Chapter Twenty-Eight
Twenty-eight
Most of my letters were written during shifts on the German ward, in the quiet that sometimes arrived at the darkest part of the night.
I did not have many that needed to be written – Bill was my only family and my letters to him had gone unanswered.
I’d stopped writing so as not to feel his absence so acutely.
But there were others I had come to love in a way that resembled kin, and it was during those quiet hours that I shared a version of that place.
A version of me – someone capable and irreverent and in control; someone they would recognise.
I didn’t always succeed and for months my letters had been chaotic; I was returning to the script.
‘Would you like to know who I’m writing to?’ I asked Hugo. He was careful never to enquire.
‘It is not for me to know.’
‘I could be writing to a lover.’
‘Yes, you could.’
‘Would you want to know?’
‘I do not think it would help to know.’
‘There is no lover,’ I said.
He nodded and I left a space for him to talk of his wife, but he didn’t. Now I think it was not for me, this omission, but for himself.
‘Helen’s girls, since you didn’t ask.’
He said nothing.
‘I’m writing to them about you.’
He looked grave. ‘You shouldn’t.’
‘I get Iso to post them. I put her name and a French stamp on the envelope. The censors aren’t interested in what she might have to say.’
‘And what might she have to say?’
I’d led him to this and I looked at what I had just written.
I didn’t want to share it but he deserved to know.
I read aloud in a flat and disinterested voice, ‘We are creating an impression, apparently. There have been reports but I can’t tell if Alison believes them or not.
It would be inconvenient for her if they proved to be true. We are both very useful.’
His face moved with thought but he took his time sharing it.
I tried to think of what I would say when he told me we needed to stop, how I would arrange my face to convince him I agreed.
I would give a little shrug as if to say it was of little consequence, then return to my letter.
But just imagining the scenario caused a small panic in my limbs and the pen in my hand began to quiver.
I laid it down and looked away from him.
‘We must be more careful,’ he said.