asleep, she pulled on a cardigan and went back downstairs. The house was quiet now everyone was in bed, and she slipped out of the front door into the night. She was exhausted, but knew she was far from sleep, and the soft, salty air and the sigh of the sea against the gravel were calling her.
It was a beautiful night, with a million stars twinkling against the velvet black of the heavens. There was a bomber’s moon, shedding its glow over Cliffehaven’s roofs and empty streets, gilding the destruction and chaos into an almost magical landscape.
She reached the seafront, having avoided being accosted by wardens or watchmen, and although she knew she shouldn’t be wandering about on her own, it was good to breathe in the clean air, and to have time to let her thoughts wander as she drank in the essence of Cliffehaven.
As she instilled the sights and scents into her heart, she knew these memories would sustain her all the while she was away, for she would miss this place much more than she’d ever missed Bow. It was here that she’d discovered what a real family was; it was here that she’d come to learn that life could be better if only she took the time and effort to improve her speech, and to learn to read and write. It was also here that she’d experienced her first kiss, and the heartbreak of losing the man she’d thought had returned her love.
Staring out at the water that glistened like silk beneath the moon’s glow, she pulled her cardigan more firmly over her chest. His name still echoed in her heart, but soon she would be leaving and they would probably never meet again. How strange and unsettling life was – how uncertain the future.
She strolled along the seafront, heading for the fishing station. Nothing moved down there, for a strict curfew forbade night fishing. She stood and looked at the Seagull, remembering the day she’d returned, battered but unbowed, from Dunkirk, and how Jim’s heart-rending story had touched them all.
Not wanting to think of such things, she turned quickly away, only to realise there was someone lurking in the nearby shelter. She experienced a stab of unease. It was clear he’d been watching her for – as she’d turned – he’d swiftly dodged back into the shadows.
She looked behind her and into the distance, her unease turning to fear. Apart from the soldiers manning one of the big guns several hundred yards down the prom, she was quite alone. ‘Who’s there?’ she called, her voice cracking.
The figure shifted in the shadows.
She trembled and her mouth dried. He looked big and bulky, his shoulders strangely hunched. He was clearly up to no good. She glanced towards the distant gun emplacement. If she made a run for it, she’d have to get past him first. She gathered every ounce of courage. ‘Show yourself,’ she ordered, ‘or I’ll scream for help.’
He slowly emerged from the shadows, and Sally saw he was indeed a tall man, made bulky by the long overcoat he was wearing, his shoulders hunched as he leant heavily on the crutches. His face was in shadow, hidden beneath the brim of his hat.
‘What you doing, scaring the living daylights out of people?’ she demanded, her fear making her angry. Crippled or not, he had no right to frighten her like that.
He stood there for a heartbeat of time, his chin sunk into the collar of his coat, his face in deep shadow. And then he turned and slowly moved away from her, his progress hesitant and ungainly.
Sally’s pulse stopped racing as she saw how difficult it was for him, and she wished she hadn’t been quite so sharp. Like her, the poor man had probably only been out for a bit of fresh air and some quiet contemplation.
She was about to head back to Beach View when his foot caught on a rough edge of broken pavement. He tried to keep his balance, but the crutch clattered to the ground and, with a loud oath, he hit the concrete.
Sally rushed to his side. ‘Let me help you,’ she breathed.
‘I don’t need your help,’ he snarled. ‘Go away Sally. Just for the love of God leave me be.’
She stared at him in disbelief as he scrabbled for the fallen crutch. ‘John?’ she breathed, touching his shoulder. ‘John, is it really you?’
‘Of course it bloody well is,’ he snarled, shrugging off her hand and grabbing the crutch.