Page 24 of Summer in Greece

Shelly locked the front of the shop, then went into the back, checked her two overnight patients in their cat pens, set the alarm and security camera, and left.

Two minutes later, she was back. She punched in numbers to disable the alarm, then pulled DJ’s letter out of her bag and reached for the phone. She could do this! She could . . .

She still didn’t know what to say. It had been such a long, long time.

Whatever you do, Shelly Summer, do not cry!

The ringtone stopped. The person you are calling . . . after the tone . . . and so on.

‘Oh!’ She hesitated, almost hung up, then decided to speak. ‘Hello, this is Shelly Summer. I received your letter saying you wanted to meet. I’m going away soon, so it would have to be this week, or in a few weeks’ time. Please call this number to confirm a place and time. Thank you.’ She pressed the hash to end the message, aware her voice had been cold and unemotional. Then, all the sentiment she’d held back, all the pain, still so raw, burst forth and tears trickled down her cheeks. Why had life been so cruel to her? The ginger tom in its overnight crate curled its tail around its feet and watched her.

‘You don’t understand,’ she said to the cat, a sob catching her by surprise. ‘It’s not what you think. I don’t want him back, not after all this time. It’s too complicated. Yet, I do . . . oh, how I do!’

Just as she reached for a paper towel, her mobile rang. Sods law, an emergency at the worst possible moment. She dried her face and picked up. ‘Summer Veterinary, emergency service, state your name and phone number, please.’

‘It’s DJ. I was put through to this number.’

Shelly gasped. ‘DJ? Look, DJ—’ Then a sob escaped. She hoped he hadn’t heard. ‘I don’t know what you want from me exactly.’

‘Sorry, I realise this must be difficult after all this time. I just want to understand why you walked away. I don’t have any ill will, but I need to know your reason for leaving.’

‘DJ, let me explain, I was seventeen, my mother had just died and my father was having some kind of breakdown. I was trying to study and work at the same time to get myself into university. I simply couldn’t cope with anything else. It was all too much.’ She gasped, dangerously close to losing it. ‘I’m sorry, really, but I can’t talk now.’

‘I can hear you’re upset; I don’t want that. Can I see you?’

‘Yes, all right.’ It might be best to meet somewhere, get it over with, or else he might turn up at the surgery, or stalk her, or call at White Cottage. ‘Why don’t you suggest something and let me know?’

‘I will, thank you.’

CHAPTER 10

GERTIE

On HMHS Britannic, 1916.

STARING AT THE WONDERFUL PICTURE of my sister in Lloyd George’s book, I hardly heard the knock on my cabin door. It swung open and Matron stood there looking displeased. ‘Did you not hear me knock, Miss Smith?’

Tears were rolling down my face. I sniffed hard and nodded. ‘It’s my sister, Matron. I just found it. Look, a photo of her before she became a VAD on Lemnos where she got the influenza and died.’

Matron stretched her neck and spoke down her nose. ‘I can see it is not a good time, Miss Smith. I’ll speak to you in the morning.’ Then she turned away and disappeared down the corridor.

I never did discover what she came for. That book became one of my most treasured possessions and at this point, I still have it.

*

Our days were filled with scrubbing decks, making beds, and medical lessons, though we did have some time off each day until we reached our destination. This period was occupied by gymnastics, which were led by Sergeant Jones from Pontypridd in his white trousers and white vest. It’s a wonder the dark haired, broad-chested soldier had the bravery to stand and raise his arms above his head before that many pairs of appreciative eyes each day.

The swimming bath was available to men in the mornings, and women in the evening. I swam every day, becoming faster and stronger with each session – keeping my promise to Father and writing how many laps I had done in my letters to Mother. I even joked that if the worst happened, I would be quite able to swim home from wherever I was. I loved the pool – loved competing with other nurses in impromptu races – and enjoyed the immensely clean feeling as I dried off. Sergeant Jones saw me punishing myself one evening and suggested that I train for the 1920 Olympic selection and even offered to coach me.

‘Really! Do you think I would stand a chance? What would I have to do?’

‘We would need to send off your best lap times, name, address, and date of birth.’

Date of birth? There I would come unstuck. My euphoria plummeted. ‘Sir, I came here to tend the sick. This is a full-time occupation so I think it would be best to forgo the temptation of joining the Olympic team. But I thank you for offering to assist me.’

*

Time passed quickly. Besides our chores, we practised various forms of bandaging and endless sterilising. Such was my naïvety, during our first lifeboat drill, I thought we’d all be ordered into the lifeboats and lowered to the sea. I soon discovered the drill only consisted of fetching our lifesavers, which were twelve cumbersome cork blocks stitched inside a canvas tabard with tapes at the sides. We had to put them on properly, and gather at our designated muster stations. A simple procedure. What could possibly go wrong? The entire exercise was a waste of time in my opinion.