her face. When Liz reached her, she grabbed her by the hand.

‘Come with me,’ she said. ‘And don’t ask any questions.’ Curious, Liz allowed Naomi to pull her out to the hallway. ‘Turn around, Liz,’ the girl said when they got there. ‘Turn your back and close your eyes.’

Intrigued by her obvious excitement, Liz did as Naomi asked. She heard someone else come into the hall. The footsteps approached her. A man, she thought. Two long-fingered hands came over her eyes.

‘Guess who?’ said a dark brown voice.

She whirled round. ‘Mario? Oh, Mario, you’re home at last!’

Forty-one

He hadn’t told her much yet: only the bits which made good stories. After their arrest they’d found themselves in a transit camp in the north of England. There had been all sorts there, from captured German sailors to Jews who’d come to Britain fleeing from the Nazis. And there had been a few Italians who were convinced fascists.

Mario had laughed at them, making light of the threats they’d issued to their fellow internees who they thought were opponents of
II Duce
. Anyone who criticised Mussolini, expressed left-wing views or thought the Allies might win the war had been warned that their names were being noted for reprisals after the supposed German and Italian victory.

‘So for a brief period,’ he told her with a smile, ‘I was an enemy of both the Italian and the British states. Some doing, eh? Aren’t you proud of me, Liz?’

He was choosing to see the funny side, as he always had done, but there were fine lines on his brow which hadn’t been there when he had left, and after he told her the story his lips settled into a tight line. Liz was sure the threat had seemed all too real at the time, but she took her cue from him, and didn’t press him to tell her anything he didn’t want to.

They were sitting in the flat above the café. Although very dusty and more than a little grubby, it was intact and secure. Someone had cleared up the café too, sweeping up the worst of the broken glass and mess. Friends of his father, Mario thought, from one of the Italian cafés or restaurants which had managed to ride out the storm.

Apparently willing to forgive and forget, the Italian community was once again in the business of serving its adopted city. Mario would set about finding out exactly who had organized the clean-up the following day, so he could thank them for what they had done.

‘From the bottom of my heart,’ he said quietly, lifting Liz’s hand and kissing her fingertips.

Some of their guards, he told her, had been none too gentle at first, believing the internees were all fascists or fifth columnists or worse. Then one soldier at the camp, exasperated by his inability to give instructions to a group of Polish Jews, had yelled out in the broadest of Glasgow accents: ‘Is there naebody here who speaks the King’s English?’

‘Aye, pal,’ Mario had called out in reply. ‘Come over here. We’re all frae Glesca.’

After that they’d got much better treatment, although he had been forced to split up.from his father.

‘Och, Mario,’ Liz said with quick sympathy. ‘That must have been awful for you both. Is he all right?’

He was keeping a tight hold of her hand. ‘He’s fine.’ He shot her a glance and she saw the yearning for sympathy in it. ‘It was bloody awful, Liz, but it’s all right now. They took him to the Isle of Man, and the people there treated him very well.’

‘He’s still there?’

Mario nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve got him digs with a local family. I want him to rest up for a bit before I bring him home.’

‘I knew you were in Canada,’ she told him. ‘I got a message.’

Mario nodded thoughtfully. ‘That would have been one of the sailors on the ship that took us over there. A Liverpudlian. An older man - in his fifties. He thought we were being very shabbily treated and he was sympathetic. He asked if there was anyone who would be worrying about me...’

Mario swallowed and gave Liz’s hand a squeeze.

‘Someone else must have been sympathetic,’ she said gently. ‘I got a second message, telling me that you and your father were all right. Do you know who might have sent that?’

He thought about it. ‘They sent out people to investigate, not long after we got to Canada.’ He smiled. ‘Not a bad advert for British democracy, that. In the middle of a war, the powers-that-be still found time to investigate individual injustices.’ He grimaced. ‘Not that it did me much good at the time. But there was a clerk, a young chap, about the same age as myself. He and I had a chat. I told him how worried I was about my father.’ He paused. ‘I told him about you.’

‘And he took it upon himself to find out about your father and also get a message to me? That was kind,’ Liz said. ‘That was very kind.’

‘Aye. People like that... they kind of restore your faith in human nature, don’t they?’

‘Thank God for them,’ said Liz passionately. ‘I worried myself sick when news came through about the
Arandora Star.
’

‘You and thousands of Italian families,’ said Mario, and for the first time there was bitterness in his voice. ‘There were no passenger lists for those ships. We were herded on to them like cattle. I missed going on the
Arandora Star
by about twenty men, Liz. That’s all.’

They looked at each other solemnly. ‘Och, Mario,’ she said again, leaning over impulsively to kiss him. ‘So when did you come back from Canada?’

‘Last year. When Italy surrendered. I was in line for release anyway. Conditional release. I had to agree to come home and do work relating to the war effort. I did it in the Isle of Man, to be with
Papa
. But now,’ he said brightly, sitting up and squaring his shoulders, ‘I’m a free man. I’m going to get the café sorted out for my father coming home. My brother and his family too, once the war’s over. And then I’m going back to finish my degree. Take up where I left off.’

‘Once the war’s over,’ she repeated, remembering another time they had been together and alone in the living room of the flat. They smiled shyly at each other.

‘And your story, Liz,’ he said softly. ‘Tell me your story.’

He listened patiently, encouraging her gently when she faltered, holding her close when she spoke of Helen and Eddie and the Blitz. When she had finished, he wrapped his arms even more tightly about her and let her sob, his own eyes wet, his face pale and shocked. He didn’t speak until her tears had subsided to quick and shallow little breaths. Then he planted a long, cool kiss on her brow.

‘I thought
I
was suffering,’ he told her, his voice sombre. ‘Now I see how lucky I’ve been. Eddie and Helen... Helen’s family... the poor dog, too. I can’t take it in...’ He bit his lip, and it was a minute or two before he could go on.

‘Och, Elisabetta, I’m so sorry you had to go through all of it alone.’ His voice was anguished.

Held fast and secure in his arms, she sought to comfort him. ‘I wasn’t alone,’ she said simply. ‘Adam was here.’

Mario’s dark eyes were soft with emotion: shock, pain, sympathy for her. He pressed his lips once more to her forehead. ‘I’m very glad that he was.’

‘And Hope has been a great consolation.’.

His face lit up. He’d been overjoyed to learn of the existence of Hope Elizabeth MacMillan. ‘So when,’ he asked, ‘do I get to meet this wonderful child?’

Liz patted his chest and pulled herself out of his arms, curling her legs underneath her on the sofa. ‘I’m supposed to be taking her out tomorrow. We usually go to the Botanic Gardens and then for our afternoon tea somewhere in Byres Road. She loves that.’ Responding to something she saw in his face, she asked anxiously, ‘Would you mind doing that tomorrow? I don’t want to disappoint her. But if you want it to be just the two of us ...’

He laid a warm hand on her knee. She glanced briefly down at it. Mario smiled. ‘No, Liz, I wouldn’t mind at all. Now then, why don’t we go out for a meal?’

They got back about half past eight and spent twenty minutes downstairs assessing the damage, calculating how much time and money it was going to take to put things right again. Professional help would be needed. That was obvious.

‘But we can sort the flat out,’ said Liz, as they went upstairs. ‘It needs a damn good clean, that’s all.’ They walked into the living room and stood looking about them. ‘If we wash the curtains and leave the windows wide open during the day for a while, that’ll get rid of the foosty smell. I’ll get some supplies tomorrow.’